Incarcerated: Letters From Inmate 92510

by Inger Iversen

  Instead she said, “Good, I knew it’d go well. Who did you choose to head the project up?” She knew Teal was involved, but she’d never asked her much more than that.

  Jan-Erik took another bite of his salmon, chewed, and swallowed before answering. “Martin Graham and Sarah Lawson are in charge of implementing the program, and Jason Batey and Teal will maintain it moving forward. There are a few things I need to tell you about the program.

  “First, I only chose twenty-five men to start. It’s a four person project, so I didn’t want to overwhelm them. They have plenty of work to keep them busy, and this just adds to it. Second, death row inmates are off—” Katie started to protest, but Jan-Erik quickly nipped it in the bud. “Off the table.” His eyes held no room for argument, and Katie’s mouth snapped shut.

  She picked up her water and sipped it in order not to say what she was thinking, or how disappointed she was at this revelation. Sure that her father sensed her emotions, she cleared her throat and said, “If you think that’s for the best, I suppose it is.” His response was a nod and smile. Katie guessed she should be happy that he’d even considered the Inmate Pen Pal Program to be implemented at the prison.

  He continued. “I know it’s for the best. No one on death row will be entered into the program. If they need to speak with anyone, they can speak to the priest or whoever is on their visitor list, but I refuse to give them an extra chance to send messages out to anyone.” Her father’s voice told her that on this subject, he would not give in. She only nodded and waited for him to continue. “Lastly, you are not allowed to join the program.” He looked up at her. “I mean it. You want someone to talk to, you talk to me or your friend Teal.”

  Katie swallowed the lump of nervousness in her throat. She’d never been able to lie to her father, and the letter that sat in her car was a big fat lie. He’d told her that she wasn’t going to be writing anybody from his prison when she suggested she be a part of the beta project. Submissively, she’d agreed, but cunningly made sure Teal was a part of the screening process so that Katie’s alias Kristen made it through.

  Katie sipped her water. “Yes, sir.” She said nothing else, hoping not to incriminate herself.

  He smiled. “Good girl.” Katie hated when he did this, it made her feel like a little child or a puppy, but she smiled anyway.

  After lunch, her father followed her to her car. Frantically, Katie peeked into her vehicle, hoping that she’d placed the letter from the correctional facility out of sight. Leaning in, her father kissed her goodbye before opening the car door. Katie instantly hopped inside, relieved that the letter wasn’t visible. Her dad waved her off and Katie drove away, excited and nervous all at once, but ready to read her letter from Logan.

  Dear Scott,

  I’m doing well, and I hope you are also. I don’t mind you calling me Kris. My friend calls me Kay. I like your idea of the questions game. I think it will help us find plenty of things to talk about. So, let me answer them first..

  Yes, I have committed a crime. When I was six, I stole a pack of gum from the grocery store. I felt so guilty about it that I told my mom, and she took me back to the store and made me apologize to the manager. He was nice about it, though, he even let me keep the gum for being so honest.

  I weigh two hundred and ninety-nine pounds. Just joking. Honestly, I’m five foot seven and weigh one hundred and thirty-eight pounds. I’ve been trying to lose weight. I’d like to get to one thirty and stay there, but cheesecake seems to think I need to put on a few more pounds.

  Also, Logan, I think I need to clarify something. I don’t have anything against tattoos per se, I just don’t want to picture you like some of the men I’ve seen in prison. I have a tattoo on my right shoulder of a bumble bee. I got it when I turned eighteen. Honestly, if I could have any tattoo. I’d get a little blue bird in a delicate, vintage cage. I imagine that even though the bird would feel trapped, she’d also feel safe from the outside world. I know you don’t understand my loneliness and I guess you wouldn’t. Maybe you feel the same way, but loneliness isn’t just being alone. Yeah, I have friends and family, but I’ve lost friends and family too. It’s hard to explain, so I won’t even try.

  I don’t know about the tattoo your friend has since I haven’t seen it, but I have to admit, I think it’s a great way to tell a story.

  About me saying that I’ll picture Colin Farrell as I write you. Well . . . that was a joke, I won’t picture anyone. Also, was that flirting I spied in the last letter? Lol! Okay, time for my questions:

  What is your favorite tattoo?(I’m almost positive that you have them.?

  What does it feel like to be high? (You said you’d smoked.?

  Sincerely,

  Kristen

  P.S. Sorry for such a short letter. Work is piling up and I’m trying to finish so I can take a mini four-day vacation.!

  Logan sat in the meeting room, waiting for his piece of shit lawyer. Jack was always late . . . always fucking late. Pressing his fingers into his temples, Logan hoped to ease some of the tension. His cellmate was itching to get his ass kicked, but Logan only had a few more months before he would be eligible for parole and he wasn’t about to fuck that up. However, he was about to break a rule. He wanted to talk to Kristen on the phone. In the Inmate Pen Pal program, the inmates had strict orders not to ask for certain things or items, such as: money, addresses, pictures, or contraband. Yet, the people sending the letters were allowed to give their phone numbers to the inmates to call. Logan thought it was stupid that he couldn’t ask, but Kristen could offer. He guessed it was to protect outsiders from the monsters caged within the prison walls, but Logan had a plan.

  Letters leaving the facility were not screened. He knew this for a fact because he’d written and received letters from inmates in this very facility before he’d become a resident, and stamped on the top of the envelope was a message to the receiver stating outgoing mail was not screened. Logan either needed to convince Kristen to write to him out of the anonymity of the program, or convince her that talking over the phone was her idea.

  The front door opened, and his tall, lumbering lawyer strolled into the room with a briefcase and big ass smile on his face. “Mornin’ Logan,” Jake said as he sat down and pulled some papers from his case.

  Logan, silently brooding, took a deep breath before he spoke. “Why the fuck are you always late?” The smirk on Jake’s face pissed him off even more. He’d gone to college with him, smoked weed with his ass, and scammed on women with the prick, and now he thought he was better?

  Jake adjusted his tie. “Man, I had a long ass night. Got a new client that can’t seem to keep his hands off his ex-wife.” Jake’s chuckle made Logan sick to his stomach.

  “He hittin’ on her?” Logan couldn’t stand a man that hit a woman. He’d wanted to over the years plenty of times, but he’d be damned if he’d ever go that far.

  Jake huffed. “The chick is taking him for over a grand a month and she got the kids. I swear, the law stands on a bitch’s side no matter if they are crackhead whores who sell it on a street corner.”

  Logan shook his head in disgust. “Sounds to me like your new client should have worn a fuckin’ condom and never said ‘I do.’” It was the man’s own fault for falling for the “okey-doke”.

  Jake leaned in close, as if he was about to reveal a secret, and he probably was. He was a no count lawyer with a nose candy problem and an ex-wife of his own he was still supporting. Attorney-Client privilege Logan’s ass. “He got caught up with a nig—” Jake thought better of using the racial slur and continued, “black chick and her friend.” Sitting back, he shook his head in revulsion. “Honestly, I think, it serves him right, but hell, with my bitch ass ex-wife on my ass I’ve got to make this money.”

  Logan listened quietly, hoping the disinterest was clear on his face. If Jake’s new client didn’t know that black chicks were a bad way to go that was his own problem. He cleared his throat and leaned forward, wanting to
make sure Jake saw how serious he was when he threatened him. “Listen here, motherfucker.”

  Jake’s head snapped up and his eyes bulged in surprise. He started to speak, but Logan held a hand up, stopping the words in his throat.

  “If I find out you are out there spreading my fucking business around, I will kick your ass, are we clear?” Logan sat back, sure his point had been made. “Now, how fuckin’ soon can I get out of here?”

  Good behavior and overpopulation. The words replayed in Logan's head. He had wondered why he’d been moved to the East Block so soon, but he didn’t ask any questions when the guard came and told him to pack his shit up. At first, he thought he was in trouble, but there was no better inmate than Logan Whyte. He’d entered the system with a plan: keep his head down and get out as soon as possible.

  Make no mistake, Logan was no punk, but he knew he had better things to do than rot in prison with murders and rapists. He planned on getting out and making a life for himself, even if it meant moving back to the ghetto and working in his uncle’s shop until he could get his shit together and open up another shop of his own.

  Logan’s life had never been easy, even before prison, but he’d survived. He’d lied to Kristen when he’d told her he went to the state college. Logan made it as far as community college, but when he was arrested for possession of an illegal substance, all of his financial aid had dried up, so he was forced to pack up and move closer to his uncle. His whole life, Logan had been surrounded by lower class citizens, at least that was what he was always called. But moving to the ghetto to live with his Uncle Nate taught him that there was a new low. He’d moved into a neighborhood where he was the minority, and he was reminded of the fact every day.

  At twenty, Logan was no scrawny kid. He’d always been taller than most kids growing up, and after a few incidents, he took advantage of that by going to his neighbors and lifting weights. Yet, the problem wasn’t that the black kids thought he was a punk . . . it was that they knew he wasn’t, which resulted in being jumped by several black kids—sometimes on a daily basis.

  This was the way, until he met a man by the name of Trent. His friendship with Trent was the spawn of his hatred for black kids. Initially, his hatred had nothing to do with the color of the skin on the kids kicking his ass, at least not until Trent started to point it out. “Only the niggers came over and kicked your ass. The spics just watched and laughed, but me? I’m willing to stop them, willing to stand up for you. Why? ‘Cause us whites gotta stick together.”

  After that moment Logan realized what the black kids already knew—there was power in numbers. Logan got a membership to a gym the next town over and worked out daily; he made sure when he walked home alone that he kept Trent’s gun tucked safely in his pants. He even went to a few of Trent’s secret meetings.

  Back then, he didn’t even know what the KKK was. Sure, he’d learned in school that they hated everyone other than whites, but what he hadn’t learned was that the group was also a family. Whenever he needed something, he could depend on Trent and the gang to make it happen for him. When his uncle was too drunk to open up the shop, Trent and a few of his buddies did it for him.

  Logan had learned a few things back then, but it was only when he arrived in prison that he learned how clueless he really was about the KKK also known as the AB Brothers. In prison, lives were lost over the color of one’s skin, while out on the street with Trent, he’d never seen any of the boys kill and rape a person based on skin color. Yeah, racial slurs were thrown around and he’d even done it a time or two, but back home on the streets it was just for protection. There was a code: You don’t fuck with us and we don’t fuck with you. Here, behind these bars, was a whole other story. Behind these walls spun a new world full of hate and anger, a world Logan wanted no part in.

  Sitting at his desk, pencil poised over the legal pad, Logan was ready to respond to Kristen’s letter. He wondered how much about himself he should truly reveal. So far their letters were just a bunch of meaningless words and avoidances, and something in Logan wanted more. He wanted to tell her more, but he also wanted to know more about her. Maybe it was the excitement about his last few months being reduced, or maybe it was because he assumed Kristen actually lived in the same state where he was living out his sentence.

  As much as he told himself he didn’t want to meet her, there was that little voice inside of him that couldn’t lie. Logan was the type of man that liked solving problems—he liked being in control—and there was nothing better than soothing this woman’s isolation because Logan knew all about loneliness.

  Kris,

  I was thinking. I know we are never going to meet, and getting to know one another on a deeper level may seem stupid, but listen to this idea I have. Tell me your deepest, darkest secret. No one will ever find out. Plus, it won’t matter that I know because I won’t ever meet you. I figure, by telling me this you can get it off your chest and work on that shit. I’m only asking you to do this because of the tattoo you’d get to explain your life. This is why I love tattoos. If you take the time to think of what you want, you can tell a true story about yourself. Sometimes you don’t even realize who you are until someone forces you to sit down and think about that shit. Ponder that. Also, some things are hard to convey in a letter, so if I misconstrue anything you say, sorry. Talking is easier than writing.

  So, what I’m taking from your letters is that you think this program is a cure for your loneliness, but here’s what you need to do. You have to open up. Just writing a bunch of meaningless words on a piece of paper won’t help. This is going to sound far from manly, but I’ll be honest, to defeat loneliness you need to form a personal connection with another person. I read that in a book. Think about that for a bit..

  Scott Logan

  P.S. You seem like a good girl. You don’t need to know what it feels like to get high. Stay away from that shit.

  Before Katie had even read Scott’s letter, she was thinking of ways to give him her number without seeming foolishly indecisive about how far their communication should go. She’d told him she would never meet him, but she still wondered what he looked like, or what his voice sounded like. He was from Kentucky, so he most likely had an accent. Katie had been born and raised in Virginia, which was considered the South’s New York, but he might think she had an accent as well. Whenever she’d visited her family in Atlanta, they always told her how ‘Northern’ or ‘proper’ she sounded. Her uncles weren’t so nice about it. They’d teased her, saying she sounded like a snobby white woman.

  He asked her to reveal a deep, dark secret, something she’d never told anyone before, but Katie couldn’t think of anything worth telling him. She had a degree, a successful career, and a loving father. On the outside, everything seemed boring or normal; yet, deep inside, there was always a silent storm brewing. Her life was far from perfect. She’d watched her mother die, her ex-boyfriend Ramon had left her shortly after, and Katie had suffered a miscarriage that she’d told no one about. There it was!

  “Damn,” she whispered to the dark, empty bedroom. It was two a.m. and she’d been awakened by a storm outside. Scott was right. It had been more than a year, and Katie had all but erased that day from her memory. He’d forced the memory from her with a simple question. What was she supposed to tell him? The truth she guessed.

  Why did she want to open up to this stranger? Could it be that he was a man she’d never have to face? Katie reasoned it’d be easier to tell a person whose opinion of her really didn’t matter, and how could Scott’s opinion matter? He was an admitted criminal.

  Katie sat up in her bed. It’d been several days and Katie hadn’t written Scott back yet. Every time she’d started her reply, trepidation and uncertainty kept her fingers still as they lingered over her bright yellow stationary. She didn’t want to write her secrets on a piece of paper because that would just be too damned much. There’d be proof out there somewhere if she did that, and although she thought she was ready to move on,
she feared her words would give her fears new life. She just couldn’t deal with it again.

  Her decision was made.

  Katie jumped out of bed and power walked to her desk. Fear be damned, what she was about to do was completely against the rules of the Inmate Pen Pal Program, but not only had her curiosity gotten the better of her, but she desperately needed someone to talk to. Grabbing a yellow sheet of paper, she scribbled the digits she’d promised Teal to never give out.

  Cold air slapped Katie in the face as she strode toward Teal’s SUV. She smoothed down the flyaways from her sleek ponytail and slid into the vehicle.

  Teal gave Katie a once over and rolled her eyes. “You could have a least dressed up,” she muttered as she started the SUV and backed out of the driveway.

  Katie looked down at the pink cashmere sweater and tight, black skinny jeans with pink stitching. “What? This is nice,” she said, then looked to see Teal’s attire.

  Her best friend had her hair hanging in loose black waves. She wore gold hoop earrings to match her gold leggings. Her sweater was so sheer, Katie could see the gold bra beneath.

  Teal headed down the road to their friend Shea’s house at what Katie thought was too damned fast for the way the snow was coming down. “Katie, you look like you are going to a grade school party. I told you to dress sexy. I knew I should have come in and picked something out for you to wear.”

  As Teal reached over and turned the radio on, Katie looked at her outfit again and could not find anything wrong. Yeah, she wasn’t diva’d up like Teal, but she hadn’t meant to be. “Whatever, just drive safe. I’d like to make it to the party in one piece.” Katie huffed, ignoring the ache in her chest. She stared out the window, already regretting the choice she’d made to come out tonight.