Day 1

0530hrs: Woke up on a prison mattress for the last time in seven years this morning, though it took a while to shed the skin of my latest nightmare. Couldn’t recall all the details but as usual it involved being chased. I was barely staying ahead of some wild animal, its matted fur awash in my blood, bits of flesh and bone trailing from its ruined mouth. I somehow ended up getting stuck in a bog. Every time I tried to free myself, I just sank in deeper. My arms flailed wildly trying to grasp something as my knees sank below the muck. I started to hyperventilate when the earth took hold of my thighs and waist. Its embrace was cold and crushing by the time it swallowed my chest and when it invaded my mouth and nose, it seemed to be alive. I woke up to my own muffled scream. I’m sure my shrink would tell me it had something to do with my unconscious fears about being released.

0602hrs: Movement to mainline was held up. One of the guys in A232 diced himself up last night. The unit porter said he’d used a razor to cut his way out of here after count had cleared. Yellow and black crime scene tape crisscrosses his cell door, but you can’t convict someone of suicide.

0630hrs: Checked my breakfast for hairs or other foreign objects. You wouldn’t believe what you could find hiding in a pile of runny scrambled eggs or swimming in a pool of watery grits, but this morning all is clear. Had to stop myself from going to work in the laundry after mainline. Force of habit.

0702hrs: Passed my shrink on the way back to the unit. He shook my hand and said “good luck.” Not a bad guy. Can’t for the life of me figure out why he chose this job. Crossed a dayroom full of convicts and said goodbye to the handful of guys I’d gotten close to during my time. The rest just looked at me with a mix of jealousy, resentment, pity, and indifference.

0723hrs: Loaded the last seven years of my life into a single box. Certificates of completion for Chemical Dependency, Coping Skills, Public Speaking, “Thinking for a Change,” and at least half a dozen for Stress and Anger Management. A thick stack of letters from an ex that I couldn’t bring myself to throw away; three textbooks my mom sent me years ago when we were still on speaking terms; my GED and transcripts from three quarters of college; handouts from the PTSD group, Fake It ‘Til You Make It, and Down With Depression! Sitting on top of that was a weathered four-inch folder containing a couple hundred pages of legal documents (copies of statutes from the law library, denied appeals, and correspondence with my lawyer) and the rejected application from “Paws for a Change,” the kitten adoption program. You can’t have a single violent felony if you want to participate. The fact that I didn’t have a weapon on me during my crime didn’t matter. My J&S says “Armed Robbery,” so that was the end of that. Threw two blister packs with 30 days of meds on top of my soap-carved chess pieces and sealed it up with packing tape.

Decided not to wake my cellie – it was so rare for him to get any sleep after everything he’s been through in here. It’s a wonder he’s still alive after what happened in the shower last month. Who would rape an 80-year-old man? His face won’t ever be the same and the stitches over his left eye look like they’re getting infected. I left him my plant from the horticulture class. It’ll probably be confiscated before the end of the week, but why not give him a little something nice to perk up the cell before his world gets turned upside down by the next guy to occupy my bunk?

0805hrs: Jennings and some other officer who I hadn’t ever seen before escorted me to major control. I handed over my ID tag to the guy in the booth who stared at it for a while, looked at me, squinted, then looked back at the ID. He did this several times before finally stamping something on his clipboard and handing me an envelope and a bus ticket. Got a sinking feeling when I saw the destination: 8th and Franklin, less than five blocks from where I got busted. Nothing but bad memories and even worse influences waiting for me there. The envelope contains a few quarters for the payphone and a check for the balance of my savings from inmate accounts. Add that to the $40 in gate money and I’ve got almost $200 to start my new life.

0825hrs: Gate hums loudly on its track and slams shut behind me. Outside the prison walls for the first time in 84 months. It’s raining and the bus doesn’t get here for almost an hour. The payphone across the street is broken, the cord’s been cut and it hangs like a severed spine from the receiver. Not that it matters. Who would I even call? I’m not the first man to alienate everyone who mattered in his life by the choices he made – the place I just left is full of them. So far, freedom feels pretty anticlimactic.

1005hrs: Checked in with my probation officer. Pudgy, bald, big ears. He could pass for Elmer Fudd if not for the permanent scowl lines and the Sig Sauer on his hip. Gave me a list of shelters and his business card. What the hell is a “Correctional Specialist”? Scrawled on the back is my next appointment date.

1200hrs: The third shelter I checked out had an opening. I was just in time for lunch. Stood at the end of a long line of men in various stages of despair, shuffling listlessly through the service line as volunteers slogged beef stew in their bowls and plopped shapeless mounds of mashed potatoes onto their plates. The whole process is impersonal and more than a little dehumanizing. Food’s better than prison, but not by much. I catch myself checking for hairs.

An elderly man with several layers of dirty clothes takes a seat next to me. He reeks of tobacco, stale beer, earth, and rot. It flows from him like exhaust. His fingernails are long and yellow, his skin cracked and shiny. His face is buried under a thick brush of beard, also stained yellow and dotted with crumbs from a stale roll. He eats most of his meal with his hands, chewing deliberately with what remains of his teeth. There is a faraway look in his eyes, as if he is thinking about a former life. Or trying to forget it. I stare at the meal in front of me and am hit with an overpowering sense of sadness.

1820hrs: Spent most of the day just walking around the neighborhood. Coin-op laundry, three liquor stores within a block of the shelter, a smattering of Asian restaurants, and – of course – a McDonald’s. Hollow-eyed vagrants shamble around aimlessly or lie sprawled outside whatever store hadn’t yet shooed them off. Occasionally one of them musters the energy to ask for spare change. Cigarette butts share the pavement with hardened wads of gum and other debris, like some primitive form of Braille that only the homeless can read.

1930hrs: Full house at the shelter tonight. My bunk is between the wall and the elderly guy who sat next to me at lunch. I’ve come to think of him as “Marlboro Man”. My cot sags in the middle like a cheap hammock and the place smells funny – the air tastes stale and is ripe with the stench of body odor, urine, and mildew. It smells like desperation. And neglect. I’m having a hard time falling asleep.

Day 2

0705hrs – Fished a week-old newspaper out of the trash. When did they start costing $1.00? Checked out the classifieds for a room to rent. Cheapest I can find is for $50 a month. Twice that for the deposit. Combed through the employment section. Not looking too promising.

0803hrs – Had McDonald’s for the first time since being locked up. Breakfast ate up $5.43! I won’t be able to do that too many more times before my life savings is gone.

0915hrs – Went to Job Source. Sat in a crowded lobby for two hours before I met with a case worker. She’s short and stout with flabby arms. Her wavy unkempt hair apparently lost a fight with a curling iron and her glasses seemed to be permanently wedged on the bridge of her nose. The caked on layer of makeup did little to hide the crow’s feet. She robotically took me through the process of filling out the necessary paperwork. I left the lines for my address and phone number blank. Paused on the box next to prior felonies. Hesitantly checked “Yes.” She looked everything over, her eyes distant, her face expressionless. Told me I’d have to check back daily to see if there were any openings.

1215hrs – Stopped in at Goodwill to expand my wardrobe. Got a pair of khakis and a couple of shirts that had seen better days but fit well enough. At $4.50, the shoes were a good deal. Pretty scuffed, but passable as long as no one looked too closely.

1324hrs – Returned to McDonald’s to pick up an application. Skipped lunch.

Day 3

1000hrs – Visited some of my old haunts on the off chance that I might see someone from my previous life that might let me crash with them until I found a place of my own. Didn’t see anyone I knew from the outside, but I did run into a guy I did time with. Carlos something-or-other, though he goes by “Ocho” for some reason. He’s in the same boat – no job, sleeping in the park, running low on cash. He jokes about holding up a liquor store, but I can tell he’s not really joking.

1230hrs – Turned in my application to the manager at McDonald’s. She glanced at it, one hand resting on her head, an inch-long fingernail rooting through an impenetrable mat of shiny brown hair, and told me she would call if anything came up. She pronounced it “caw.”

1617hrs – Found myself outside Jenny’s house. The guy who answered the door looked like a con. Massive frame, bald head, broad shoulders, and arms so covered with tattoos they looked like sleeves. A skinhead moniker I was familiar with from prison was prominently displayed on his neck. Despite his size, there was enough room on either side of that bullet head of his to allow the smell of the house to come wafting out. Lilac and orchids with a faint undertone of cocoa butter. It smelled like her. For a moment my heart was in my throat and my chest was a beehive, thrumming with anticipation. I guess he saw something in my face that he didn’t like. He frowned and crossed those meaty arms but kept his hands on his biceps so I wouldn’t miss the wedding ring. My heart sank through the hive, stung by a thousand wasps as it plummeted into my stomach. He slammed the door in my face and I stood there like a chump. Couldn’t bear the thought of returning to the shelter so I sat at a Subway picking at a combo meal for a few hours until they asked me to leave.

1930hrs – Wandered around the rest of the day. Found a nice little park about half a mile from downtown. Sat for a long time on a bench watching the ducks. Didn’t head back until dark. Missed dinner along with several other guys at the Shelter. Marlboro Man passed me a bottle of wine in a paper bag. It was warm and had a faint taste of vinegar, but good for a few calories, at least. Went to the convenience store for a loaf of bread, some sandwich meat, and a bottle of Gatorade. Reluctantly parted with seven dollars.

Day 4

0915hrs – Probation check in, random UA. Could barely piss more than an ounce with my CCO watching. You’d think I would have gotten used to pissing in front of strangers. I wonder how many dicks this guy has seen in this job.

0940hrs – Headed straight to the gas station to get a pack of smokes. My jaw hit the ground when the cashier rang it up. Almost $10 for a single pack! I felt like punching the guy in the face and running off without paying, but my Coping Skills kicked in. Swallowed my pride and forked over the cash. Note to self: next time, get a pouch of Top and some rolling papers instead.

Day 5

1224hrs – Spent two hours at Job Source this morning. Only opening they had was in telemarketing. The thought of a thirty-year-old ex-con pitching rain gutters over the phone made me laugh. I need money, but I’m not that desperate. Something will come up.

1640hrs – Took the bus to the mall to kill some time. Checked out the Verizon store. People really shell out $400 for a phone? Guy behind the counter said monthly plans started at just under $30. Even if I already had the phone, I’d only have three months of service before I ran out of money. Had to leave before I was tempted to steal something.

2300hrs – Can’t stop thinking about how much I could get for a dozen of those phones. Lightweight, portable, pricey. A phrase from my old life keeps running through my head: “value per pound.” My mind kicks into high gear, rekindling a network that had long been dormant. Creating scenarios, searching for names and contacts. A dangerous light starts to shine in the darkness and I know I won’t get to sleep any time soon.

Day 6

0800hrs – Results came back from the UA. Positive for Boone’s Strawberry Wine. Got a stern lecture from Elmer Fudd – my “one and only warning.”

Day 7

0815hrs – Job Source came through with a temp job in construction. Grunt work mostly – post hole digging, trash hauls, that kind of thing. No insurance, but a job’s a job.

Day 13

0902hrs – Foreman handed me an envelope with my first legitimate paycheck in years. Felt really great for about ten seconds. Then I saw how much the state and feds got to keep. And what the hell is FICA? How the hell am I supposed to live on this little money?

1710hrs – A few of the guys were getting together for beers after work. I was really tempted, but I’ve got an appointment with my CCO in the morning. Came up with a lame excuse and headed back to the shelter.

Day 14

1210hrs – Used my lunch break to make a run to the bank to cash my check. The teller said they needed another form of identification because they don’t accept state-issued prison IDs, so now I’m stuck with a check I can’t cash. I return to work on an empty stomach.

Day 15

1105hrs – Boss accused me of stealing tools. Didn’t even ask for my side of the story. Just fired me right on the spot. Felt something crack in my hand when I punched the hood of his truck.

Day 16

0430hrs – Woke up from throbbing pain in my hand. Pretty sure it’s broken. Went to the ER. Hand turning purple and swollen up like a balloon.

1750hrs – Blue fiberglass cast goes halfway up my arm. No construction work for me any time soon. Left the hospital with a bill for $1340.52 and a script for some pain pills and antibiotics.

1900hrs – Walgreens wanted $23 for the meds. Opted for ibuprofen and a box of wine instead.

1942hrs – No room at the shelter. Forecast is for freezing rain. Probation office is closed. Don’t know where I’m gonna sleep.

Day 17

0510hrs – Spent last night beneath the overpass. Think I’m coming down with something. Hope it’s just a hangover from the wine.

1032hrs – Shelter was still full so I just wandered around downtown all morning. Stopped in at Job Source. No job openings.

1503hrs – Took advantage of the five-finger discount at the Korean grocery. Some Slim Jims and a Red Bull. I’m not out of money yet, but I’m tired of paying for every little thing.

2200hrs – Almost had a panic attack when I saw the cops outside the shelter. But they’re not there for me. Someone found Marlboro Man in the alley behind the shelter with his head caved in. Somehow I doubt there will be much of an investigation.

Day 18

2230hrs – Another night under the bridge. Seriously considering getting busted. Three meals a day, a warm dry place to sleep, and someone to take a look at my hand.

Day 19

1116hrs – Went to the public library this morning. Internet connection is twice as fast as Job Source. Someone left their iPhone by the printer. Tacky jeweled case covered with Hello Kitty stickers. Kids are spoiled these days.

1303hrs – Ran into Ocho outside the soup kitchen. He was talking to a few guys in a jacked-up low-rider. Said they were his cousins. Nearly jumped out of my skin when the Hello Kitty phone started vibrating. Guy in the passenger seat offered me $100 for it. Peeled off a crisp Benjamin from a roll in his pocket. Asked if we were interested in making serious money. Staring at his teardrop tattoo, I could think of no good response. Unfortunately, Ocho answered for both of us.

Day 24

2200hrs – Ocho picked me up outside the mission. I’m pretty sure the minivan is stolen – somehow I don’t see the teardrop cousins owning a Ford Aerostar. He tells me we’re going to pick up some flat screens. All I have to do is drive. Half an hour’s work for $2000.

Day 25

0607hrs –Don’t remember much from the last eight hours. Bits and pieces mostly. Breaking glass; an ear-splitting store alarm; Ocho clumsily throwing heavy boxes into the minivan; his cousins yelling in Spanish; and sirens. I don’t know who started shooting, but as soon as I heard gunfire I stepped on the gas and peeled out of there as fast as I could. The police cruisers just kept getting bigger and bigger in the rearview mirror. I remember feeling panic at being chased and frustration that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake them. I ran into something hard and blacked out. Woke up cuffed to a hospital bed.

1022hrs – A detective working my case shows me pictures of the guy I hit. Says his head knocked me out when he came through the windshield. Tells me he’s down the hall on life support. Asks me who else was with me in the car. I close my eyes and pray this is a nightmare.

Day 28

1105hrs – Transferred to the jail hospital. Detective tells me the guy died so they’re adding felony-murder to the charges. Ten to fifteen years minimum.

Day 1

0530hrs – Woke up in prison again, my home for the next two decades. The cell is different but always the same. Think I’ll skip breakfast.

Straight life eludes you

hopes and dreams dashed on the rocks

by crime's siren song