Klamath Falls

Note: This section was written in 2005 and edited in 2024 for sharing.

With tears streaming down my face, we left the mountain on September 7th. I felt beaten, helpless, and hopeless. It seemed like the more we wanted something, the more fate turned against us. I began to wonder if we would ever escape the past. We went to Oregon to save money, yet we ended up more broke than ever. We went to get away from people, but there we were, back in the city we had tried to escape, forced to face the chaos of civilization all over again. Though it was a small city, I was once again subjected to the blare of loud, obnoxious car stereos, barking dogs, and all the sounds that come with living close to others. I watched with anger, frustration, and sorrow as so many of the things we had run from began creeping back into our lives.

We started out at the Townhouse Motel, one of the noisiest places we stayed. It was owned by an older couple.

I sank into a deep depression and became incredibly emotional, feeling completely disconnected from reality. Crying spells came frequently, and I truly believed we would never live in a house again, much less own one. I hadn’t wanted to die as badly as I did that day since getting legally shit on. Though I knew this crisis wasn’t as severe as others I had survived, it’s always the one you’re going through that feels the worst at the time, and this one felt plenty bad enough.

To make matters worse, Tom and I were constantly worried about him being laid off. The small, family-owned company he worked for was struggling financially, and since he was new to the area, we knew he would be the first to go if they started cutting jobs.

I thought back to when Tom had asked me how it felt to be jobless and homeless on the first night of our journey to Oregon.

“It makes me nervous,” I had told him. “What about you? How do you feel?”

“Excited,” he had replied.

But that excitement had definitely worn off by now. We weren’t jobless anymore, but being homeless and living in motels was no fun at all.

After a week of enduring constant door-slamming at the Townhouse Motel, we moved to The Klamath Inn, owned by a Muslim family. The father wasn’t particularly friendly, but his son Shelvin was outgoing and said his father was like that with everyone.

By mid-September, the weather had started getting colder, making me regret our decision to come to Oregon. The chill reminded me too much of New England. Once the snow arrived in late October, I didn’t know which I hated more: Arizona or Oregon. I missed Arizona’s warmth, the monsoons, the palms, cacti, and roadrunners, but I didn’t miss the state itself or its crazy laws.

I longed for a place that didn’t get as blisteringly hot as Arizona but also didn’t turn cold and snowy. The area we were in wasn’t as snowy as New England, but it sure was colder. Tom, however, loved it. After growing up in the desert, it was a new and exciting experience for him. As much as I was coming to hate Oregon, it would ultimately become my ticket to my dream state—the one I had always thought I couldn’t live in for one reason or another. Part of me regretted not moving straight from Phoenix to Sacramento and skipping both Maricopa and Oregon. Sacramento seemed like it would offer a better climate, more job opportunities, and fairer insurance policies. Tom was paying $1 an hour of his pay for his insurance, and it would take $4 an hour to insure me, so we decided not to bother. Oregon’s lack of sales tax meant we would be hit hard at tax time.

Though it hurt to lose our land and the dream of building our own house, I realized I would have hated dealing with the brutal winters there—worse than where we were now, at 4,342 feet in elevation.

There were a few interesting things about life in Oregon, like Jane. Ah, Jane. She was a waitress at an awesome Chinese restaurant we couldn’t afford to visit often. From the moment we made eye contact, I knew she liked me. She was funny, and I enjoyed her service, but I doubted she would’ve made a good friend. No one is that hyper—not even me. Given how thin she was for her age, I suspected she was on drugs. Still, she was attractive, with long dark hair and dark eyes, and a bit tall. She eventually moved away, and I never saw her again.

Between early September and late October, we stayed in four different motels. The A1-Budget was the best. Raj and Tina, a friendly couple from India, owned it. Tina even bought a couple of dolls from me, which helped us out. She offered us a room with a kitchen for $650 a month, and while we briefly considered it, we decided we needed more space. Plus, I didn’t want them waking me up to clean the room when I was working nights.

We made one final trip up to the land to empty out the RV and dismantle the shed we had built.

“More money lost,” I thought bitterly as we took it apart.

Goodbye, Arizona

On Friday, June 11th, 2004, one day before our move-out date, I tearfully walked out of the house for the last time and into the RV. I had lived in Arizona for exactly twelve years and two days. Tom locked the doors behind us, placed the keys in the lockbox on the side of the house, and we left.

What should have been a ten-minute drive took nearly an hour as we slowly navigated Maricopa’s bumpy dirt roads. The last thing we needed was for our stuff to get jostled, though it was impossible to keep some things from falling. We constantly had to pick up fallen boxes and items. It’s a miracle most of our stuff wasn’t broken by the time we reached Oregon in what would turn out to be the most stressful trip of our lives. We were particularly worried about the box Tom built to hold things on top of the truck, which was covered with a tarp. I kept glancing back to check it, wondering if it had shifted or if it was just my paranoid imagination.

Our first scare happened when a reckless driver nearly ran us off the road, causing the RV and truck to wobble. Fortunately, Tom, being the skilled driver he is, managed to regain control.

The first day was miserably hot because the RV had heat but no AC. Not wanting to drive after dark, we spent the night at a rest stop somewhere between Buckeye and Quartzsite, Arizona. I couldn’t fall asleep until close to 5 a.m. due to the intense heat. It never cooled down that night—not even a faint breeze.

The air brakes of a truck parked nearby would hiss loudly every so often. I lay there, enviously eyeing the sleeping compartment of the truck, knowing it had air conditioning and imagining how cool and comfortable it must have been. I could see the flicker of a TV through the curtains. Meanwhile, I was sweating and wondering if things would really change for the better. Would we stop struggling? Would money finally cease to be an issue? Or would financial security remain forever elusive?

After barely an hour or two of sleep, Tom got up, we had breakfast, and then we headed for the California border.

California.

It’s a state that’s fascinated me for as long as I can remember. Many New Englanders dream of moving there, though some retire in Florida, and most never go anywhere. For reasons I could never explain, something about California called to me. I never thought I’d live there, especially after watching so many of my other dreams fail to come true. But I made it to Arizona—just one state away—and that had been good enough for a while.

On the second day, we reached Barstow, California, where we stayed in a motel to shower and rest. Unfortunately, it was incredibly noisy. At first, I thought the people above us were workers bringing in new furniture, as the motel was being remodeled. The racket went on for hours, disrupting my sleep.

Although we planned to arrive in Oregon on the 14th, I had a feeling it would be the 15th—our 10th anniversary.

As we continued our journey, we enjoyed the beautiful scenery as the desert gave way to greener landscapes with more trees and bodies of water.

Our second scare came in Merced, California, when we were suddenly overwhelmed by the smell of burning rubber. At first, we thought it was coming from another vehicle, but then a loud clunking sound soon followed. Tom quickly pulled off the road and into a small business parking lot. Of course, it was closed—because it was Sunday.

It turned out that the center bearing had broken. While Tom quickly figured out the problem, we were delayed by a day. Thankfully, his brother Steven, who lived in nearby Madera, came to our rescue, so we didn’t have to walk or spend money on cabs. He took us to a much quieter motel.

As bad as the situation was, it could have been worse. We didn’t need to be towed, and the part we needed was only $16.

“Maybe something’s testing us to see how badly we want to get to Oregon,” Tom mused.

“Or maybe something’s trying to tell us to stay out of Oregon,” I countered.

Lying in the motel bed that evening, I couldn’t help but laugh at the thought that, years ago, I’d have loved to be “stuck” in California.

The next afternoon, we reached Willows, where the weather was cooler and much more comfortable. We spent the night at a truck stop and set out early the next day—on our anniversary.

The most breathtaking sight of the trip was Mount Shasta. Unfortunately, our camera wouldn’t focus so I didn’t get any good shots! The mountain is so massive that it can be seen from parts of Klamath Falls and even from the street we would eventually live on for ten months.

We weren’t sure exactly when we entered Oregon because the signs weren’t very clear. But once we did, I was impressed with the sprawling farms and the mountains covered with ponderosa pines, aspens, evergreens, and junipers. I didn’t like them as much as I liked cacti and palms, but if they could shield us from noise and trash, they were good enough for me.

Our final scare came when we reached Bly Mountain, where our land was, at over 5,300 feet in elevation. We took a wrong turn down a gravel road surrounded by dense trees and underbrush and ended up facing a locked gate! It took a while, but Tom managed to get us turned around, even though we were nearly forty feet long with both the RV and truck.

Soon afterward, we arrived at what we believed was our lot since the numbers were confusing. The view was stunning—a drop-off to another mountain across a huge valley. The area was filled with butterflies and wildflowers.

The only downside to the natural beauty was the large brush piles scattered around to prevent forest fires. Chipmunks, rats, mice, and rabbits burrowed in them, though we didn’t see as many rabbits here as we had in Maricopa.

I was both amazed and delighted by how smart the chipmunks were. Over time, they grew bolder, often climbing the RV’s steps and even scaling the screen door, begging for treats.

On moonless nights, the stars were far more vivid than they had been in Arizona, thanks to the sparse population in the area. I saw many shooting stars during those nights.

We were a bit concerned about a trailer we could see through the woods on the neighboring lot. Had that parcel been sold? I wondered. But after checking, it turned out to be abandoned. We dubbed it the “packrat trailer” because it was clearly inhabited by rats, as evidenced by the droppings scattered around it.

What amazed me most about the land was how remote it was. Our nearest neighbor had to be at least a mile away. It was so peaceful and quiet. Occasionally, we’d hear gunshots or barking far in the distance, but it was nothing like Maricopa. There was no trash blowing around constantly, even though it didn’t get as windy as Maricopa did. Weeks would go by without anyone driving down our little dirt road.

We contacted a guy named Bob, who was an associate of Michael’s, to verify whether or not we were on the correct lot. Bob and his wife arrived the next day on ATVs. His wife seemed okay, but we weren’t impressed with Bob’s attitude. He bragged about complaining about people just for the sake of complaining, even if they weren’t actually in the wrong. He also made it clear that he kept himself well-armed after being attacked by someone he’d angered, and he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot anyone who crossed him.

A few months later, they returned one morning before I was up, informing Tom that “someone who complains about everyone” had reported us for using a gas-powered generator instead of a diesel one. We quickly realized they were just messing with us, probably because they had nothing better to do than ruffle other people’s feathers. We refused to let it scare us, even though the rising gas prices and mounting costs made life more difficult.

The RV was simple but much too small. We both found ourselves missing Dennis’ trailer, especially since we knew we’d be living in the RV for a while. The RV made the smallest places we’d ever lived seem huge in comparison.

My sleep, as always, was cursed. I couldn’t go more than a few nights without something waking me up—whether it was Tom’s movements, the cold nights, the airbed springing a leak, or the wildlife moving about.

Tom became increasingly overwhelmed by the cost and effort involved in living so far out. He constantly had to refill the water tank, propane tank, and an astronomical amount of gas for the generator, which we needed to charge the RV’s battery, our phones, and other devices. It was also the only way I could vacuum or go online.

The mountain was volcanic, making tasks like digging for a septic system nearly impossible.

As the expenses piled up, we followed Mary’s advice and asked his mother for help. Dave initially tried to ignore my email messages, but after I pointed out that I knew he was receiving them (thanks to the receipts I got confirming their delivery), he passed the message on to “the queen,” as I came to refer to his selfish mother.

She sent a few thousand dollars but then told us, “No more.” That was when I began to loathe her more than ever. A mother’s responsibility to her child and their family shouldn’t end just because they’re older or have needed help before. That was part of the reason for my anger. The other reason was that Tom had done so much for her over the years, at his expense. She would use him for projects that cost him hours of his time and tons of money—money we needed. She lived in the old shack she’d shared with his dad before he died, always promising to “pay him back later.” During those years, she was more like a dependent than a parent. Tom had always had a hard time saying “no,” and she took advantage of that until he finally stood his ground.

I also lost all respect for Miss Perfect, as I began calling Mary, due to her rudeness and superiority complex. Initially, she seemed to care about others and didn’t want to offend anyone with her words or actions. But eventually, she stopped caring. Then she actually went out of her way to be offensive.

I was surprised by how cold the nights were, even in the summer. We could open the windows during the day, but at night, we often had to run the heat. Only in August did it stay warm enough at night and the days started to feel a little too hot.

I usually slept from 2 a.m. to 10 a.m., waking when the sun and heat filtered through the window beside the bed. I spent most of my time reading, writing, and listening to music. There wasn’t much else to do, and I wasn’t about to roam too far, knowing how easily I could get lost in the woods. All the trees looked the same, and with miles of forest around us, there was always the possibility, however remote, of encountering a mountain lion or a bear.

Even though we put up a screen room and a shed for extra space, living on the mountain was becoming tougher by the minute. The long commutes were wearing down the truck, and repairs cost us money we didn’t have. Tom got a job making computer cables, but it only paid minimum wage.

By September, we knew we had to leave the land. I was devastated. Tom and I even discussed the possibility of committing suicide together, though he wanted to “wait and see” what would happen next. But I didn’t want to wait. I was tired of living in a constant state of crisis, of building ourselves up only to be torn down again. I was sick of losing everything and being forced to start over. We lost a lot of money and possessions during this time, pawning, selling, or giving up things just to survive—while his mother sat on her pampered, spoiled ass doing absolutely nothing to help despite the letters we’d send detailing our struggles.

I began to wonder if we were destined to struggle for the rest of our lives.

Free at Last

NOTE: This section was written in 2005 and edited in 2024.

The year 2005 has just begun, and I’ve been through some very drastic changes in the last few years. We lost our big, beautiful house (not for reasons I once feared), and we now live in Klamath Falls, Oregon.

Although I’m not sure this is the ideal place for us, and even though we haven’t been here long, I guess you could say I somewhat prefer Oregon over Arizona—at least, I think I do. I don’t like the cold and snow of Oregon, but it certainly has its pros over Arizona. Before I explain how and why we ended up here, I must first cover the events between March 2002 and June 2004.

Most of 2002 was uneventful, though it was still filled with the usual stresses and problems. Things kept breaking, money remained tight, and our old neighbors continued to rule our lives.

Scott surprised me in early April 2003 by telling me I could start reporting once a month instead of twice.

The biggest surprise came on the 30th of that month when the phone rang at 6:30 in the morning. As soon as I saw Scott’s name on the Caller ID, my heart pounded with anxiety. My first thought was that the freeloading assholes had done something else to me. After everything they’d already put me through, I was constantly fearful and paranoid, wondering what false accusations they might concoct to keep me trapped in their web of hatred. I feared they would try something just as my probation was due to end to keep it going—but that wasn’t for another six months.

Or so I thought.

“Hello?” I said, trying to keep my voice steady when I picked up the phone.

“Hey, it’s Scott. Did you hear the news?”

“No. What news? What’s wrong?”

That’s when he told me nothing was wrong, and that he was shocked to receive a fax that morning from the judge (a different one than the one who had screwed me), saying I was now off probation. The state had opposed it, of course, but that was it. I was free! Free!!!

I jumped for joy all day long, running up and down the house, laughing and grinning like a madwoman. It was so unexpected. I had no reason to believe this would happen. No one had given me any breaks before, so I’d long since given up hope. But sometimes life really is full of surprises.

Although I immensely enjoyed my newfound freedom—after seven long years of being chained to these sick people—I was also a bit apprehensive. I felt like a sitting duck. Would the news of my early release, something they would surely be furious about, provoke any vengeful behavior? Fortunately, nothing happened during the rest of our time in Arizona, which was a little over a year after Scott’s call. So, if they were simply biding their time to look less obvious, I was spared from whatever they might have done.

I vowed never to let this long, frustrating ordeal stop me from speaking my mind in the future, and I did—when the next person burned me.

That next person was Teddy Bear, though she didn’t hurt me nearly as much as the freeloaders had.

At the very end of 2001, Mary wrote to tell me that Teddy Bear had been transferred to Madison because of too many rumors about her flirting with inmates. Chavez was the one who told Mary, and that’s when I first started to doubt Teddy Bear’s promises of us getting together. First off, if you really liked and missed someone, wouldn’t you bend the rules a little, even if it meant not quite waiting a year? After all, it’s not like anyone would have seen us together way out in the boonies.

I also wondered what she thought when she saw my year-after-release letter sent to Estrella, assuming she didn’t know that I knew about the transfer. Did she figure it would be forwarded to her, or did she just not care? Sure enough, she never responded to my letter, even though I sent it directly to Madison in May 2002, letting her know Mary had told me about her transfer.

I was devastated when she blew me off without so much as a simple explanation. I cried for four months straight and was even tempted to run back to Helen, but I knew Helen couldn’t change anything, and eventually, I’d get over her—and I did. In the end, I was glad Teddy Bear ignored my letter, knowing her presence might have put Tom in an awkward position, even though we were evolving into just good friends like most long-term couples.

Still, I was determined to give her a piece of my mind without letting past experiences stop me. So, just a few months after getting off probation, I sent her a letter. I wasn’t trying to get her fired or seek revenge. I just wanted her to know she played with my emotions, and that I wasn’t some object without feelings.

For reasons unknown to me, my psychic abilities intensified during our time in Maricopa. I was able to “influence” more than half the scratch tickets we bought, though they usually only won a few bucks each.

Tom was searching for an old pickup truck to have a backup vehicle and something to haul large items. He was looking for one made in the 80s, but in my visions, I saw a 70s truck in either white or gold. Sure enough, for $500, he found two dumpy Datsuns. One was a green ‘77, the other a white ‘79. He stripped the green one and used its parts to get the white one running, which took several months.

The first time our well went out was in late 2001. I predicted it would happen again two years later, and unfortunately, it did—just two weeks shy of the date.

Now, here’s how we ended up here. For years, I said that once we freed ourselves from the welfare bum’s grip, we’d plunge into a whole new long-term crisis—and we did. One that would alter our lives in a very big way.

In June 2003, Bank of America fired Tom for speaking out against bringing religion into the workplace. We were both frustrated, and still are, with how so many people mix religion, along with beliefs we consider hogwash, into almost everything and try to force it on others. Hey, not everyone is religious, but some people just don’t seem to understand that. Arizona, being a predominantly non-white Christian state, didn’t support his refusal to conform, so he was let go.

I found it unnerving, even scary, to know that someone I’d never met could turn our lives upside down so easily, leaving us with no way to fight back. People often fail to realize the long-term effects of vengeful behavior on others. As I had asked myself many times when the sick assholes from Phoenix had control over our lives: How could someone have such power and leave us so helpless?

My faith in God was shattered. I felt like some force had it in for us, pitting one person after another against us—people we were powerless to fight.

Tom started collecting unemployment while searching for a job that could cover our expenses. After two months with no luck, he had to settle for a minimum-wage job at a Nissan proving grounds in August. The only benefit was that it was close to home. Although they kept promising him benefits and a raise, he was forced to quit by late November and return to unemployment. It seemed pointless to work for the same amount he could collect by not working, and besides, we needed time to prep the house for sale once it became clear we were going to lose it.

As sad as I was to leave our spacious home, beautifully furnished and decorated, I was also relieved. We both were. Tom never liked the house, calling it a waste of space and not cozy. Plus, we had gone through so much trouble with it—leaky pipes, a broken hot water tank, well issues, loose dogs, and trash blowing onto our land. People in the area didn’t secure their trash well, and without proper trash services, the high winds scattered debris everywhere. The neighborhood was also building up fast. Three new houses appeared in front of our neighbors during our final months, and there were now three rental properties behind us with two more on the way. It was getting noisier, too.

Sometimes I wondered if something evil inhabited the land, or maybe even the house itself. Foul odors would appear for hours without explanation. I also slept worse there than I did in our Phoenix home. Between sonic booms, loud engines, and random knocking from either people or woodpeckers, I was lucky to get more than a few nights a week of undisturbed sleep.

We wanted to find a more secluded place with greater privacy. We realized we had bitten off more than we could chew with the Maricopa property and thought it would be best not to go for something as extravagant next time. We figured a wooded area would provide the privacy we wanted, which wasn’t possible in the flat open desert without money to plant trees and hedges.

We decided Oregon would be our best option with its mountainous, forested terrain. We won a 2.3-acre parcel of land on eBay from a man named Michael in Portland. The land was located in the Klamath Falls Forest Estate near the California border. Neither of us had ever been to Oregon, though Tom thought he might have visited relatives there as a child. I wasn’t thrilled about returning to a place with a cold, snowy climate but figured it might be okay now that I didn’t have to walk or ride a bike to school like I did as a kid—or run errands like I had to as an adult in Springfield.

I wondered if there was something wrong with Oregon since the population was relatively low. I assumed it was just because the weather was so cold and snowy in most parts, though Portland didn’t get as cold as Klamath Falls. It rained more there instead.

After Tom left the proving grounds, we went on a selling spree, selling old items on eBay and at local swap meets. He sold old computer equipment, and I sold collectible dolls I no longer wanted. The first time we sold stuff at a swap meet, we did well. The second time, not as much, but by then, it was so hot no one wanted to stay outside for long.

On December 28, 2004, I grew so fed up with the congestion my inhalers were causing that I placed one of my spells on myself—something I’d somehow mastered—and quit them altogether. After moving to Oregon, I lost most of the lung tightness I had and found myself breathing better than ever.

In February 2004, we got Blondie, the rat we still have. I thought no rat could compare to Little Buddy, but Blondie surpassed him by far! He’s the most loving, smart, and dog-like rat we’ve ever had. Not many rats will climb up your leg to see you after exploring for a while. He even jumps up on the bed by climbing the comforter.

In late April, we contacted a realtor who found us an investor to buy our house. Since we didn’t have time to sell it properly, we were forced to settle for a measly five grand. Huey, the buyer, understood our frustrations with the bank and how they were jerking us around and withholding information. We knew we couldn’t trust anything the bank said anyway, given how they falsified documents—something Tom had witnessed several times while working there.

Huey wanted to divide the 10-acre parcel into five 2-acre lots. We sold the place to him on April 27 and were given until June 12 to leave, which happened to be Huey’s birthday. He said to contact him if we needed more time.

We also won a 20-foot 1975 Midas RV for $1,500 on eBay, which we called Gert because it was so old and ugly. The plan was to live in that, along with any tents or small sheds we might build, until we could construct a dome house—a project we estimated would take two to three years. We also planned to install solar panels since our land was 1,500 feet from the nearest power lines. But as I learned over and over, life rarely goes according to plan. It seemed like every time we made a plan, we ended up doing something entirely different. More and more, I felt like we were just leaves blowing in the wind, destined to end up wherever fate took us.

During the next month and a half, we sold off most of our furniture. Unfortunately, we couldn’t get nearly what it was worth, but it was better than nothing. A Mexican family that owned a furniture store bought most of it, including our 1991 Ford Taurus.

The last few days in Arizona were hot, hectic, and filled with emotion. At one point, I stood in the middle of my empty office and cried, thinking of all the stories I’d written in that room, the journal entries, and the music I’d listened to. Then I remembered all the stress, the unhappy journal entries, and that made up for it—at least some of it anyway. Tom was excited to leave, and so was I, though I knew I would miss the house.

The move from Arizona to Oregon turned out to be harder than the move from Phoenix, even though we had far less stuff. This time, we had to cram everything into the RV, plus the truck towing it.

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.