Back in CB
How could I want to continue writing. The endorsements certainly did not come in, and the few people who read this page gave me mild criticsm or nothing at all. I need it, yet deny myself. I don't want to, but it's not the easiest thing in the world.
I've wanted to write about the day I went to church. The catholic mass where there was actually a priest. Their was only one of these. In three months. and believe me these were precious moments, there were only three services that I can recall being able to go to. Maybe four.
In any case, one was Baptist, maybe two, and two were Catholic. Now only one had a priest, and another a nun. Yeah, there were definitely only three services I could get to.
The priest spoke for a good while. Easter was approaching, and the service would include something, I'm sure of the Lenten season.
He had a table with candles, wine, and Eucharist. The service would be a mass, not a class and prayer session like the others. I was excited, and annoyed we were waiting so long for other inmates to arrive. I knew that the time here was limited, and that soon enough the sherriff to get us back to the CB unit would come for us. All in a row, exiting to the elevators, where I could see out the window into the city's skyline.
The intercom in the cab asks, "what floor" and to the second in those days I'd go, along with any other CB mates, and others going to other 2nd floor pods.
Well, the priest with a mild manner, and a soft lilting voice never did get too into the service when I was called to leave. "Ernest Garcia", he'd called my name, the sherriff who came with my orders to be released.
"Give me your card." The ID served as an everything pass. The pass was actually a 3x5 card with my SID numbers, address, and social security. There would have been also any of the relevant information to the guards, as in gang status and if I was classified Homosexual.
In any case, he wrote, my new code. Was it 82? I remember only vaguely, but I could gather my belongings for a short while in my unti and cell. The guys quickly wrote in my bible their addesses, and two or three of them still keep in touch. God bless them.
My mattress and blanket I tucked under my cellmates, so he could have them. He was much older and suffered horrible health. He had diabetes, high blood pressure, and hepatitus. The poor guy would have so much sugar trying to stave off his appetite that he would get glossy eyed, and begin to slur his words terribly. It was as if he were under some strange mental trip, very scary.
I gathered what I could. Much I passed out to friends I had made. The food, pencils, and paper were strongly sought out, and it made some derisive moments for me to split it all up. In any case, one of the remainder mattresses I had (I had gotten a doctors note to have an extra mattress so I could rool it up and elevate my leg) and the remainder blanket (she also added that for being nice) were tossed out into the hall. I cruthed myself to the first floor, stopping to get patted down at the station by the elevators and bagan an arduous time of being processed out. I was going home.
After many hours, I had only gotten little further than I was. I met a man from New Orleans, I think. And another couple of young guys. None were from a long stay, only days were most of the guys coming out. I felt strangely seasoned, as if they had a sparkle and a dour nature that I hadn't had anymore. In fact, strange, but I can't say what it is. In any case, my time came up to be called.
Someone made a mistake. The court orders never were faxed through. Could my atty had forgotten? The court clerk was blamed. In any case, we would try agin in the morning. No calls t ofind out if I needed to let anyone who may have been picking me up know I wasn't getting out. I hadn't seen anyone or heard from anyone. I saw my sister, mom and dad at the courtroom earlier in the week, but I could not look at them, much less communicate.
Funny guy I met in the courtroom. I want to visit him in Puerto Rico someday. Ponce, where my uncle and his family are from. If only we could have communicated more information.
In any case, I had to call, and the sherriff allowed me. I had a need to sleep on the mattress I had given up, but no replacvement came. Luckinly, the extra mattress I snuck to my cellmate, as well as the blanket paid off. He had some food I was able to eat as well, as I had not done so in since lunch (which was about 11 am. It was now near 11pm)
Back on the floor on my little three inch thick (if that) mattress. Once blanket, which I used, and my shirt to roll as a pillow.
Send it. Send it is what the guys would say on the laundry. Send it, to the request of the same clothes dirty returned. Send it for boxers 2, socks 2, shirts 2, and one shirt and one pants. ALso the towels 2, the sheets one day a week, and pillowcases 2.
I've wanted to write about the day I went to church. The catholic mass where there was actually a priest. Their was only one of these. In three months. and believe me these were precious moments, there were only three services that I can recall being able to go to. Maybe four.
In any case, one was Baptist, maybe two, and two were Catholic. Now only one had a priest, and another a nun. Yeah, there were definitely only three services I could get to.
The priest spoke for a good while. Easter was approaching, and the service would include something, I'm sure of the Lenten season.
He had a table with candles, wine, and Eucharist. The service would be a mass, not a class and prayer session like the others. I was excited, and annoyed we were waiting so long for other inmates to arrive. I knew that the time here was limited, and that soon enough the sherriff to get us back to the CB unit would come for us. All in a row, exiting to the elevators, where I could see out the window into the city's skyline.
The intercom in the cab asks, "what floor" and to the second in those days I'd go, along with any other CB mates, and others going to other 2nd floor pods.
Well, the priest with a mild manner, and a soft lilting voice never did get too into the service when I was called to leave. "Ernest Garcia", he'd called my name, the sherriff who came with my orders to be released.
"Give me your card." The ID served as an everything pass. The pass was actually a 3x5 card with my SID numbers, address, and social security. There would have been also any of the relevant information to the guards, as in gang status and if I was classified Homosexual.
In any case, he wrote, my new code. Was it 82? I remember only vaguely, but I could gather my belongings for a short while in my unti and cell. The guys quickly wrote in my bible their addesses, and two or three of them still keep in touch. God bless them.
My mattress and blanket I tucked under my cellmates, so he could have them. He was much older and suffered horrible health. He had diabetes, high blood pressure, and hepatitus. The poor guy would have so much sugar trying to stave off his appetite that he would get glossy eyed, and begin to slur his words terribly. It was as if he were under some strange mental trip, very scary.
I gathered what I could. Much I passed out to friends I had made. The food, pencils, and paper were strongly sought out, and it made some derisive moments for me to split it all up. In any case, one of the remainder mattresses I had (I had gotten a doctors note to have an extra mattress so I could rool it up and elevate my leg) and the remainder blanket (she also added that for being nice) were tossed out into the hall. I cruthed myself to the first floor, stopping to get patted down at the station by the elevators and bagan an arduous time of being processed out. I was going home.
After many hours, I had only gotten little further than I was. I met a man from New Orleans, I think. And another couple of young guys. None were from a long stay, only days were most of the guys coming out. I felt strangely seasoned, as if they had a sparkle and a dour nature that I hadn't had anymore. In fact, strange, but I can't say what it is. In any case, my time came up to be called.
Someone made a mistake. The court orders never were faxed through. Could my atty had forgotten? The court clerk was blamed. In any case, we would try agin in the morning. No calls t ofind out if I needed to let anyone who may have been picking me up know I wasn't getting out. I hadn't seen anyone or heard from anyone. I saw my sister, mom and dad at the courtroom earlier in the week, but I could not look at them, much less communicate.
Funny guy I met in the courtroom. I want to visit him in Puerto Rico someday. Ponce, where my uncle and his family are from. If only we could have communicated more information.
In any case, I had to call, and the sherriff allowed me. I had a need to sleep on the mattress I had given up, but no replacvement came. Luckinly, the extra mattress I snuck to my cellmate, as well as the blanket paid off. He had some food I was able to eat as well, as I had not done so in since lunch (which was about 11 am. It was now near 11pm)
Back on the floor on my little three inch thick (if that) mattress. Once blanket, which I used, and my shirt to roll as a pillow.
Send it. Send it is what the guys would say on the laundry. Send it, to the request of the same clothes dirty returned. Send it for boxers 2, socks 2, shirts 2, and one shirt and one pants. ALso the towels 2, the sheets one day a week, and pillowcases 2.
posted by author | 7:03 PM
|
0 Comments
