by Tiana Laveen
What’s my favorite food? I like German food best.
What’s my favorite song or musical group? Rock ‘n Roll, Alternative, and Country are my favorite music genres. I don’t have a favorite group or song.
What’s my favorite book? The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People by Steven Covey.
What’s my favorite holiday? Thanksgiving is my favorite too.
What’s my favorite color? Red – I love red.
Melissa, here are the questions I have for you.
1. What’s your political affiliation?
2. What’s your favorite dessert?
3. How was your family life while you were growing up?
4. Are you a Christian?
5. What do you look like?
I have to be honest with you. Right before I came in here, I was looking for a wife. I was actively interviewing. That’s the only reason why I agreed to this pen pal service. Let me tell you what I have to offer.
1. I’m financially stable. You won’t have to worry about money once I’m released.
2. I’m a hard worker. I can be obstinate at times because I’m very driven.
3. I have a temper, but I never put my hands on women.
You’d always be protected.
4. I’m clever and can offer good conversation.
5. I’m physically fit and take pride in my physique. I work out every single day.
6. I think I have a good sense of humor.
7. I’m a good father and want more children.
Here are some things about me you may find offensive or wish to not deal with:1. I obviously have a criminal record. It’s due to fighting for what I believe in. I’m an activist, not a criminal.
2. I smoke. I’ve been smoking since the age of twelve. It’s the one habit I can’t seem to quit.
I don’t drink anymore, nor do I take drugs of any kind except the occasional aspirin.
3. I believe in traditional roles for men and women. I’m very old-fashioned. This is why my ex and I are no longer together.
She wanted to be out in the world, and I wanted a woman that would be home with our children, not running the streets with her friends at bars.
If you’re not interested in getting to know me further, please just say so, so that I may move on to other women who more closely fit my criteria. You’d still be allowed to write me because friendship is always nice, but I want to know your intentions.
Regards,
Aaron Pike
* * *
“The – ball – is round. The ball – is – oh – oh…”
“…orange. The ball is orange,” Mia smiled at Peter, the latest inmate to enter her program.
He was a short, skinny, White man with large, dark brown, doe eyes. Mia was afraid for his safety. He was just a baby, a mere nineteen years old. She touched his bony shoulder, which was frowned upon, but instinctual because he shook like a leaf.
Peter explained to her the previous week that he was with his cousins during a car theft and ended up having to share some of the rap. He was being terrorized on a daily basis in prison and confided that he had been raped.
“Peter, you’re doing great!” Mia assured.
“Thank you, Ms. Armstrong,” he smiled nervously.
“Peter,” Mia whispered in his ear, “I’ve told two officers and the warden what happened.
You’re going to be moved tomorrow. They’re putting you in Solitary, but at least you won’t have to endure that again.”
“Thank you, Ms. Armstrong!” Peter’s eyes filled with tears.
He hugged her.
“Hey, Peter!” yelled one of the officers. “Don’t touch!”
“I’m sorry, Chris. I’m sorry. She told me somethin’ that made me feel better is all.” Peter smiled, brandishing the recently busted lip he received while in a scuffle over a beverage.
“OK, class.” Mia stood up and walked back to the front of the room. “We’re adjourned here. Keep working on your notebooks and cards. I’ll see you all next Sunday.” The men stood up, chatting among themselves as they grabbed their papers and books and headed towards the door. Mia sat alone in the classroom as Chris led the men back out to the mess hall. She took a deep breath and sighed. There was a stack of envelopes on her desk. She had gone to the post office and picked up her mail from her PO Box. One envelope looked familiar. It was on prison stationary, the same envelopes she used to mail progress reports to prisoners’ families. She opened it up and read the letter. It was from Aaron. Her stomach stirred. His directness was like a breath of fresh air. She wondered where he was in the prison and how she could get a glimpse of this mystery man.
Mia stood up, walked to the classroom door, and locked it. She returned to her seat and pulled out a blank piece of paper from a pad she carried in her purse.
Dear Aaron,
I appreciate your direct approach. Of course, no one knows what the future holds except God. I thank you for stating that you’re looking for a wife. I, too, am looking to settle down, however, I’m not looking to become romantically involved with an inmate. I believe that would be unwise on my part. I also appreciate that you understand that your record, regardless of your being an activist or not, could cause some women concern who would otherwise be happy to be in your dating pool. That being said, I’m more than happy to develop a friendship with you.
I’ll answer your questions now.
1. What’s your political affiliation? I’m a registered Democrat.
2. What’s your favorite dessert? Chocolate pudding cake. I make the best.
3. How was your family life while you were growing up? I had a great childhood. I have three sisters and one brother. My father was a minister, and my mother was a schoolteacher, just like me. My father has passed on, but I’m still very close with my mother and siblings. I have one cousin with whom I grew up with as well. She’s my best friend.
4. Are you a Christian? Yes, I am, though I haven’t been to church in a long time.
5. What do you look like? I’m 5’7” and weigh around 135 lbs.
I have long, very dark hair, and my eyes are hazel. I also try to keep in shape, though I do love chocolate.
I have the same questions for you. I wish you well on your quest to find your “Mrs. Pike. “Thank you for writing me back. I look forward to your next letter.
Sincerely,
Melissa
Mia decided to take a walk to the Mail Room and slide her letter in the stack. She knew no one would suspect her since she was in the room all the time to receive materials for her class.
On her way, her curiosity mounted. She detoured to the Registry Office.
“Hi, Nancy!” Mia waved, causing the long, bell sleeve of her floral print shirt to swing.
“Hi, Mia!” Nancy said. She was a stout, dark-complected, Black woman with teeth as white as winter snow and would give her last dime to anyone in need. “What can I do for you?”
“Yes – um – I need the schedule for a couple inmates so I can figure out when to schedule a one-on-one with them.”
“Sure, who are the inmates?” Nancy asked as she pulled up her computer files.
“Well, that’s the thing. The two in question only took an entrance exam so I could see where they’d place in the class for services, and they’re new to the prison. Can I see your recent prisoners that came in – oh – say during the last four weeks? If I saw their names, it’d jog my memory. I left the packets at work,”
Mia smiled weakly. Nancy raised her eyebrow but quickly dismissed her suspicions.
“OK, I’ll print this out for you. Hold on just a second.” Mia waited anxiously while Nancy printed out an inmate roster. She looked at all the people walking around, holding their coffee cups, and laughing. She thought about how free everyone was, yet imprisoned simply by working there.
“Here you go, Mia.” Nancy handed Mia the piece of paper.
“Thanks, Nancy. You have a great week!”
“You too,” Nancy sai
d as she reached for another doughnut and sat down. Mia walked up the corridor with the paper, her eyes urgently searching through the last names: Patrillio, Peterman, Petz, Pike…
“Here he is – Aaron Pike,” she read to herself.
Pike, Aaron
Sentence: 1 Year Maximum Security
That’s odd. He only got one year, but he’s in Maximum Security. Hmm – he’s in Cell Block C. He’s allowed to play basketball today at 3:00PM.” Mia looked at her watch. It was 2:49.
She smiled. She put on her sweater and walked to the Mail Room, slipping her letter into the pile then heading to the basketball courtyard which was heavily guarded. One of guards, a woman name Patrice, came up to the gate.
“Hi, Ms. Armstrong. What are you doing out here?” she asked without smiling.
“Oh, hello, Patrice. It’s almost time for me to go. I was just walking around. Is it OK if I stand here and watch?” Mia smiled.
“I love basketball.”
“Well, I suppose, but you know how they act when they see a pretty woman, Ms.
Armstrong. Try to not stay too long. You could cause a disruption.” Denise smiled and winked.
“Oh, OK,” Mia said, feeling slightly uncomfortable. Mia watched as five White men came out onto the court. Two of them were bald and had Nazi symbols on their necks. A sixth one emerged. A guard stood close to him, then removed the shackles from his hands and feet. He crushed a cigarette with his shoe. Mia watched as he took off his shirt, exposing ripples of lean muscle. On his back were dark, tattooed letters that she recognized to be Greek, but could not make out. His irises looked like pieces of clear ocean water. They were adorned with dark eyelashes to match his heavy five o’clock shadow. Mia was waiting for a Black man to arrive, but no one fitting that description arrived. Suddenly she heard one of the men say,
“Aaron!
Brother!”
Mia’s eyes shot over to the tall man she had been eyeballing.
Her heartbeat increased rapidly. She watched as what appeared to be worship took place at his feet.
“My goodness, he’s like some demigod to them,” She said under her breath. “What’s goin’ on here?” she crossed her arms as she continued to watch with fascination. Aaron walked over to the drinking fountain, then immediately entered the game. He was significantly taller than the majority of the men there, so he seemed to have an unfair advantage. Mia continued to watch as the men cursed, laughed, and argued about a foul. Aaron was the most calm in the group.
He was overly calm. Mia could see that something was brewing underneath his icy exterior.
She turned away and looked at a couple of trees as she daydreamed. When she turned back around, Aaron was staring at her. The other men continued to play, but he just stood there, drilling holes into her with his intense and darn right frightening gaze. His eyebrows furrowed.
She saw him motion in her direction and nudge one of the other men. He did not recognize her and was trying to gather information.
“Oh, that’s Mia Armstrong,” replied the man Aaron nudged.
“She works with some of the guys that can’t read.”
“Mia – is she a Nigger? I can’t tell,” Aaron asked flippantly.
“I think so. She acts decent, though,” the man added. “She taught George how to read, so since then, no one really causes her any problems.” Aaron laughed.
“George let her teach him? I thought we were the ones teachin’ their Black asses to read?” he smiled.
“I know. George, ‘Mr. Bad Ass,’ realized she was the only one that had enough patience with him. Since then she’s taught some of the older Skinheads, some of the KKK’s, and us too. I guess we give her some sort of pass in here. I know I shouldn’t be sayin’ this, but for a Nigger, she ain’t that bad-lookin’. I think George was interested in her.”
“Don’t ever say that again!” Aaron screamed. “That’s slander!”
“Aaron, I’m sorry,” the man apologized.
“It’s OK. Just – don’t,” Aaron said calmly. He knew he was guilty of exactly what George was accused of. He could not take his eyes off her. He tried to look away but could not. He understood why George was smitten.
“Aaron, what are you doing? Either play or go back to your cell!” barked one of the guards.
Aaron turned around slowly and began to play again. Mia felt the chill bumps on her arms. He scared her. She watched them play a bit longer, then walked away. She turned back and saw him looking at her over his shoulder.
“Oh, my God.” She put her hand to her mouth. “That’s where I know him from – the television. He beat up that guy Troy!”
* * *
Two weeks later…
“Aaron, is there anything you wish to discuss?” Dr. Owen asked as he passed him a bottle of water from his own bag.
Aaron took the water, opened it, and gulped until the entire bottle was empty.
“Actually, there is,” Aaron said, placing the empty bottle by his shackled feet.
“Last week you asked me to talk about why I have problems forgivin’ my mother. I think I know why,” Aaron said, tilting his head slightly to the left.
“Please share with me,” Dr. Owen asked.
“She knew that what she was doin’ to me was wrong, yet she continued. I look at my daughter, and I could never beat her. I don’t know how a parent can hurt their child. There’s a difference between discipline and abuse. Laura’s from me. She’s my blood. To beat her would be to beat myself.”
“What’s your worst memory of the abuse you withstood from your mother?” Dr. Owen asked, pulling out an ink pen and jotting.
“The time she thought I stole money from her purse. I hadn’t, my old man had. I saw him, but I took the fall. I was about ten.
She came after me with one of those heavy iron skillets. I ran, but wasn’t fast enough. She hit me in the back then punched me in the head. I remember blackin’ out. When I came to, there was blood all over the place.” Aaron’s voice began to trail off.
“She stripped my clothes off while I was out of it and wrote the word ‘thief’ all over my body with a black marker. She dragged me outside by my ear and made me stand in the front yard. She yelled to all the neighbors, ‘My son’s a thief! He stole money outta my purse!’ I covered my dick with my hands and tried to keep from cryin’, but it was no use. I was embarrassed and ashamed. From that moment on, Dr. Owen, I wanted her dead.”
“Aaron, I noticed from your records here that you have several tattoos that signify you’ve beaten and murdered people. I wanted to know if…”
“Dr. Owen,” Aaron laughed, “if you think I’m gonna incriminate myself, you’re crazy. So whatever you’re gettin’
ready to ask me, save it. You’re travelin’ down the wrong path, seriously.” Aaron’s voice fell to lower octaves as he warned Dr.
Owen. Dr. Owen smiled.
“Eventually, Aaron, you’re going to have come to terms with the crimes the state knows about and the ones only God knows about. You’ll never be whole unless you deal with why you did what you did.”
“Maybe I’m fine bein’ less than whole. Accordin’ to you, I don’t even know who I am without my affiliation with the Nazi movement, so half of me suits me just fine,” Aaron smiled.
“And who’s to say I haven’t come to terms with everything I’ve done? You’re not a priest, and I’m not Catholic. I don’t have to confess anything to you, or anyone else for that matter.”
“Confession cleans the soul,” Dr. Owen urged.
“I’d only confess my sins to someone I loved. You’re gettin’
your questions answered, but I’m not stupid enough to say somethin’ that would keep my ass in here even longer. I know what I’ve done, and I’m at peace with it.”
“Aaron, what are your plans once you get out of here?” Dr.
Owen asked, sitting back in his chair.
“I plan to fight for the White people. Our country’s bein’
t
aken away from us, and I have to be the leader I am.”
“What about the American dream – a house, children, a good job?” Dr. Owen pressed.
“I’d like to get married. It’s funny how when you have pussy thrown at you all day, you don’t think about how it’d feel without it. I think about women a lot. I wanna settle down. I was too immature before. I wanna get married and have more White children. It’s important that young, virile, White men sow our seed and have as many children as we can afford, but we need to be responsible. We need to do it within the confines of marriage.
I’m dealin’ with a bitch from hell because I didn’t follow my own advice.” Aaron shook his head.
“Are you referring to your daughter’s mother?” asked Dr.
Owen.
“Yeah. She was infatuated with me. At the time, it fed my ego. She was a Nazi too. I was brought into the chapter she was a member of in order to get them in shape. They were disorganized. I cleaned shop, and she jumped on my bandwagon.
She was real easy on the eyes. Everybody wanted her. I felt privileged. Long, wavy, blonde hair down to her ass – big, gorgeous, green eyes – big titties that were perfect 10s. She was a dream walkin’. I thought I hit the mother lode. I wanted to settle down with her, but discovered she was just like my mother,” Aaron laughed.
“She liked to argue, hit, and scream. She never fought fairly.
I got away from her but got drug right back into her drama. She was pregnant. I couldn’t believe it. We’d been together six years, never used rubbers, and she never got pregnant until the last time we fucked. She said her doctor told her she couldn’t get pregnant due to a messed up Fallopian tube – wrong. The minute I planned to leave, she got pregnant. I knew the baby was mine because that’s one thing Sarah wouldn’t have done.
When the baby was born, she came out lookin’ just like me, so any doubts I may have had were washed away. I’m glad I have Laura, though. She gives me a reason to live.” Aaron hung his head.
“Did you feel like Sarah misled you or set you up?” asked Dr.
Owen
“I know she did. She knew I wanted to have kids, and she told me her chances were slim of conceivin’ because of her health issues. I cared about her, so I stayed with her anyway.
