Jail was an interesting experience. I went there frequently after my third year of working the streets. The officers always treated me well, never manhandling me during arrests, Some of them even apologized for having to do it. For someone that was terrified of police, I think I did well. I usually just shut down.
The last time I was arrested, was on New Years Eve in 1990. I spent my 21st birthday in transit to the county jail. I remember laying on the cot in the dorm that night, listening to the whispers of stolen moments between lovers, soft sobs of dispare and snores of restless sleepers. I lay there, beneath the itchy blanket, silent tears slipping over my cheeks onto the hard cot. I wanted to be anywhere but there at that moment, thinking about my friends from high school and feeling sorry for myself. I got clean in the two months I was in that place, detoxing alone in an isolation cell I was put in two days after my transfer because I got violent with the guards after calling my sons father and finding out my son was in the hospital. Five days solitary detention. To tell the truth, I’m glad they did that. It gave me pause to REALLY think about my life and just where the hell I was going to go with it.
Over the next few weeks, I wandered the dorm, did what I was supposed to and eventually was put on a work detail. We went, by bus, to the County court house to clean bathrooms and mop floors. I entertained the thoughts some nights of escape but, in the end, I was too afraid and went back to my cell to sleep. I masturbated frequently in jail. Then I found a gal that wanted to shower with me and … well… I had no need to pleasure myself after that. It was especially nice when she got put on work detail with me. We’d work really fast cleaning the bathrooms, then after the guard check, we’d make love. It was never slow and sweet but was always rushed, quick climaxes and sweet shivers when we’d “accidentally” touch eachother afterwards. Sam kept me sane in jail I swear. She was released a week before me and that last night she swore we’d see eachother again, that she loved me, but I knew. She walked out of the dorm and I cried.
I met some interesting people in my time on the streets. Homeless people were the best, I think. They always had a kind word and even taught me where to find food. They helped me survive. Andy was a particular one I remember. He was an artist that lived in a camper on the back of his truck. I had an apartment by the time I met him and would frequently let him come over and shower or, if it were particularly cold, I’d walk dowm to where his truck was parked and invite him over for warmth and coffee. He was a beautiful man that never had enemies as long as I knew him. I miss him sometimes even now, 15 years after his death from cancer. He was a bright spot on his dreary planet.
Avis Young.. How to describe her…. well, she was firey and full of bounce, thin to the point of being emaciated, addicted to crack and filled with a hatred of men I’d never knew existed in a prostitute. I was in jail with her often enough to get to know her and even helped her get her GED. For all the good it did. Last I heard of her, she’d given birth in Canon city prison and was fortunate enough to not have givem her baby AIDS. I wonder how she is now…