Free at Last!

My number was finally called again. My friend had come to see me and she explained to me what had happened. She wanted me to know that if I chose not to be bailed out, I will have a hearing on Monday morning. If I chose to be bailed out, I would have to wait several weeks for my hearing. That is when I would know if my case would be dismissed or if I would be charged. If I was charged I could ask for bail then and would not have to come back.

If I knew then what I know now; it would have been cheaper for me to stay there. I had no idea what I was being charged with. For all I knew my husband could have taken a knife to himself and blamed me for it. I was scared to death; not knowing what else he was capable of.  I looked at my friend. “Please just get me out of here.” I cried.

The bail bondsman came through. I met with him. He told me that it would be another 8-12 hours before I was out. Because I had gone through the process before, it was now a bit easier to tolerate. I finally walked out of the jail at 2:00 am Saturday morning. I had been in the jail since Thursday night but it had seemed like an eternity.

Upon my release I had to turn in my bedding and had to go through the identification process all over again. They walked me up to a particular point and told me to walk along this long hallway. When she opened the door, I saw a hallway that looked a block long and it was very dark. I began to walk but the further I went the slower became my gait became. It was getting darker and I could feel panic beginning to set in. I was so exhausted I had trouble walking. I finally got to a door but was afraid to go through it without permission because I had now been trained to not do anything without permission. I was afraid of getting into trouble again. Finally after a long wait, the door opened and a female officer started yelling at me.

“What the hell took you so long? Do you want to stay here?”

“I didn’t know if I was supposed to wait here or open the door.”

She looked at me with disgust. “You want to leave don’t ya? Geez! Go into the room and sit there until your name is called.”

I did as I was told, sat down and was told to go through some plastic bags that had my clothing and underwear in it and to sign off that everything was there.

“Go change back into your clothes, then go sit in that room and wait until your name is called!”

I waited for what seemed like another half hour. Finally my name was called and I was given one last bag to check which contained my cell phone, driver’s license and a credit card. I was finally escorted to another door down another hallway. I went through another door into a dark waiting area with all kinds of seats and a payphone I could use to call. I called my friends, Arlene and Stewart who said that they had been waiting for my call for the past 24 hours. They immediately rushed over and picked me up.

By the time I got to their house it was around 4:00 am. I didn’t have any clothes to change into.

“Do you have to be at work today?” My friend asked.

“Yes, I have two classes that I have to teach  today.”

“I think it would be best if you didn’t let anyone at work know what happened. Let’s go to a garage sale, and get you some clothes so you can go to work.”

Despite my exhaustion, we hit pay dirt and found clothes that I could wear to work. I finally got to take a shower and reported for work on time. I taught my classes having not slept since the Wednesday night before.

When I arrived at work, my friend and supervisor confronted me. Her face was stricken with worry. “Rhonda! Where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for three days!! I worry sick if I can’t get ahold of you!”

I hesitated. A year earlier she and the store manager had discovered copies of my husband's journals that I had been hiding in my teacher’s cabinet. Unsure of what they were, they had read a portion of them and grown very alarmed. They were so concerned that they had even sat me down and talked to me about it, urging me to leave my husband.

“Just as you feared, my husband did do something to me. He accused me of a crime, a felony and had me arrested. I’ve been in jail for the last two and a half days.”

Her face went pale. “Oh my god! I told you! We tried to warn you, Rhonda! We knew he was going to do something like this!”

“How did you know?”

They just stared at me. “Rhonda, I’m going to have to talk to management about this.”

Because I taught children sewing, I had to have a background check and be fingerprinted every two years. I was concerned that this incident was going to have a bad impact upon my work.

“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to corporate and HR on Monday,” she assured me. I went to my classroom and taught for the next 6 hours. I thought I was going to die of exhaustion. I was in a state of trauma. Throughout that day, my supervisors continually checked in on me to make sure I was okay. At the end of the day, using my friend's car, I drove to her home and collapsed. I wasn’t allowed to go back to my home because my husband had put a ten day temporary restraining order on me.

Jail Brawl

Another hour went by and then we were filed into several other concrete rooms one at a time. I was told by my friends that it would not be much longer and that soon we would be going upstairs. We were finally lined up and we were getting prepared to go upstairs. We would all be issued a bag. Do an inventory of that bag because when you are released, if anything is missing, you will not be released; you will have to stay upstairs until everything is found. I looked inside. I saw a blanket, a sheet, a towel, plastic miniature tooth brush (no tooth paste) and a black comb. We were told that we would be assigned a mattress. We filed upstairs; it was like we had to go through the same crap all over again. Picture taken; finger printed…after a few hours we were assigned a number (I was given 614). Six hundred of the 614 was the cage I was assigned to go into. #14 was the bunk I would put my mattress pad on. We were told that we will no longer be known by our name but by the number we had been assigned. I was no longer a person…I had been stripped of my humanity. I was a number; like I was in a concentration camp.

The inmates that had been there for several months and even years were very interested in the newbies and wanted to get to know who we were. I sat on my bunk and took out all the bags of food I had stuffed in my pants. I looked up. “Does anyone want any of this food?” I was tired of carrying it in my pants.

One inmate looked at me. “I will give you my hard-boiled egg for your cookies.”

“I don’t want to take your egg; if you want the cookies I’ll be glad to give it to you.”

She looked absolutely astonished. The next thing I knew, about 6-10 inmates came over to me and said. “Honey, don’t worry – we will take good care of you. What are you in for?”

“My husband put me in here.”

They all laughed. “Half the women in here are here because of a man!”

I gave them what food I was going to eat.

“Don’t worry, we’ll protect you honey. You just let us know what you need and we’ll take care of you.”

One woman said. “She’s not here right now but you need to meet Brandy Newman.  She’s on the phone right now with her attorney. You need to hear her story. Her husband did the same thing to her.”

“Okay,” I said wearily.

A woman came into the cage. “Brandy,” they called. “There’s someone here you have to meet!”

She sat down next to me. “Don’t make the same mistake I did. When you get out of here, don’t go back to your house. Move out immediately and get your kids out later. Because if you go back he’ll set you up again. When I moved back, my husband made sure he had something set up to get me arrested again and now I’ve been here for three months waiting for trial.”

Oh my god, I thought. How is this possible? I was in shock.

She looked at me. “I once lived in a million dollar home in Anaheim Hills. Now that I’m here, he has his girlfriend moved into my house and is raising my children.”

“How can he get away with this?”

“He has lots of money and lots of friends.”

At one point, I finally decided I had to use the bathroom. Upstairs the bathrooms were a little bit better. There was an open bathroom but it least it had a little short door which afforded a bit more privacy and they were clean. I was approached by someone who wanted to know who I was, what my name was; trying to befriend me.

An older woman with tattoos all over her body who had promised earlier to protect me, approached this woman as I was leaving the bathroom area and addressed her. “Stay away from her; leave her alone; she’s my friend.”

The other woman got mad and issued a string of curses at my protector. She left then got into an argument with another inmate. Then a fight started.

My friends came over to me. “Rhonda! Go back to your bunk right now! Go!”

The fight turned violent. The women I shared my food with, got up and circled around my bunk and made themselves into a human wall as the fight raged on. I looked out at the guards beyond the cell and motioned to them. What are you guys going to do? Are you just going to stand and watch? They motioned for me to turn around and mind my own business.

One woman grabbed the other by the hair and bashed her head against the metal bed bunk. She screamed in pain and outrage. They kicked, pushed and body slammed each other all over the cage. They were having a total, knock down drag out fight with their fists! Getting arrested was like nothing what I had seen in the movies!

The guards watched the fight until one of them was knocked unconscious. They finally came in, carried her out and handcuffed the inmate that beat her up and told us to clean up the mess. There was blood everywhere.

After that it was another long wait. Every couple of hours my number would be called. I would walk out, get finger printed again, asked questions then told to go back to my cell. When you’re number is called. You have to stand in the middle of the cell with your hands behind your back at attention. There is an electric buzzer that goes off. The guard inspects you outside the cell. The buzzer goes off, you walk out and you’re told where to go. I was so tired and had been trying to fall asleep but every time I began to doze off I would be summoned. I was so frustrated I voiced my complaint out loud. “What the heck is going on?”

One of the inmates came up to me. “Honey, it’s okay. You’re being processed; somebody posted your bail. You’re going to leave tonight. It takes 24 hours to be processed out once you make bail.” You’re finger printed, DNA-swabbed from the inside of your mouth several times then you’re examined by a nurse who draws blood. They check you for any injuries. What was so frustrating was that my friend had gotten a bail bondsmen but something with the transaction didn’t seem right to her and she had canceled it. Once that happened I had to go through processing all over again for the second time. I finally went to my bunk, broke down into tears and cried. To this day, I don’t know who it was that sat beside me, hugged me and asked “Do you know God? Do you know Jesus Christ?”

“Yes,”

“Let me pray for you.”

She prayed for me. That’s when I realized that God had been with me the entire time. I had felt so alone and abandoned for the past few days. She prayed for God’s protection and the Comforter and I felt the Holy Spirit comfort me.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Living a Nightmare and The Guard with the Pink Handcuffs

I could tell that my blood sugar levels were bad. I have Type II Diabetes and was not allowed to bring any medication with me. I found myself falling asleep standing in line only to be screamed at and threatened by the guards to within an inch of my life.     “ARE YOU STUPID?! STAND UP STRAIGHT! STOP BEHIND THE LINE!” At one point my foot was touching the line and I was screamed and threatened that if it happened again there would be dire consequences.

At one point, after I don’t know how many hours had gone by, I began to wonder why I had not yet been bailed out. The door opened and the guards came in to do an “inventory”, confirming where everyone was against the list that was posted on the outside of the door. I looked up and addressed the guard. “My friend is getting a bails bond, when will I know that I have been bailed out?”

The guard got into my face. “DID I GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO SPEAK? DID I??!”

“No.”

“I DON’T WANT YOU LOOKING AT ME EITHER.” She pointed her finger at me. “Now you’re on my list.”

I watched her leave. She turned around and scowled at me in a menacing way. “Why are you looking at me? DON’T LOOK AT ME.”

I glanced at Lindsey. She had a panicked look on her face. “Look down; put your head down. Look down at the floor.”

Clarissa elbowed me. “Look at the floor,” she hissed. We all waited until the guards left.

Lindsey glared at me. “I told you! Don’t speak to the guard with the pink handcuffs!”

“I didn’t notice she had pink handcuffs.”

“DON’T LOOK AT HER! The last time I was here she put me in the hole (isolation room). You.do.not.want.to.go.there.”

I suddenly realized that I hadn’t completed the booking process; my hell was just beginning. “How long does this take?”

“Oh it can take days,” they replied. “Just close your eyes, keep your head down when the guards come by. Just pretend you’re asleep; that’s the best way to handle it when they’re around.”

Another hour went by. One of the young girls in the cell was really struggling. I thought she was having a panic attack. She was shaking, she was on the floor, curled up against the wall. I looked at Lindsey. “Is she having a panic attack?

“No, it’s the drugs. She’s coming off of drugs. She’s having withdrawals.”

“Is she going to be okay?”

“We can’t worry about it; we can’t get involved; you’ll just get into trouble.”

After a while the girl was shaking so bad, it looked like she was having convulsions. She began to scream for help. The guards ignored her. She began banging on the door. Two guards came in (the one with the pink handcuffs). Lindsey motioned to me to put my head down and avoid eye contact with them.

The guard with the pink handcuffs screamed at the girl. “SHUT UP OR THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES TO PAY!

“But I’m sick; I need to go to medical.”

“You look fine to me. If you leave here you’ll go into the hole.”

“I need to go to medical,” she insisted. She began to settle down a little bit but then 30 minutes later she couldn’t take anymore. She began banging on the door again. The guards returned and they were really angry. They threw the door open, grabbed her, pushed her against the wall, handcuffed her and pulled her out like she was garbage.

It was a nightmare. I couldn’t believe that this was happening. The guards behaved like animals. I had no idea that the law enforcement officers in our jails treated people with such cruelty. She was only asking to see a doctor.

Clarissa encouraged me to put my head down to try and get some sleep. “It’s going to be a long while before we are processed and get upstairs. We’ll get a bed upstairs.”

I did manage to dose off, sitting against the concrete in a corner. When I began to dose off, I began having flashbacks to the beginning of my courtship with my husband. I had no idea how much had passed when suddenly the door opened, the guards reappeared and yelled at us to line up.

I stood up, hoping that the nightmare was finally over. I looked at Lindsey and Clarissa. “Do you think the bail bondsmen have come?”

“No, it’s going to be a long time for that. They’ll come after we go upstairs.”

I wondered what’s upstairs. We lined up. “So what are we doing now?”

“SSSH! DON’T SPEAK! SHE’S HERE!”

The guard with the pink handcuffs was there.

We were ordered to put our hands behind our backs and to follow the line out the door. When they say stop, we are to turn and face the wall and not look at anything except the wall. We stood there for what seemed an eternity as they took away one person at a time. I had no idea what they were doing. I turned to Lindsey. “What are they doing?”

“Sssh! We’re getting x-rayed.”

Why were we being x-rayed? I turned my head to look and I got caught by the guard with the pink handcuffs.

She got close to me. She spoke in a menacing voice.“What is your problem? Can’t you follow directions? Did I tell you to turn your head? Did I tell you to speak?”

I didn’t know what to do. If I answered her I would get in trouble so I just stared at the wall.

“This is your last warning. If you do it again; that’s it!”

I faced the wall and could hear her walking back and forth behind me. Finally she moved on to yell at someone else. Every so often we would get orders to turn right, walk a few steps and face the wall again. It took hours. I had no idea I was dozing off.

A guard startled me by shouting. “Your head is not supposed to touch to the wall. Get it off the wall!”

All of a sudden there was a horrible, almost haunting scream in our room. Male and female guards came running down the hall with Billy clubs and chains. I could only see peripherally. I wondered what was going on; the scream was so terrifying. The screaming got louder. I looked slightly to the side. I saw the guards carrying a woman over their heads who was completely bound in a straight-jacket type of clothing. She was struggling fiercely to get away.

I whispered. “Oh, Lord, what’s happening?”

Clarissa whispered back. “Don’t worry about it Rhonda, she just had ‘shit up her ass’.”

I was so tired it was hard for me to think straight. I had no idea how many hours had gone by and I had yet to use the stainless steel toilet in the middle of the floor. I whispered to Lindsey, still clueless. “Were we supposed to have a bowel movement before we get x-rayed? Doesn’t everybody have ‘shit up their ass’?”

“Sssh!” Clarissa hissed. “You’re going to get us in trouble!”

Lindsey waited until the guard were further away. “No, some people put their dope in a baggie and shove it up their ass.”

We were finally x-rayed and processed. Then we had to line up in another area where we were interviewed and asked questions. I had to confirm my personal identity and verify or mug shots that were taken earlier.

“When am I going to get bailed out?”

The person behind the desk was very kind. “Word of advice…this is just the beginning of a very long haul. Just don’t worry about it; don’t talk and you’ll get through this.”

I finally resigned myself to the fact that I was going to be there for a long time and that I would have to listen to the advice of my new found friends. I was put in another room and finally given a meal. They were cold in individual brown bags in a larger plastic bag that people had to grab and dig for like rabid dogs. Most of the food I couldn’t eat because of my diabetes. Since I didn’t have my medication, I decided to just eat what little protein there was and save the rest. Many of the other women were very, very hungry. They came up to me. “Are you going to eat that? If not, can I have it?”

Clarissa looked at me. “Word of advice…if you’re not going to eat your food, start hiding it inside your pants.”

“Why would I do that?”

“You can sell it upstairs for your protection. It may come in handy.” 

It sounded ominous.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Treated like a Criminal

After a few more hours of waiting, the door opened up to our room where we were now all crammed in like sardines. An officer shouted out instructions:

“LINE UP! Always when you leave the room, keep your head down and your hands behind your back! Follow the line on the floor and keep against the wall.”

When we are all out, more instructions were shouted. “Turn around!  Face the wall and don’t look at anyone!” If anyone dared to look to either side they were screamed at by the guards. And we stood there…and we stood there…and we stood there for about half an hour for no apparent reason other than their sadistic pleasure.

We were split into smaller groups and transferred into another concrete bunker and the concrete felt like ice. By this time it was 3:00 am. There was no place to lay down. Each room had a stainless steel toilet in the middle of the room; open for everyone to see you doing your business with a roll of toilet paper on the floor. I thought to myself there is no way I’m going to use that toilet! I’ll just hold it until I get out of here! It seemed like we were there for another couple of hours. At this point, I started asking the other inmates questions.

This is when my education began. Clarissa was a middle-aged, white woman with blond hair. She looked tough and haggard at the same time. She told me, “It will probably take at least a couple of days to get out of here. It depends upon how long the booking takes. The bail bonds process has to wait for the booking process which can take 24-48 hours.” My heart plummeted at this news.

“I will I know when the booking process is over?”

“When you’re sent upstairs,” she told me.

A police officer came into the room and lined us up again and we had our mug shots taken which took a good hour while answering personal questions. I found myself again standing on the line, facing the wall, waiting for my name to be called. Then I had to walk into yet another concrete room. It was like ships passing from one levee to another in the Panama Canal!  We waited there for several hours. At this point, I was starting to doze off from exhaustion. Finally a guard came in and explained that we would be processed into the shower area and would be given bags that we would put our clothes into and issued prison clothing. I was in shock. I could not believe it. I was going to be put into a navy blue prison outfit! I went into the shower area. There was a glass door. My name was called. I stripped and put my clothes in the bag and stood there naked in front of everyone. Even though the guards were all female, some of them looked like men.

I was given soap. I was told how to wash when the water comes down from the ceiling. It was ice cold. Then the female guards put on latex gloves.

“Bend over.”

I felt fingers probing inside my inner thighs to drugs. I was given a tiny towel to dry off and was issued my prison underwear, clothing and socks. Paper thin like hospital clothing. The top had to be tucked in straight, not baggy. I was lined up again and told to walk along the line and screamed at if I strayed an inch to either side. I was taken into another concrete room.

Some of the girls who had been through this process before began to mutter amongst themselves. “Is she here tonight?” They sounded worried. “Have you seen her?”

“Who are you talking about?”

“The guard with the pink handcuffs,” they whispered.

I was confused. What was the deal with pink handcuffs?

I asked a guard. “I have some friends who are getting a bails bond for me, how long does that take?”

She looked at me. “I can’t answer any questions.” She shooed me away.

It finally hit home. I was a prisoner. In prison clothing. I have no idea what day it was or what time it was. We were given food in brown paper bags that were thrown into the room in a large plastic bag onto the floor. Several of the inmates lunged for the food. I was in shock, watching these women grabbing at the food, and stuffing it into their faces like animals.

Clarissa gently handed me a bag. “Here Rhonda, you better eat because there’s no telling when we will get fed again and you will need your strength.”

I sat back and remembered the conversations I had with my friend a few months ago, warning me how my husband was going to set me up. How he had told her that I had been abusing the kids for years and that I needed to be removed from the home. I was now officially accused of domestic violence. I had no idea what his “injuries” looked like, if they were self-inflicted, or how successful his plan was. Was I going to rot in jail and never see my kids again?

That’s when the panic attack hit me. My intestines started cramping into knots. My heart starts pounding to the point where it hurts. I forced myself to take deep breaths to stop the pain. I began to tremble uncontrollably. It’s getting hard for me to breath but I force my breath to go in…and go out. It’s a terrifying feeling. The cramping started moving up into the diaphragm area to the point where it feels like I’m not going to be able to breath anymore.

Clarissa looked at me with concern. “Are you okay?”

I couldn’t answer.

A beautiful young girl who was 19 years with drug scars all over her arms and legs came over to me. Lindsey looked at me. “What shit are you on?”

I took her literally. I looked down where I was sitting. “What?”

“What’s your dope? What do you use?”

I didn’t know what she was talking about. I looked at her, confused.

She explained. “Do you take drugs?”

I finally understood. “I’m on Celexa.”

She scrunched her eyebrows. “What is that?”

“It’s an anti-depressant drug but they wouldn’t let me bring it in.”

I doubled over in pain, gasping for air.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I have PTSD and I’m having an anxiety attack.”

“You’re not in here for drugs?”

“No!”

She came close and sat down next to me. “I’ll help you through it. I’ve had anxiety attacks before.” She rubbed my back, breathed with me and talked me through the entire attack.

Clarissa looked at Lindsey as I began to calm down. “She’s green; she’s never been through this before.”

“Oh, then why are you here? What are you in for?”

“My husband wants to get rid of me. He doesn’t want to pay me alimony or child support so he had me arrested.”

Lindsey groaned. “Oh I have to introduce you to Brandy upstairs! Her husband was a rich guy and he did it to her too. He had a girlfriend on the side. As soon as she was arrested he had Brandy arrested and moved his bitch in. Does your husband have someone on the side?”

“I don’t know,” I mumbled.

TO BE CONTINUED

The Ultimate Betrayal

“...And this is the second thing you do: You cover the altar of the Lord with tears, with weeping and crying; So He does not regard the offering anymore, nor receive it with goodwill from your hands. ¹⁴ Yet you say, “For what reason?” Because the Lord has been witness between you and the wife of your youth, with whom you have dealt treacherously; yet she is your companion and your wife by covenant.” - Malachi 2:13-14

            I was folding laundry in my sports bra and sweatpants late one Thursday in October of 2013 when the police showed up at my door to arrest me. There had been no fight, no quarrel, just a minor tug of war with my husband over a photo album earlier when he leered at me in a very evil way and smirked: “Now I have my 9-1-1.”

            The next thing I knew, I was being handcuffed, put into the back of a police unit and taken to the community jail to be booked for felony assault.

 I had no clue about the physical, emotional and mental trauma I was about to endure in the next three days; I was in too much of a state of shock that he had accomplished what he had set out to do: kick me out of the house, remove all the funds, and have me charged with a felony assault so he wouldn’t have to pay alimony/child support.

I do not fault the police officers; they even seemed sympathetic and regretful of having to arrest me. We arrived at the Women’s Jail close to midnight and that is when the nightmare began.

 At the time of my arrest, I was a 54 year old, upper middle class mother of five children living a quiet life in suburban south Orange County. I had never smoked, abused substances or been in any kind of trouble. I had brought up my children as a stay at home mom, home-schooled them, and got the eldest four into good colleges with generous scholarships. I worked part-time at a local fabric store been a Girl Scout Leader for nine years and involved with church since my youth. If it could happen to me…it could happen to anyone; providing they are married to a narcissist.

I had first heard this word from my therapist who I had been seeing for PTSD and she used it in relation to my husband:

 Narcissistic personality disorder (NPD) is a personality disorder in which a person is excessively preoccupied with personal adequacy, power, prestige and vanity, mentally unable to see the destructive damage they are causing to themselves and to others in the process. It is estimated that this condition affects one percent of the population, with rates greater for men. First formulated in 1968, NPD was historically called megalomania, and is a form of severe egocentrism.[1]

They cuffed my hands behind my back and left me sitting that way in the back of the car for about an hour while they took his statement and took pictures. I have a severe lower back problem as a result of an injury I sustained years ago in which he had pushed me while in a rage onto the ground while 8-1/2 months pregnant with my sixth child. After a few minutes sitting with my hands behind my back I felt my discs slip out of place. The ride to the station was agony. The back seat was hard as  rock and every time the car turned, accelerated or slowed down, I was sliding all over the place. We finally got to the County jail. They parked and told me to get out. By this time I was in so much pain I could barely move. They began to get impatient. “Ma’am, you can get out now!” I did my best and struggled.  “Ma’am, is there a problem?”

“I have a lower back injury.”

They looked at one another. “When did you receive this injury?”

“It’s an old injury that I have been treated for on an ongoing basis. Would you please help me get out?”

They put their hands under my armpits and lifted me until I could stand up. I could no longer stand up straight and walked bent over like an old woman until I felt the disc slip back into place. As I look back on it now, I remember them looking at each other and could almost see the silent question passing between them. Why are we arresting this 5’2” little bitty woman for physical violence when she can’t even get out of a car?

I walked in-between them to a patio area just outside the jail. The officers turned to me. “This is your one and only chance to make your phone calls before we take your cell phone away.”

I had no idea what time it was but figured it was around 1:00 or 2:00 am in the morning by this time. Because my hands were still cuffed behind my back, I had the phone on speaker so the policemen heard both sides of my conversation. I was hoping someone would answer the phone. I called one of my dearest friends, Arlene.

“Arlene…He has accused me of attacking him and I have been arrested.”

“What?!”

She was half asleep. I had to repeat myself several times before she understood me. “Can you find out for me how to post bail?” I gave her my debit card number but He had already emptied our joint bank account earlier that day in anticipation of this so I would be left with no money.

“Who else can you call?” Arlene wanted to know. “What about Marlayne?”

“No, I think she’s on her way to a wedding up north.”

“Who else?”

“Oh, I’ll call Teresa (the wife and His boss).

“I’ll see what I can do.”

The policeman were standing over me, looking at their watches impatiently. “C’mon, we have to hurry up!”

“Please, I need to make one more phone call.” I dialed Teresa’s number.

“Hello?”

“Teresa, He had me arrested”

“What?!” she screamed. “Oh my god! He did it? He had you arrested? Are the police there? Let me talk to them!”

 “You’re on speaker, they’re right here, listening.”

“THEY’RE THERE??!!!”

“Yes,” I looked at the police officers. “Do you want to talk to her?”

“No, we are not going to talk to anybody. The purpose of the phone call was to help you to find somebody to make bail.”

“RHONDA! GIRLFRIEND! I told you to be careful!  I told you I did not trust him.”

The police officers kept exchanging looks.

“I was careful, I didn’t do anything.”

“Well then what is he accusing you of?!”

“I was cleaning the house because my son was inviting some his college buddies over for a movie night and I noticed on the shelf that an old family photo album was missing off the shelf. He was walking upstairs and I asked him about the photo album and he said that he had taken it to work. I told him that there was some old, priceless photos in there, did you leave it at work? No, I think I left it in my car…I don’t remember. I said, can I go see? He said, NO! I don’t want you in my car! I said, where are the keys? He told me he would open the trunk for me. We went outside, he opened up the trunk. He said, I don’t think it’s in there. That’s when I saw a box and underneath I saw the gold photo album. Here it is! I picked up the photo album and said I would take the photos out of there I wanted. I looked up at him and he was smirking at me. He said, On second thought, he said, and reached out to grab away the photo album, I don’t know if I want you to have this. I asked why? Because you are a vindictive person and I don’t want you to destroy my family pictures! I said, oh, I wouldn’t do that, I just want to take my pictures out, I promise. He was still holding onto the photo album.” He said “No, I don’t want you to have it!” He tugged back. “I said, I don’t have time for this, I reached down and wrapped my arms around the photo album and jerked it out of his hands. “I will get my photos and give it back to you, okay.” I started walking away and that’s when he smiled at me and said “Ahh, now I have my 9-1-1!”

I turned around to see him smirking at me.” I told Teresa that I thought that He was trying to antagonize me.”

The police grew impatient again. “Ma’am, we have to go, we have to start the booking process.”

Teresa screamed loud enough for everyone to hear. “OH MY GOD! I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING! What should I do? What do I need to do?”

“I don’t know, I have to go now. Just call Arlene and brainstorm with her.”

“Why have you already called Arlene?”

“Yes, I have and she is already trying to help.”

The policeman ended the phone call. The Hispanic officer looked at me. “Did your husband actually say I got my 9-1-1?”

“Yes, but at the time I wasn’t sure if he had said 9-1-1 or 4-1-1 because I wanted to go back inside and get the house ready for my son.”

The two officers looked askance at each other, shook their heads.  “Wow.” We stood there in silence for a moment. They were very nice to me and walked me through what was going to happen in the next few hours because I had absolutely no clue.

If you are not in the habit of being in trouble with the law, the first time you are arrested is a shock.

I walk in the door and saw a line of other people, all hand-cuffed, male and female. Some of them were very young, teenagers, college kids, some middle-aged and obviously intoxicated or drugged. When a bench became available the officers had me sit down to wait.

Finally, thirty minutes later my name was called. I walked up to the window. They asked me for my personal information and what I was arrested for.

“I’m not sure.” I looked at the police officer. “What was I arrested for?”

The office stated the penal code for domestic violence. The officer behind the window looked at him. “What are the details, what did she do?”

“She bit her husband.”

The officer behind the window looked up. “She did what?” He looked incredulous. “What?”

They repeated it. “She bit her husband.”

“Seriously?”

The arresting office just chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. The officer behind the desk rolled his eyes and continued to write but I could tell he couldn’t believe it any more than I did.

A few minutes later I was directed to another window where I had to put all of my belongings into a zipped lock bag (my wallet, ID, credits cards and cell phone.)

I was herded into another area. At this point, I was transferred from the arresting officers to the jail guards for processing. Finally the hand cuffs came off.

I was taken behind locked, security doors. I sat down on the bench where the guards patted me down. I sat docilely as they searched the inside of my mouth, my nose, my ears and hair. Then I was given an ID band. I was put into a cement holding area. Everything was made of cement, the floors, walls and benches. I sat there for what seemed like an eternity. I was hoping that Arlene and Teresa would be able to get me out in the next couple of hours…boy was I wrong. As I waited, more and more women were being processed into this cement room; it got so crowded people were forced to sit on the ground.

TO BE CONTINUED...

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[1] Wikipedia