Unchained but Not Free

NOTE: This next section was updated in 2002 and edited for sharing in 2024.

I’ve been home for ten months now, and so far, there have been no additional legal problems—nothing major, anyway. However, we did have to shell out an additional $60 to get me a mental health screening that was supposed to be covered by the state. Part of the terms of my probation stated that I must have an “immediate” mental health screening. Well, six months isn’t very immediate, so why they didn’t do this while I was still in jail beats me. But you know how it is—the courts can bend the rules as they see fit.

I know that as long as we live in this house, we’ll always be potential targets of the very sick people who turned my life upside down, all in the name of hate and revenge. The question is: how much hatred do they still harbor toward me, and how brazen and invincible do they feel about showing their dark side even more?

“Don’t worry about it,” Tom assured me. “Their connections are in Phoenix, not here.”

But I do worry. After all I’ve been through because of these sickos, I can’t help but worry. It’s been five long years now, with them obsessively making my life a living hell, with nearly two more to go, at the very least. I have no reason to believe they’re just going to go away.

“Why should they?” one inmate said to me while I was still in jail. “They already know they can get you through our joke of a legal system, so why should they quit torturing you now just because you moved? Look how much worse they’ve affected your life from a distance than when they were just a few feet away. You said it yourself; they took full control of your life. Before, they were just a noise nuisance. Well, honey, it’s up to you to take back your life because they aren’t about to give it to you.”

Fortunately for me, I have an uncanny knack for sensing impending danger, though I don’t usually sense good things on the horizon. Right now, I don’t sense any immediate trouble. If they’re going to get me through the law and set me up again, I wouldn’t expect it to happen until the end of probation. If they plan on coming after us or doing something to the house, it would probably happen right after the probation ends. It’s going to be hard for this sick bitch to suddenly have no connection to me. I know her type—someone who likes to be in control. First, she lost the connection she had to us by being our neighbor. When she loses the connection and control she has through the law, there’s no telling how she might react.

Still, I get a little paranoid every time I hear a vehicle drive by. I’m always looking out the window. Not just because I enjoy the wildlife and the beauty of the view, but because I’m always watching for the telltale sign of dust that says someone’s coming down the road. I hope and pray it’s just some harmless soul who doesn’t care that I exist any more than I wish to acknowledge their existence.

In November, the pump on the well went out, and we had to shower at Mary and Dave’s place. We got a bigger pump and switched from plastic piping to galvanized piping, which cost over five grand. Tom’s mother paid for it, and while I’m very grateful, I also feel she owed us, considering the time and money she took from us early in our marriage, even though the time can never be replaced. She was supposed to give us money, as well as Mary, David, Ray, and Steven—money that both she and Dad agreed to give us before he died. But she never did.

In February, our heat pump sprang a Freon leak.

Backing up to my release: I wasn’t let out of my cell until 5 a.m., but that was okay because they usually pull you out at 2 a.m., and I’d have just sat in the crowded, smelly holding cell even longer, with no place to lie down and relax. I actually fell asleep while waiting.

As the escort and I passed J Dorm on the way to the outtake area, the door opened, and out popped Pérez. “I saw your name on the list, and I wanted to say goodbye,” she said, extending her hand toward me.

I was glad I got to say goodbye to her, along with a few others who were awake, pressing their hands against the Plexiglas window, to which I pressed mine as well in a final farewell.

Due to only sleeping a couple of hours and being so excited, I didn’t really say all the things I wanted to say to her, but that would come later in a letter I wrote to her a year after my release. Instead, I excitedly exclaimed, “This is it! I don’t believe it! The time’s finally come!”

“I told you it would,” Pérez said.

After sitting in the holding cell for about an hour, we changed out of our uniforms and left. Tom pulled up in the car, and I ran out into the parking lot and jumped in next to him. We hugged and kissed on the way out of the lot, then headed for a fast-food drive-through. Oh, how wonderful it was to have burgers, chicken strips, fries, and shakes! Real, honest-to-God American food. Chinese and seafood were my favorites, and I was determined to catch up on that as well.

After getting our food, we headed toward the house with me chatting excitedly about seeing Houdini. That’s when Tom told me he was dying, and I nearly choked on my chicken strip. Here was yet another thing these degenerate fucks had taken from me—the last six months of Houdini’s life. He looked awful when I got back to the house, and he died two days later. Harry, the rat Tom got to replace Ratsy, died shortly after as well. A few days later, we went to the pet store and bought Sneezy and Little Buddy.

Sneezy’s the strangest rat we’ve ever had. All rodents are curious, love to explore, and would gladly escape their cages if they could, yet Sneezy, who has worse allergies than I do, never does. I could leave the cage door open forever, and he’d never climb out.

Little Buddy is by far the best rat so far. He’s smart, playful, and loving. He loves to come out and explore, and he loves attention too. I share my weekly treats with him. He really loves ice cream, but most rats will eat almost anything!

We only had one mouse left by the time I got home, so we bought a few more the same day we got the rats. I’ve tried breeding black-and-white mice, which are Teddy Bear’s favorite, but so far, I haven’t been successful. I have plenty of others for her to choose from, though, if I do end up seeing her.

At first, I thought Teddy Bear wouldn’t wait and that she’d contact me around Christmastime, but then I realized that being the dedicated professional she is, she’d definitely wait the whole year. That’s okay, though, because I know good things are worth waiting for, even though I miss her a lot.

I opened my Christmas presents, which had been sitting there for four months.

On top of having satellite TV, we also got a satellite connection to the internet. MP3s had become a big thing, and I was having fun collecting them.

At first, I was overwhelmed by all the appointments I had to keep up with. I had to go somewhere related to my probation at least three times a week. Two days after my release, which was on a Monday, we went to Phoenix to the probation office. We met with a guy I’d never heard of before. I filled out forms, got treated like a child with all the things I wasn’t allowed to do, and then waited until mid-May for a courtesy transfer since I now lived in Pinal County instead of Maricopa County.

Then we went to Casa Grande to meet Scott, the guy who would be my probation officer. Scott was a somewhat short, stocky guy, the same age as me. I nicknamed him “Apple Cheeks” because of his chubby face. I never disliked Scott, but I never liked him either. The humorless guy always struck me as the insensitive type. I’m polite toward him, but not friendly. That’s how I usually am these days toward most people anyway.

We went through the whole spiel again about what I could and couldn’t do, but as far as I was concerned—although I didn’t tell him this—no one was going to tell me how to live my life once I was back in the freedom of my own home. If I felt we needed a gun, we’d get one. If I wanted to associate with Paula, who had a record, I would do so. No state, county, or person was going to pick and choose who I associated with, where I went, or what I did. It was my life, and goddamn it, I was going to take charge of it once and for all! I was powerless when it came to payments, reporting, and house calls, but I was determined to be in the driver’s seat of my life in as many other ways as possible.

Although I’ve considered absconding many times to break free from the hold these twisted people still have on me, I’m sticking around and enduring the bullshit I don’t deserve, hoping that someday it’ll finally be over. Maybe I shouldn’t be optimistic about this, and maybe running would’ve been the right thing to do in this case, but with nowhere to run to and my determination not to let these assholes run me out of my own home, I’ve decided to stay put.

The Casa Grande visit turned out to be one of the most humiliating and degrading experiences of my life because I had to pee in front of a female probation officer for their routine drug test.

Besides having to pay $40 a month in “processing fees,” I have to report to Scott twice a month and deal with unwanted home visits from him as well. I don’t mind if he visits when I’m awake, but I’m not fond of people inviting themselves over while I’m sleeping. His visits are erratic. For the first four months, he came once a month. Then a few months went by without any visits. Lately, he’s been coming every two to four weeks, though January was the only time he came twice in one month. Still pretty ridiculous for a letter.

The community service turned out to be easy enough, and I was surprised that it was something I could do at home. I was grateful to have a tub separate from the shower stall and one that was so big because it was needed to soak labels off bottles. Gina, who ran the community service at the town’s recycling center, had us come in, pick up empty wine bottles, then soak them until we could scrape off the labels. After that, we’d drop them off at some guy’s place where they used the bottles to make decorative pieces. They melted the bottles down to make things like plates for pots and other items. Every other week, I picked up a couple of hundred bottles. By September, I had completed my community service.

I saw Helen about half a dozen times between June and October. She had supported me with cards and visits to the jail, and she continued to be encouraging after my release.

About a month after I got out, Mary contacted me. She asked if I’d be willing to help her write a book about her life. She told me she was determined to do this, even if it only helped one person, and I agreed to help her. We started exchanging letters, and in them, she included bits and pieces of her life for me to type up. I don’t know if we’ll ever get a book published, but anything’s possible.

I told her about Teddy Bear, and she told me the last time she saw her, she had dyed her hair dark red, to my surprise, and was growing out her bangs. I can’t wait to see her, either way!

Though we have home improvement plans, such as fencing off the property, building porches and a garage, putting in a pool, and planting privacy plants, there’s no telling when we’ll have the money to do it all. We’ll probably have to do it a little at a time.

As I predicted, Maricopa is slowly but surely building up.

For now, I try to take it one day at a time and hope for the best. I hope these people will someday be part of our past, rather than part of our lives like they have been for so long now.

Instead, I hope to have Teddy Bear as a wonderful addition to my life soon enough, though I can never know for sure what will happen between us or if I’ll even see her again.

Tom, the man I’ll love forever, still works at Bank of America and is mostly on the third shift these days.

The Princess Dorm Diaries

It was New Year’s Day when Palma moved me to M Dorm and into Mary’s cell. After I told Mary that I liked Palma, we debated whether Palma was straight or could possibly be bi. Then Mary told me she was curious, had balls of brass, and was going to tell Palma I liked her. I thought she was joking, but I was wrong!

I happened to be sitting on my bunk and had just turned on my radio when Palma came by, and Mary informed her that I had a crush on her. I had the radio on at that instant, so by the time I turned it off, all I heard was Palma saying, “Don’t tell me that shit. I don’t want to know.”

I thought to myself, great! Just great! The woman hates gays, and now the door’s going to open, and I’m going to get maced!

As I pretended to play dumb, bouncing around to the imaginary beat on my radio, I then heard her say in a cheerful tone, “And you ladies have a good night.”

I never saw her the whole time (I wouldn’t dare look her way).

“She’s quite flattered,” Mary said next.

“But she couldn’t be if she said she didn’t want to know or be told, and there goes the tank I asked her for, too,” I said dubiously.

I was surprised she even bothered to tell us to have a good night, but that’s the part I didn’t see. Mary thought her initial reaction was one of shock or maybe even embarrassment because, after a brief pause, Mary said a warm smile broke out across her face and she walked away with a cheerful bounce. Not even ten minutes later, I received not one, but three medical tanks as her shift was ending.

I could see how the news might have caught her off guard. I can just imagine her doing her rounds, hearing the usual things like, “What time is it?” “Can you bring me a tank order on your next walk?” “Don’t forget the nail clippers!” Then: “Jodi has a crush on you.”

Palma only worked three more times in M Dorm while I was there. The next time she was on, I slipped a sheet of jokes under the door like I said I would since she liked it when I’d tell her jokes. “Thank you, ma’am,” she said with an amused smile (pretty happy and smiley for someone whose initial reaction to my crush wasn’t so thrilling).

Then Palma shocked the hell out of us by announcing to the whole pod that she was going to do a search. Palma never gave any warning when she was about to toss us! Mary thought I had something to do with that, but either way, she and I put the extra panties we weren’t supposed to have on over the ones we were wearing, and I stuffed my extra towel in the seat of my pants and sat on it. Fortunately, when she got to our cell, she did a very half-assed search, never even asking us to get off our bunks or step out of the cell.

At one point, I showed her a picture I’d taken of a snake, telling her how it waltzed onto our land one day—a 10-acre ranch in Maricopa—and Palma wanted to know who else owned it. When I told her my husband and I owned it, she said she didn’t know I was married. This is when Mary said she noticed a change in Palma’s expression, which she thought was one of disappointment (something I couldn’t see from my vantage point). We were both sitting on our bunks at the time, and since she was checking Mary’s bunk at that moment, I could only see her from the waist down.

The second to last time she worked, I was with Ida, who noticed a difference in how she treated me which was better than others were treated.

I was with Tiffany the last time she worked while I was there. I had 25 more days to go at that point. This was when she took me down into the dayroom to chat for a good 15 minutes or so. Other inmates stood in their doors watching. I wouldn’t dare look at them because I knew I’d burst out laughing if I did.

The next day, Mary, Myra, and Peaches teased me good-heartedly, commenting on how Palma really put the digs on me.

I don’t have as much to say about Pérez, a stout Puerto Rican of 44, because she was a third-shift DO who rarely worked M Dorm. I always knew she was gay just by her appearance and mannerisms. I also knew that she liked me, and I liked her, though not in the same way as with Palma. I wasn’t attracted to Pérez, but I thought she was a wonderful person. She really helped me a lot. She’d chat with me whenever she worked and was very supportive and encouraging. I was surprised by just how much personal info she shared with me, too.

Pérez had a deaf brother, and each time she worked, I’d teach her a few signs. I don’t know why she waited until then to decide to learn it, but she enjoyed learning what little I taught her.

If there was ever a ray of sunshine in that jail, it was my then-sweet Teddy Bear, Officer Johnson. Whenever she was on, I knew I would be okay. I knew that she would look out for me and always have my best interests at heart.

I didn’t see much of her until the last half of my sentence. The more I saw her, the less I thought of Palma. Johnson was known to work M Dorm as often as Palma was known to work A Tower, but there was a gap in the middle of my sentence, for some reason, where she was rotating around the jail. She’d be in other dorms, the control station, Medical, doing escort, etc.

Nonetheless, by November, I knew there was something about the vibrant, red-headed officer so full of life and energy that tugged at my heart. By January, I knew I really liked her a lot, and by April, I knew I was in love with her—not just in lust, but in true, honest-to-God love. I tried to tell myself it wasn’t possible since I barely knew much about her, other than that she also liked mice for pets, as well as birds, and was originally from California, though she had also lived in Georgia. But I knew how I felt, and there was no denying it.

It was also startling how life was imitating art, in a sense, though I hadn’t written much of that story about the girl framed for whatever, who fell for a guard who liked her back. I’d always had this thing about women in uniform, yet to think my fantasy had become a reality was totally mind-boggling! If someone had told me I’d like a DO who liked me back, I’d never have believed it in a million years. Maybe she wouldn’t have believed it, either. I guess we really do meet people we like when we least expect, in the places we least expect.

The more I chatted with Teddy Bear and the more things I discovered we had in common, the more comfortable I felt around her. She seemed different from me in some ways, yet at the same time, we seemed to have common ground. Although most people prefer those who are carbon copies of themselves, I always liked a good mixture. I was glad we weren’t too different or too alike.

Teddy Bear was extremely intelligent and so much fun to be around that I didn’t care that she had a face full of acne. Nor did I care how big she was. I loved all five feet, ten inches, and 200 pounds of her. She had light brown eyes and red hair which fell slightly below her shoulders. I had never been attracted to a redhead before, she was a first for me.

Big-boned, broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped, and muscular, Teddy Bear wasn’t exactly Miss Feminine of the Year. That was another thing that had changed for me. For someone who once preferred feminine women, I found myself drawn to her more masculine look, though within limits. I couldn’t imagine her in a dress, but she still had a distinctly female appearance despite her masculine presence and clunky walk. Her voice, with its slight southern drawl, didn’t sound butchy at all.

When I asked her how she thought I’d look if I dyed my hair red, she said she didn’t think it would suit me.

“But I have a lot of gray coming in,” I said.

“That’s what I’ve always thought was so attractive about you. It really brightens things up, and you’ve got the perfect coloring for that salt-and-pepper look.”

Hearing this was so flattering. Not many women, I supposed, get complimented on their gray hairs, even if I didn’t have many yet back then.

I decided I’d wait until I saw her on the outside to tell her she had nice buns, and seeing each other outside of jail was part of the plan, or so I thought at the time.

When she helped me move out of the big cell and into the little one, before crazy Melinda came to join me, she impressed me with her strength. The mattresses were heavy, and I was struggling to toss the extra one onto the top bunk, but she hurled it up like it weighed nothing.

“That’s a good-looking guy you’ve got there,” she said, referring to a picture of Tom with Ratsy on his shoulder as she was leaving.

“Yes, it is,” I replied.

And you’re not so bad yourself, I thought.

Her saying this, combined with the fact she wore a diamond ring, threw me off at first. I knew the ring could mean anything—it could be from a woman or a family heirloom—but it still made me wonder sometimes what was really going on with her.

That night, on her final walk, I was sitting at the desk writing when I suddenly felt someone watching me. I turned to the door and saw her staring through the window at me. When she realized I’d noticed, she quickly moved on, though I didn’t think much of it at the time.

Before that, I’d only seen her a couple of times that I remember, and she wasn’t happy with me either. The first time, I was in a small cell with Kim and asked her to send me to Medical for a new inhaler because my lungs were tight. I knew the longer you went without an inhaler, the worse your asthma could get.

“You’re just having an anxiety attack,” she said dismissively and walked away as if she didn’t care.

“Oh, is that what you think this is?” I yelled after her, then cussed her out. If she heard me, she didn’t show it.

Another time, Officer Miller let the last cell on its hour stay out for two hours. Lora, Madoline, and Deanna—my cellies at the time—were furious. They filed a grievance, and I regret letting them talk me into going along with it. I didn’t care much, and I knew it was pointless to complain about a DO, but all four of us filed grievances. Teddy Bear, who had to sign off on them, wasn’t happy. She didn’t say anything, but you could tell by her walk and the way she yanked the grievances from the door that she was pissed.

“You’re going to miss me when I’m gone,” I told her a few months into my sentence.

“Yeah, you’re the kind that keeps me on my toes,” she said.

The thought of never seeing her again saddened me. I thought about the jokes we shared and the things we had in common, like our knowledge of Spanish. She even knew some German.

She’d tell me about her new cockatiel, and I’d tell her about the rats. We never ran out of things to talk about. Teddy Bear, who worked second shift, made the time fly by. The end of her shift always brought mixed emotions. I was glad to be one day closer to release, but I hated seeing my Teddy Bear leave.

A little over four months into my sentence, she told me there was a huge article about me on the front page of the Arizona Republic. Words can’t describe the embarrassment and humiliation I felt, especially having to learn about it from someone I had a crush on. For her to read about things that never happened, since I knew the media never told the truth—and neither did the so-called “victims”—infuriated me. I didn’t care what strangers thought of the article, and I knew those who truly knew me could separate fact from fiction, but Teddy Bear wasn’t a stranger, and she didn’t know me well either.

Though she wouldn’t get into much detail about the article, she tried to console me by saying they wrote good things about me.

Oh, really? I thought. They don’t even know me! They’ve never met me! How could they write anything good or bad without actually knowing me?

She let me call Tom, and as always, he calmed and reassured me. But I had to wonder: if they hadn’t forgotten about me yet, would they ever? And what was next? A made-for-TV movie? It stunned me that so much was being made out of so little. Don’t take it personally, they’d say—it’s just how things work here. But I did take it personally. It was my life they were trampling on.

I had pissed Teddy Bear off by ganging up on a fellow officer, and that night was her turn to piss me off in return. Toward the end of the night, Silvia, who had gone out to make a call, informed me that Charlotte had gone home and that the small cell downstairs was empty. After the nurse and commissary came and went, I asked if I could roll down to that room, and I was surprised by how sharply she snapped at me.

“You can’t have that room! You’re staying here!” she barked, then slammed the door in my face.

Who pissed in your coffee this morning, bitch? I thought.

That night, I decided I would hate her forever. She had been rude, and I didn’t deserve to be the one she took her frustrations out on just because her night had been hectic.

But that was easier said than done. Teddy Bear was just too cool to snub, and after all, no one’s perfect. I figured I’d just yell back if she yelled at me again, knowing I could never stay mad at her for long.

I still managed to get into the cell Charlotte had been in, though. I just had to wait until the next day, and it was Espi who moved me. I was surprised since she usually didn’t do moves.

The next time Teddy Bear worked M Dorm was after Teresa had come to join me. By this point, Teddy Bear and I had started playing a little guessing game. She’d guess how many days I had left, which was about 50 at the time, and she’d always guess wrong on purpose, just to make me laugh.

After several walks where she’d stop to chat with me about various things, Teresa said, “I didn’t know you guys were friends on the outside.”

“We’re not,” I replied.

“Maybe she likes you.”

“Johnson? Nah, she’s friendly with everyone.”

But then I started thinking about it—the time she stared at me, the way she’d sometimes smile out of context, our talks, and the laughs we shared.

Then, the key turned in the lock and the door opened. It was Teddy Bear again. This time she was telling me about a giant rat she’d seen on the news. After answering some questions for Teresa, she turned to me as she was about to back out of the room and said, “Okay, babe.” Then, quickly correcting herself, she added, “Ladies,” with a nod as if to cover the slip-up.

The door closed, and I glanced at Teresa.

The expression on her face clearly said, “Told you so.”

The thought of Teddy Bear possibly liking me wasn’t just surprising—it was incredibly flattering.

Officer Johnson, you can call me “babe” anytime. Anytime!

The next time Teddy Bear worked, I was alone. I was determined to find out if she really did like me or not. I was genuinely curious.

“Get flirting, girl!” I told myself.

First, I told her a gay joke, making sure to let her know I had nothing against gays since I liked women myself.

Later, I took my shirt off, clipped my little radio to my sports bra, and started jogging. Inmates often hung out in their cells without their shirts, but I wanted to see if Teddy Bear would react.

She did—but it wasn’t what I expected. When she saw me, she blushed and looked away. I figured she was uncomfortable, so I told myself to back off. I didn’t want to chase someone who might not actually be interested. I respected her too much, and making her uncomfortable was the last thing I wanted.

“Sorry about that,” I told her, teasing her a bit for blushing as red as her hair. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” she said. “I’ve seen people in their underwear before.”

That same night, she moved me to my favorite cell. It would be my last move.

The next day, I realized she had kicked someone out of M Dorm just so I could stay alone. A smelly new arrival needed a lower bunk on the lower tier due to a bad leg, so Teddy Bear threw me up in the cell Silvia had been in and sent the new girl to A Tower.

From then on, Teddy Bear worked M Dorm more frequently. Since I was alone and she didn’t have to work with another officer in the small dorm, it gave us more time to talk.

I started writing little “kites” to Teddy Bear. In jailhouse lingo, kites are notes you fold up and slip under doors. I left mine in the trap for her. By this point, we both knew we liked each other—there were no more doubts.

One time, I told her how Ida and I would try to guess the officers’ names based on their initials. I shared that our guesses for her were Rebecca, Ronda, Renee, and Rachel. She seemed impressed, suggesting we might have guessed correctly with one of those names. I cracked up when I told her that Ida thought she might be a Rhoda, but I disagreed, saying Rhodas are usually super ugly, so Ida suggested Ronda instead. Teddy Bear laughed and said, “Hey, there you go. She’s only a little ugly. Call her Ronda.”

She asked me what names we came up with for the other officers, and I shared them with her. I mentioned that we thought Officer Smith might be an Amanda. Using a low, sarcastic voice I’d never heard her use before—a voice that was surprisingly sexy—she said, “Some people say she’s Barbie.”

“I like ‘Pancake Face Smith’ better,” I whispered. “But that’s our secret.”

“Okay,” she said playfully. “Just between you and me.”

“This other girl and I were talking about how you remind us of a big, warm teddy bear,” I told her.

“I’d rather be called Teddy Bear than some of those other names you’ve been coming up with for me.”

I couldn’t resist pulling my “I’m Linda Ronstadt’s daughter” routine on her, and she totally fell for it. Usually, I’d let someone believe it indefinitely, but I couldn’t lie to her.

I asked if she noticed the resemblance before I spilled the beans, and she said, “There’s a big resemblance. You’ve got her hair.”

After I admitted I was kidding, I mentioned that people have said we look alike, even in the eyes, despite hers being brown and mine being green.

“You do have her eyes,” she said. “That’s what was always so pretty about her.”

When someone tells you that you look like someone they think is pretty, they’re telling you that you’re pretty too. I took it as a huge compliment, especially coming from Teddy Bear. If Pancake Face Smith had said it, I wouldn’t have cared. But from Teddy Bear? It meant everything.

When thoughts of the people who had wronged me consumed me, and I found myself seething with rage, I’d think of my Teddy Bear, as I started to call her, and remember that something good did come out of all the shit I went through. I also had a man waiting for me on the outside who loved me very much.

“I think I know your middle name,” I told her during one of our walks.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Diane.”

“Wrong.”

“Denise? Debbie? Daisy? Dawn?”

“Oh, thank you, thank you,” she said. “Dawn is a pretty one.”

When I asked her what she’d guess my name to be if she didn’t already know it, she said she’d have to think about it. A walk or two later, she told me she’d guess my name to be either Dawn or April. And that’s how I became “Dawn.”

One time she was telling me about her bird, and I jokingly asked if she was going to get any mice for it.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll get some from you,” she said.

I blinked in surprise. Was she hinting at us getting together?

The thought of us possibly getting together thrilled me, and at the time, I had no reason to think she was just talking. She seemed to genuinely like me and didn’t mind my flaws. I never got the impression she expected me to be some perfect, inhuman person without faults, nor did I think she was toying with me.

But we would have to wait, she told me. She said the officers had a policy about not getting involved with inmates for at least one year after their release, figuring that by then, both would have moved on. Though the rule sounded a bit odd to me, I figured it was just her being a dedicated professional. I couldn’t see why she’d want to wait if she really liked me as much as I liked her. After all, no one needed to know.

When I mentioned that I wouldn’t be around much longer since my release date was approaching, she briefly looked away with a slight sadness in her eyes before turning back to me and saying, “That’ll be boring.”

“If I didn’t know I was going to see you again, I’d be bawling my eyes out.”

“Aww,” she said.

Looking back, it’s probably a good thing I didn’t know the truth at that point. If I had, I’d have been bawling my eyes out a year sooner than I eventually did. In the meantime, I waited every day, fingers crossed with hope, for the change of shift. And each time I saw her on duty, I’d squeal with excitement.

I kept Tom updated on our chats and even had him send in pictures to give to her—some of the animals, some of me. One picture was of me floating in the pool with a superimposed rat on top of me that I’d created with Photoshop. We even talked about taking pictures of her and her bird and adding all kinds of funny effects.

One of my funniest memories of her was the “dead friends” misunderstanding. In one of my notes to her, I said she could meet my other friends besides my furry ones, though they weren’t alive.

On her next walk, she came into my cell looking confused and said, “Okay, so these dead friends of yours—?”

“No, no!” I cut her off, laughing. “Just because they’re not alive doesn’t mean they’re dead.” Then I pulled out a sheet of paper and showed it to her.

“Oh, you’re talking about dolls!” she exclaimed. Then we both laughed harder than ever for a good solid minute.

Another time, I mentioned in a note that Dan’s place, the lot diagonally across from ours, was for sale. A year after we moved in, it had been put on the market. When I told her about the single-wide trailer he had and the rentals in the back, she asked if there was space for horses.

“One per acre,” I replied.

“Can you see the mountains from there?”

“Big time,” I said, explaining more about the area before drawing her a map at her request. I was surprised she might be interested in moving, even though it would be a hell of a drive to and from the jail. I don’t know if she ever checked the place out, though. I had less than a week left in my sentence when I gave her the map, and I knew she was busy. As it turned out, Dan’s single-wide was moved to the other side of the property a few months after I got home, and a small double-wide took its place—but not by Teddy Bear. Instead, a couple moved in who sometimes blasted their music, though not loudly enough for us to hear inside our house.

Six months later, another rental was added out back, and it too, was rented by a couple. Both couples were white, which surprised me since the area was predominantly Mexican.

The second-to-last time Teddy Bear worked near where I was housed was a Sunday night, a week before my release. She said she’d be back on Monday or Thursday, but I didn’t see her on either of those days. I just knew she’d come back one last time before I left—and she did, on Friday. She told me she’d tried to get in the day before but couldn’t. A few other officers requested to be there during my final week, though certainly not for the same reasons as Teddy Bear.

That last time, I noticed the diamond ring she used to wear was gone.

Although I knew I’d fallen for Teddy Bear, it didn’t take away from my love for Tom. I’d have fallen for her with or without Tom in the picture, no matter how much I loved him. Though I had no desire to leave Tom, I realized I missed being with a woman at times. Not even the gentlest of men could replace the soft, warm touch of a woman.

Hours, Not Days

Most of the DOs were either cool or indifferent, but there were some who reveled in their power. Also, most of the DOs were women, but there was one male DO named Bergman whom I absolutely couldn’t stand. They introduced a new rule stating that inmates had to tuck their shirts in when in the hallways. One day I forgot to tuck mine in on my way to visit with Tom, and Bergman threatened to cancel my visit over it. The rage it sparked in me was intense, though I managed to control it. Just being told what to do at 35 was bad enough, but the threat of missing my visit with Tom over a stupid shirt infuriated me. It wouldn’t have just been cruel to me—it would’ve been cruel to Tom, too, after he took the time to come see me. Fortunately, Bergman didn’t cancel the visit, but if he had, I really believe I would have lost it.

Christoffers creeped me out from the start, though I rarely saw her. For reasons I couldn’t understand, she looked at me with such intense hatred. Maybe she’d heard about me in the news and believed the media’s lies, or maybe I reminded her of someone she hated. Who knows?

Woodruff was a DO high on power. She left me sitting forever after a visit in the cramped, stuffy booth while she goofed off with other DOs. When I tried to get her to do her job and escort me back to my dorm, she told me to sit there longer. Yet, less than a minute later, she came to get me. If she had waited a moment longer, I might have told her off, not caring if she wrote me up. She made me feel like a child all over again, ordered to sit in the corner.

I don’t remember the real name of “The Donut Man,” but he was one of the male DOs who not only liked me but could have been a romantic interest if guys were my thing. He let me sneak in extra snacks after a visit one day. I returned just as dinner was being served, and the trays were still on the cart in the hallway. Palma was working that night as The Donut Man escorted me back.

“Oh, cool! Donuts for dessert tonight,” I said. “I love donuts. Especially since dinner’s usually less than edible.”

“Yeah, I hear you on that one,” The Donut Man replied. He checked to see where Palma was and then said, “Grab a few extras if you want.”

“I’d love to, but how would I get them past Palma?” I asked.

“Just tuck them under your shirt,” he suggested.

I smiled a “thanks” as Palma unlocked the pod door. If she noticed how “pregnant” I suddenly looked, she didn’t say a word.

Mena wasn’t the worst, but she really overreacted when she went off on me for coming out of my cell after she accidentally popped the door lock. Couldn’t she have just admitted her mistake and let it go?

Smith, a.k.a. Barbie, was a whiny, moody bitch. She earned the nickname Barbie for the way she plastered her face with makeup. To a lot of people, she was beautiful, but to me, she looked as fake as one of my ten-dollar musical dolls. My nickname for her was Pancake Face Smith.

Kahn started off nice but turned into one of the rudest DOs there. She even made some moves to keep me from having to go into a big cell, but after a few months away, she came back completely changed. I wondered if something had happened to her while she was gone.

One day I waited and waited for an escort to bring me to visitation. When I went to the tower where Kahn was reading the paper, she told me to go back and wait, which I did—for what felt like an eternity. When I returned to the tower to check again, she screamed at me to wait, and I wished I could slap the bitch! Why did the rudest people always have some kind of power over me?

Chaikowski, nicknamed “Misery,” was everyone's least favorite of all. She was strict, but I personally preferred her over Pancake Face Smith. At least Misery smiled occasionally and took time to chat with people. I was even shocked one day when she smiled at me, something I never thought she could do after I had flipped her off a month earlier for waking me up to make me take down pictures of Tom I had glued to the wall with toothpaste.

Then there were the special task force people, often called “The Men in Black” or “The Shadow Men.” There was also Jackson, queen of the Gang & Jail Intelligence Unit, though, in my opinion, it should have been called the Jail Stupidity Unit.

Teresa had only been in jail for two days when we were both rudely jarred out of a dead sleep at 9:30 one morning. Vasquez was on duty that day. She was a really nice lady and one of the more popular DOs. She’d give me extra lunches and often chat with me, and on the day the Shadow Men arrived, she saved me from getting written up and losing my visitation.

One of my funniest memories with Vasquez (before I get into the Shadow Men story) involved the ever-crazy Melinda. Melinda would go back and forth between being sweet and friendly and a raving lunatic. One night I decided to stir things up and yelled through the vents that connected our cells, “Hey, everyone, guess what?”

“What?” came a chorus of voices.

“I can make psycho Melinda go off on me. Just watch this. Hey, schizo, can you hear me?”

Sure enough, Melinda started cussing me out, causing the entire pod to erupt in laughter.

The next day, during my hour out, I flipped Melinda off behind Vasquez’s back, knowing she’d lose it.

“Fuck you!” Melinda shouted.

“See?” I said to Vasquez. “She’s so mean!”

“Yeah, it doesn’t sound like there’s a lot of love in the house today,” Vasquez replied with a smile.

Oh, how Melinda and I used to get under each other’s skin—childish as it was, I admit!

Anyway, the Shadow Men came to “toss” M Dorm, which meant they were doing a search. I had never seen people more high on power trips! After they handcuffed us and made us sit out in the dayroom, they tore through the cells like hurricanes. Even if you didn’t have contraband, they would take random stuff, just because they could, it seemed. They swiped some of my pencils, my little toothbrushes, and even a few paragraphs I had written in my journal. Luckily, I had just sent several pages of journaling home. What also struck me as suspicious was that they took letters I had begun writing that mentioned the corrupt cop in my case. It made me wonder if they knew something or had something to hide. Why else would they take those?

When one of the Shadow Men led Teresa and me—still cuffed together—back to the cell to be uncuffed, I noticed the mess they left behind.

“Fucking assholes trashed the cell,” I muttered.

As one of them unlocked our cuffs, he threatened to write me up and take away my visitation rights. Then, he went on to brag about what a hotshot he was, telling me to watch who I was talking to.

Wouldn’t it burst his bubble to know I thought he was no more important or impressive than a cockroach? I pretty much told him this, saying I didn’t care who he was. I asked him how he’d feel if he got woken up out of a sound sleep, only to have some of his stuff taken and the rest thrown around.

He never did write me up. Vasquez later told me that as they were leaving, after writing up a few others, one of them asked, “Are we forgetting anyone?” That’s when she stepped in and insisted she had a lot of work to do, and they left.

Shortly after the Shadow Men stormed through M Dorm, Jackson called me into the computer room the juvies used. She was questioning everyone, though I wasn’t sure why. She had a few questions specifically for me. She wanted to know why her name was mentioned in the paragraphs that had been taken from me. I had written about being pissed at her and Jill, the classification lady, for shuffling us around like we were nothing but game pieces.

After I explained that to her, she asked me a few trivial questions, and I never heard from her or the Shadow Men again.

Bangert was probably the oldest one working there. She was somewhere in her fifties, I think. She was really nice, too. I’d often be her sounding board when the “fucking bitches” in the Alpha program left the place looking like a pigsty. The Alpha program was for alcoholics.

Means was a funny one. Her nametag read “B. E. Means,” and she’d joke that she was going to drop the “s” and just “be mean.” She made a game out of cell searches, coming in saying she was looking for a million dollars or something equally silly.

She noticed the wads of dried toilet paper I used to block most of the vent and said, “You’re not really supposed to do that.”

“Yeah, I know, but you didn’t see it,” I said.

“Nope, I didn’t see it,” she agreed, leaving the cell with a metallic clang as the door closed behind her.

I had mixed feelings about Chambers, but for the most part, the 18-year-old was cool. We often swapped jokes.

Barajas, another younger one, loved to tease me. During my hour out, I’d hide the TV remote or make sure she’d catch me doing something I shouldn’t, like passing items between cells. She’d scold me, enjoying every minute of it, while I’d laugh and play Miss Innocent.

She was shocked on the days when I wasn’t mad at anyone. “You mean you don’t want to kill anyone today?” she once asked. “No bullying your bunkie either?”

Mossman was the wimpy type that I couldn’t resist teasing. During my first few weeks there, she escorted me to Medical when I needed new inhalers. That night, I was dealing with three different kinds of attacks—asthma, allergies, and panic. I was so high-strung that they cuffed me with my hands in front, and as we walked, I kept sneezing all over her handcuffs.

About a month later, I saw her in the hallway. “Hey, Mossman!” I called out.

She turned to look at me, and I mimicked being cuffed, raising my hands to my nose and faking a sneeze.

Shaking her head, she continued on her way, while I laughed to myself.

Officers Tate and Temple, both third-shift DOs, reminded me that not all Black officers were bad.

Tate and I had a little game we’d play. Toward the end of my sentence, whenever I saw her, I’d tell her how many days I had left. She started asking for the number of hours instead and promised to ask every time she saw me. So, whenever I knew she was on duty, I’d quickly calculate the hours and give her the numbers during headcount. She loved it.

Temple was supposed to be the one to walk me out of M Dorm on the night of my release (they usually pull you from your cell in the early morning hours, then release you at sunrise), but for some reason, she didn’t make it. I’m sure she tried. Beaudoin ended up getting the honors instead.

Espi was my favorite first-shift DO, and probably the most attractive 50-year-old I’d ever seen—not that I was attracted to her beyond her friendly personality.

She loved hearing my jokes and cracked me up one day when she said she wished she could hit Baldilocks over the head with her own cane for bugging her so much.

With the exception of Teddy Bear, no DOs stand out in my mind quite like officers Pérez and Palma. I’ll admit the only reason Palma stood out at first was that I was attracted to her—at least to her appearance. The second shift DO, around 30, was very by-the-book. She was half Hispanic, half Black, about five-foot-four, and around 140 pounds, with jet-black hair and very dark eyes. She had a mean-looking expression and a serious demeanor, but she made for good eye candy for a while.

Palma was notorious for being a strict, cell-bouncing, cell-tossing tyrant. But Palma had a soft spot, and I seemed to be it. I can’t say for sure that she liked me, but each time I saw her, it felt more likely. Other inmates thought so too. There were so many times I was shocked she didn’t yell at me or write me up, especially when I cussed her out. It seemed like I could get away with a lot more with her than others could. Once, after I apologized for swearing at her for moving me around so much, she said, “You’re okay, babe,” surprising me with the use of the word “babe.”

During my first two months in A Tower, Palma was always there. About 80% of my interactions with DOs were with her. She was the only one who actually spoke to me beyond the usual "hello" or “how are you?”

Good Girl Gone Bad

Ida, a 60-year-old from Germany, was my longest cellmate. We shared a cell for a month. I didn’t know it at the time because she wouldn’t tell me, but she was in for burglary and theft. I found this out after I got home and did some online investigating out of curiosity.

Other than some interesting conversations, Ida and I weren’t very compatible. She was up at 7:00 every single morning, which felt like the middle of the night for me. At least she tried to be quiet while I was sleeping, though she couldn’t always help it. Sometimes, you just have to cough, sneeze, or flush the toilet, which was louder than Niagara Falls.

One thing that drove me as crazy as her constant chatter (I’m the type that only likes listening to people I really care about) was her endless pacing back and forth. Sometimes I didn’t mind, but other times it made me feel smothered, even though I’d rather see a cellmate than hear them. When both people are on their bunks, you can’t see each other. But with her pacing for hours at a time, it felt like I had even less space and privacy. The only time she was on her bunk was when she was asleep or when I was on the toilet, but I wasn’t about to sit on that cold metal can all day just to keep her still!

Ida really stressed me out a couple of times. If I didn’t block the air vent enough, cold air would blow onto my upper bunk. After fighting with her about this numerous times, I finally threatened to break her hand if she moved the cardboard I’d placed to block the vent. We agreed we didn’t have to like each other, but we did have to respect each other, especially when it came to sleep. So, we kept trying to be quiet when the other was asleep, though she wouldn’t talk to me for a few days. I understood she was upset, but holding a grudge seemed silly.

In the end, Ida came to realize I was serious, as she put it. Another older woman, Julia, was sharing a cell with a loud-mouthed girl named Maria, who was 30 and in for drugs. We agreed to switch, so Julia would go in with Ida, and I’d go in with Maria. But I quickly wondered if I’d made a mistake. As I lay there, wishing Maria’s non-stop talking would just shut up, I wondered how Ida was doing with Julia, who was in for writing phony prescriptions.

The next day, while Maria was in court, a DO asked if I’d go in with Julia because she and Ida weren’t getting along. Instead, I suggested we just switch back, and we did.

When I returned to the cell with Ida, she told me that Julia snored like crazy, which drove her nuts even when she was awake—much like barking drives me crazy. After giving Julia her bunk and moving to the top, Ida realized I wasn’t kidding about the cold draft up there.

Ida and I stayed together until a few people rearranged the whole pod for reasons I can’t begin to fathom, and I ended up with 44-year-old Marilyn, who was in on drug and prostitution charges.

Marilyn was one of those good girls gone bad but was very nice and easy to get along with. Unlike most inmates, she had loving, caring parents. She’d just hooked up with the wrong guy one day, and he led her down a bad path. He got her into drugs, and she eventually started hooking to support her habit.

She was a great cellmate—polite and considerate. We laughed at each other’s jokes, and she slept a lot, so I often felt like I was alone. Unfortunately, Marilyn and I were only together for ten days before she was released.

Then came 29-year-old Nancy, who was almost as crazy as Melinda, though smarter. She wasn’t a bad singer, and she had a great body—nothing but skin, bone, and muscle—but her face looked mean. She was in for drugs and assaulting a cop, which she loved to brag about, as much as she loved playing with herself while I was on my bunk. She wanted to play with me too, but I declined. I just wasn’t attracted to her. Nancy was so moody she made even my sister, one of the moodiest people I knew, seem calm. Her moods would swing rapidly—one minute we’d be having an intelligent conversation, the next she’d be crying, then laughing, then furious. Eventually, it all came to a head.

It started with her bleeding at the wrong time of the month. She was convinced she was having a miscarriage, even though her pregnancy test had been negative. I tried to comfort her, reminding her that stress could make women irregular. But she snapped at me over and over, until I’d had enough.

“Don’t take your frustrations out on me!” I yelled.

Then she started bashing me, calling me lazy for being a homemaker and accusing me of using Tom, who worked hard. She even claimed she recognized him from a time he supposedly picked her up in Mesa, thinking she was a hooker, when all she wanted was a ride (Tom and I laughed about this during our next visit) because we both knew it was bullshit.

“Tom has the lowest appetite of any man I’ve ever known,” I told her. “And even if he didn’t, why would he go all the way to Mesa for a piece of ass? And isn’t it nice how Tom gets to relax on his days off without having to do cleaning or laundry? That’s because Miss Lazy here does it for him. So don’t be telling me stuff you know nothing about!”

That’s when she threatened to yank me off my bunk and “show me the true meaning of the words shut up.” My first instinct was to fight, but I knew she wasn’t worth getting in trouble for and losing my visitation and commissary rights. So I kept my temper in check, knowing I’d probably lose the fight anyway.

Next, she demanded I give her everything from my journal that mentioned her name, but I refused. I also learned never to tell anyone in jail I was keeping a journal. People guilty of certain crimes, or those who had something to hide, could get pretty paranoid.

I asked Chavez, the DO on duty that evening, to pull me from the cell, and she did. I traded Nancy’s erratic moods for taunts through the vent, but it was the lesser of two evils. I had to deal with Myra, Mindy, and Peaches shouting at me through the vents unless I had my radio on. Peaches was just a follower, going along with Myra and Mindy, both child molesters. Those two were particularly paranoid about being written about, for obvious reasons—they were the scum of the earth and knew it. Nancy had yelled out their dirty deeds while we were cellmates, and because I was with her, they thought I was involved. Personally, I didn’t care what anyone was in for, as long as they respected me. But these were the kinds of people you just wanted to strangle. I’d rather have been in a cell with a mass murderer than with child molesters!

After about a week of screaming at me, and realizing ignoring them wasn’t going to work, I started airing out Myra and Mindy’s dirty laundry, telling the whole pod what they were in for and then some. Sure enough, Myra broke down and begged me to stop, promising to stop screaming at me in return. I decided that if she kept her mouth shut, so would I.

By early March, I had been alone for almost two weeks when 46-year-old Teresa came to join me. Though chubby and shorter than me, the Hispanic woman had pretty eyes with thick, dark lashes that didn’t need mascara.

Teresa was there because her stepdaughter had accused her of molestation. We got along well, but after just a few days together, she moved to a larger cell, which she preferred. Some people felt claustrophobic in the smaller cells.

After Teresa left, Silvia, a 21-year-old in for theft, moved in with me. While she was sweet, she wouldn’t stop talking. It seemed most inmates were talkaholics, but at least she admitted it upfront. I guess some people felt like there was nothing else to do in jail but chat.

After a week and a half, Nancy left the dorm, much to everyone’s delight, and I asked to move into the cell she had left, which was my favorite in the pod. It was the smallest, darkest cell, more out of the way than the others, and it was also warmer in there.

Unfortunately, Silvia broke out in a rash and had to be put in a cell by herself in case it was contagious. She was also on restriction. At first, the DO wanted to move me next door, but I protested, letting her know how much I hated the bigger cells. So she moved me in with 39-year-old Charlotte instead.

The second the door closed behind me, I knew I’d made a mistake. Although Charlotte slept most of the four hours I was with her and didn’t say or do anything threatening, she grossed me out. When she did wake up, she coughed up spit all over the place. It was disgusting.

I told the DO I was so desperate to get out of that cell that I would take the bigger cell after all, with Teresa and Nancy. I knew I could move back out in a day or two, and I did. Charlotte left, and I moved back to my favorite cell, which would be my final move.

Only Teresa and a different Nancy were in the big cell during my brief stay, and I was shocked at how much Teresa had changed. She adapted to jail life remarkably fast. She had been tearful and quiet, but now she chatted happily. It turned out she was also an ungrateful, selfish user, despite everything I had given her and helping her adjust to life inside.

The other Nancy was one of the nicest, quietest cellmates I’d ever had. She was a good listener too. I don’t remember her exact age—maybe mid-thirties. She had been a security guard at the courthouse before her arrest. While she wouldn’t discuss her charges, I later learned they were child-related, just as I suspected. Most people in Ad-Seg were in for child-related charges, often with high-profile cases.

In my favorite cell, where I’d spend the rest of my time, 18-year-old Jamie, in for drug charges, arrived to spoil my peace after a few days. She was more Melinda-like than any other cellmate I’d had—she wouldn’t shut up, couldn’t sit still, and seemed delusional. Like Melinda, Jamie was convinced demons were pinning her down and telling her to do all kinds of evil things.

After I’d had enough of it, I decided it was my turn to bully someone out of a cell as I’d been bullied before. But before I had the chance, Jamie did me the favor of asking to move to a bigger cell. I took advantage of this and convinced a DO, who didn’t know her as well as they knew me, to move her. I told Jamie to sprinkle water on her eyes to make it look like she’d been crying over feeling claustrophobic.

My second-to-last cellmate was Tiffany, a 26-year-old in on drug charges. She and I were both night owls and compatible as cellmates, but she too wanted to move to a bigger cell, so she did.

My final cellmate was Misha. Misha was my age and in for manufacturing. She arrived in M Dorm with two others, and I lucked out by getting her. Misha was nice, quiet, and sane. One of the other women was a major beggar, and another, who limped around on a cane, was incredibly loud and bald. We called her Baldilocks.

Misha was the perfect cellmate because all she did was sleep. When she was awake, she was quiet and mostly kept to herself on her bunk. We were together until the day I left.