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