by Tiana Laveen
Owen touched the side of the bottle, feeling the grittiness.
Aaron sat back down in his chair.
Dr. Owen put the bottle to the side.
“I’m going to have this tested. In the meantime Aaron, I have a drink here in my lunch pail.
You’re more than welcome to it.” Aaron shook his head.
“That’s OK. Enjoy. I think our hour’s up by now,” Aaron said looking up at the clock.
“We have five minutes. I’ll need to see you tomorrow and every morning except Sundays.”
“For how long? I don’t have a lot to talk about, Dr. Owen. I know what to say to get you to leave me alone, and I know what to say to keep my ass in here longer. If you wanna play this game, fine, but I’m not bitin’.” Aaron crossed his arms, slightly annoyed.
“Aaron, what were you thinking about when you took your steel-toe boot and slammed it into Troy Washington’s head?” Dr.
Owen asked calmly.
“I was thinkin’ about all the Black fuckers who stole my money at school, slammed me against lockers, and made my life a livin’ hell. Troy Washington was one of those Niggers. He was from my high school. I ran into him and made him pay for the shit he took me through.
He was the worst of ’em all. Always callin’ me a ‘cracker’
and arrangin’ to get me jumped.
I’m so proud of my work on him. He’s almost a damn vegetable!” Aaron laughed.
“OK, Aaron. You can go now,” Dr. Owen sighed. He rang the buzzer for Cliff. Aaron stood up, sucking his teeth.
“Dr. Owen, a guy like you could be useful to the movement.”
Cliff returned and put the handcuffs back on Aaron’s wrists, walking him away to his cell. Aaron sat on his cot thinking about the question Dr. Owen had asked him: “If your Aryan brotherhood disappeared today, vanished from the face of the earth, who would you be?”
“Aaron! Your attorney’s here.” Cliff opened the cell door and allowed the tall redhead to enter. She put her briefcase down on Aaron’s bed beside him. Aaron took in her perfume. He hadn’t been with a woman in months, and it was driving him crazy.
“You smell divine,” he said, as he took off his shirt and changed into a tank top. His lawyer looked him up and down and rolled her eyes.
“Aaron, your case isn’t looking good for appeal. You’ve had too many priors. I just don’t see how I can get you out of here any sooner,” she sighed, tucking her tresses behind her ear.
“I see,” Aaron said, showing obvious agitation. He sucked his teeth again. “I’m gonna have to fire you, Donna,” he said nonchalantly.
“What are you talking about? I’ve bent over backwards to get you out of here. I’ve run out of options. No one’s going to put in the time and effort that I have, Aaron!” she put her hand on her hip.
“This was a high-profile case for you, Donna. You blew it.
This could’ve helped your career immensely. I can’t stay in here an entire year. You should’ve come up with an angle, like I got revenge from my tormentor so that the jury would have pity on me, but instead you didn’t work hard enough to get the case moved to another jurisdiction where there was a majority White jury. These are no-brainers, Donna,” Aaron said, standing close to her, letting his cigarette-laden breath invade her personal space.
“Aaron, after what you did, you’re lucky you got one year.”
She looked him up and down, turning away quickly. Donna was physically attracted to him, and he knew it. He also knew she wanted him to depend on her.
“I haven’t had a good lay in months, Donna.” He whispered in her ear. “I know you’re married, but your husband would never have to know.” She pushed him away.
“Aaron, stop it!” Aaron started laughing and fell back on his cot.
“A five-minute blowjob could have saved your career,” he continued to laugh. “Get the fuck out.” He waved his hand, dismissing her. His tone changed serious. Donna walked over and picked up her briefcase cautiously.
“Get your briefcase and leave. I don’t hit women. You have nothin’ to worry about. You’d know if you’d actually read all of those notes you supposedly had, not all men who hate their mothers beat up women, Donna!” Aaron laughed more as Donna ran out of the cell. He laid there, putting his hands behind his head.
“Who would I be?” he said softly to himself.
* * *
One week later…
“Of course he did it! Who else would’ve? I thought you said he was isolated?” Cliff barked at one of the other guards.
“I don’t know how he’s getting messages to the other guys, but they’re getting them. His phone privileges were revoked for a period of time, but they’re still getting them,” said the frightened guard. They walked into Aaron’s cell and found him sitting in his chair reading with a low roar emanating from his small television.
“Aaron, we know you’re responsible for the riot in Cell Block 8. We don’t know how, but we’re going to find out,” Cliff said, his heart pumping a mile a minute. Aaron looked genuinely surprised.
“Look, Cliff, I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. If they did somethin’, I didn’t give
’em orders. Someone else must be doin’ somethin’.”
“We know they’d lie for you – hell, even die for you. I’m watching you, Pike!” Cliff and the other guard walked out, slamming the cell door behind them.
* * *
Mia Armstrong walked into the prison as she did every Sunday afternoon to teach her adult reading class. Her dark olive skin was highlighted with strikingly high cheekbones; jet-black, sculptured eyebrows; full red lips; and fine, dark hair that was usually slicked back into a braided bun. She wore a pencil skirt and sweater along with low, navy blue, Mary Jane heels.
“Hi, Dr. Owen,” she spoke smoothly, extending her slender hand. “I’m Mia Armstrong. We haven’t had the pleasure of meeting.” Dr. Owen stood up and shook Mia’s hand.
“Hello, Mrs. Armstrong. I’ve heard of the wonderful work you’re doing with some of the guys. It’s so nice of you to volunteer your time and teach them to read.”
“I’m an elementary school teacher, and though it’s wonderful teaching children, I get a special and unique pleasure out of helping adults. The prison population’s often forgotten, but if they’re to have a fighting chance once released from here, they need to be able to read and write.”
“That’s true, and it takes a special person to step up to the plate. Mia, I asked that all staff come and see me this week.
There’s a pen pal service that’s being offered to help some of the inmates. I have the names of those that wish to participate in these folders and wanted to give you one to pass out.” Dr. Owen pointed to the stack on his desk. “All I want you to do is pass this around to your friends and anyone whom you think would be interested. The only thing some of these men want is some human contact with the outside world. Some of these men are never leaving, never going home. They’ll die here. They need something for their mental well-being, to help get them through.
Sometimes, talking to a woman seems to help fill the void. If you’re uncomfortable doing this, I understand, but I thought maybe…”
“Oh, no, it’s fine, Dr. Owen. I totally understand,” Mia said thoughtfully as she took the folder.
“Well, I’ll see you around. It was nice meeting you.” She shook his hand again, smiled, and went down to the first floor to teach her class.
* * *
“Mia, has anyone ever told you that you look like Paula Patton?” her cousin Trudy said as she stirred sugar in her hot tea.
“Who?” Mia asked, looking up from the tests she was grading.
“Paula Patton! Robin Thicke’s wife!” Trudy rolled her eyes, totally taken aback by her cousin’s lack of Hollywood who’s-who knowledge.
“I think she looks like Alicia Keys,” Mia said as she whipped her red pen out.
“Whatever the case, you look like her.” Trudy handed Mia the
cup of tea and sat down beside her at the small kitchen table, propping her feet up.
“Thanks,” Mia said, as she sipped.
“Girl, it’s hot in here.” Trudy picked up the folder on the table and started to fan herself.
“What’s this?” she asked, stopping to put some loose papers back inside.
“Oh, the prison psychologist asked that I pass out some of those forms. They’re prison pen pals.”
“Oh, my goodness! Juicy!” Trudy said as she sat straight up and opened the folder on the table like it was a long-lost tabloid.
“Let’s see here.”
Damarco Robinson
Crime: Armed Robbery
Release Date: 2050
“I think it’s safe to say he won’t be gettin’ outta there,”
Trudy laughed. “OK, here’s another one.”
Terry Lakes
Crime: Felony Assault
Release Date: 2014
“Now that’s more like it! Where are the photos?” Trudy asked, flipping to the back of the folder.
“There aren’t any, Trudy. That’s against the rules. There’s to be no exchange of photos.”
“Forget this, then! I could end up with some gutta'-faced man!” she laughed.
“It’s not for datin’, silly.” Mia wrote a large red “B” at the top of a test. “It’s so they have someone to talk to – a woman. A lot of these men are never gonna get paroled, Trudy.
They’re lonely.”
“They should've thought about that before slangin’ that rock!”
Trudy said with a huff. “Girl, let me get on home to my babies.
I’ll be over later in the week.” She reached down and gave Mia a kiss on the cheek. Mia smiled and hugged her, watching Trudy walk out of the door.
Mia finished grading papers and walked into her apartment bathroom. She removed her robe, letting the light illuminate her sultry body. Her breasts were high and firm, the rigid pecan-colored areolae were dotted with small, erect nipples, standing at attention. Her stomach was long and lean and V’d into a clean-shaven vulva. Her thighs were round and supple, her hips curvy as they poured into a set of long, slightly knock-kneed legs that were to die for. She turned on the shower water, waiting for it to warm. Mia picked up her favorite peach-colored washcloth and slowly removed her make-up. She detached her earrings and applied astringent to her face, then patted it dry. Opening up the clear shower curtain, she stepped inside. The warm water coated her and helped release her tension. She picked up her bar of Ivory soap and began to work it across her face, down her neck, over her arms, and then her breasts, stomach, and thighs. She put a little lather in her hands and reached down between her legs, careful to not let the soap get inside as she gently worked her fingers through the folds of her love, cleaning herself from head to toe. Lastly, she undid her hair, letting it wave freely in the water. It hit the middle of her back, spiraling downward like thick, soft, ebony ropes. She opened a bottle of Pantene shampoo, washed her hair, and rinsed. She worked in a leave-in conditioner, vigorously moving around her scalp with her fingertips.
After finishing, Mia dried off and applied shea butter to her body, rubbing it between her hands, coating herself with the essential oil. She sprayed a little lemongrass perfume behind her ears before sliding on a light blue, cotton nightgown. She walked to the kitchen to get a glass of water when she saw the folder. Hesitating, she walked towards it and sat down at the table.
She leafed through it, perusing the profiles.
“If I filled one out, no one would know it was me. It’s not like this guy and I would ever meet. I could just make up a name,” she thought to herself. Some of the names she recognized, and some she did not. She went to the earliest release dates.
“I don’t want to be doin’ this forever, let me look at who gets out pretty soon. Two years –one year – one year – six months –
two years – five years…” she said out loud as she read.
Ryan Goldy
Crime: Embezzlement
Release Date: 6 Months
Aaron Pike
Crime: Assault
Release Date: 1 Year
Where have I heard that name before?” Mia asked herself.
She couldn’t place it. “That’s him, he’s the one. He seems familiar, but he’s not one of my students,” she thought to herself.
Mia took out a piece of paper and began to write.
Dear Mr. Pike,
I hope this letter finds you in good favor, health, and mood. I see that you signed up for the pen pal program at Holman Correctional Facility. Though a year seems like a long time, you have a second chance once you’re released. I’m interested in getting to know you, providing emotional support, and lending my ear through this pen pal service. I can tell you a bit about myself to help get the ball rolling. I’m a teacher. I like to play the piano, write poetry, and sing. I’m very open-minded and believe everyone can change if given the right incentive and circumstances. According to this sheet, I’m supposed to answer these five questions, and you’re to do the same as an ice breaker: What’s my favorite food? Pasta
What’s my favorite song or musical group? I love classical music, Gospel, and Rhythm and Blues. I really don’t have a favorite song or group.
What’s my favorite book? There are so many I love, but I think Psalms in the Bible is very romantic. I also like just about anything from Edgar Allan Poe.
What’s my favorite holiday? Thanksgiving What’s my favorite color? Light blue
I’m very old-fashioned and fun loving. I look forward to your response.
Sincerely,
Melissa
Mia folded the letter and placed it in the envelope. She would mail it the next day. She turned off the kitchen light and walked back to her bedroom. She turned the television on and slid into the bed after opening her window to allow a cool breeze. A rerun of the show
“Martin” was on. She took a sip of her water and laid back, relaxing, until she finally succumbed to the sleep that had been flirting with her for twenty minutes. The glow of the television cascaded on her silhouette as she entered dream-ville.
* * *
“Aaron, you’ve got mail!” Cliff screamed as he stood by Aaron’s cell, teeter-tottering on his heels. Aaron stood up slowly from his chair and walked over to the door. The food slot opened, and various envelopes were handed to him.
“We’ve already presorted it to make sure none of your drugs or Nazi paraphernalia are mixed in,” Cliff chuckled.
“Cliff, I’m many different things to many different people, but I’m not a drug addict. You know that. I’m also smarter than you.”
“Yeah, but I ain’t the one behind bars!” Cliff laughed.
“Yet you’re still in here with me, doing time when you punch that clock, dumbass!” Aaron smiled as he turned his back and walked away from the door. He sat at his small, metal desk and began to slice open the envelopes by tearing them in almost perfectly straight lines across the top. The first one was a photo of his daughter. She was five years old. Aaron smiled as he looked at her handwritten note:
Hi Daddy,
I miss you. I love you. I got a gold star in class today. I went swimming at Amy’s and we had some cake.
Bye
Laura
He looked at the school photo that was enclosed. Her light brown hair fell past her shoulders. She had her father’s piercing blue eyes. Aaron pulled out a small note attached from his ex-girlfriend, Laura’s mother.
Aaron,
I don’t want Laura around any of your shit when you get out of there this time. You were supposed to not let your emotions get the best of you. Now that you’re back in prison, we have no money. How the fuck are we supposed to eat? My husband is out of work. I didn’t know you were going to do what you did, or I would’ve never let Laura see you the day before. You better get your act together.
Sarah
Aaron nodded and bit the inside of his lip. He viciously ba
lled the letter up and threw it in the trash.
“Fuckin’ bitch!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. He turned on the television and picked up another piece of mail. He looked at the envelope and sniffed it.
“Smells like perfume,” he thought to himself. He knew that the prison Mail Sort Room did not allow him to receive any fan mail, so his mind raced wondering from whom it could possibly be. Aaron carefully opened the letter. He pulled out the pale pink piece of paper with purple ink written neatly across it.
Dear Mr. Pike,
I hope this letter finds you in good favor, health, and mood. I see that you signed up for the pen pal program at Holman Correctional Facility…
Aaron finished reading the letter. He sniffed the paper. The faint scent of the flowery perfume wafted in the surrounding air.
He had forgotten that during their second session, Dr.
Owen asked him if he wanted a pen pal, and he said, “Sure, why not?” Aaron pulled out a piece of notebook paper and grabbed his black ink pen.
Dear Melissa,
Thank you for your thoughtful letter. I appreciate the companionship even though it’s from afar. It does get lonely in here without female camaraderie. I’m a good person despite my current circumstances. Whichever way you wish to see it, my so-called victim deserved what he received. I have no regrets or remorse for my actions. This wasn’t a case of larceny, robbery, rape, or senseless murder. This was a case of self-defense, regardless of the timeline called into question. It’s wonderful that you’re a teacher. Teachers are the salt of the earth. They provide mental, emotional, and educational sustenance that our children need. I have a five-year-old daughter that I adore. Her name is Laura. I’ve had the distinct pleasure of meeting all of her teachers, and I give a thumbs-up to their efforts. Laura is very intelligent and determined, so she’s an easy child to work with. She also has the support of her parents, though we’re no longer together, to help her understand that book smarts and street smarts are both essential for surviving in the world today.
I’ll answer the questions included here, but I also have some questions for you that I hope you don’t mind answering.
