My Fall and Rise Ch. 05

I Ain't Seen The Sunshine Since I Don't Know When

I had dreaded the day that I would have to go to court and testify against Nicky, but I had taken some solace that at least I would be out of the prison for awhile and would spend a few hours enjoying the spring scenery on the drive. But it was raining when I shuffled in my shackles across the sally port and into the back seat of a sheriff's car, and it continued to rain all day.

With nothing to occupy my mind except watching the trails of raindrops on the window, my thoughts kept going where I did not want them to go, to memories of the time I had spent with Nicky. I tried to put such thoughts out of my mine by concentrating on my testimony, going over what I thought they would ask me, and rehearsing answers in my head. But again and again, images of Nicky kept returning. One image in particular persisted, a memory of his sleeping face, a lock of his hair waving back and forth across his forehead in the breeze. He looked innocent, childlike, and I remembered gazing at him and wishing I could see him as a little boy, laughing and playing. I thought about that now, and felt regret that I had never told him that, and that it was not likely we would ever speak again.

We arrived at the courthouse and I was escorted into the same small security room from which I had left three months earlier. The deputy handed a clipboard to the bailiff, who signed the paperwork to take me into temporary custody of the court. I was struck by the irony that as a prisoner, so many more people were concerned about keeping track of me than had ever been the case in the outside world. The deputy removed my shackles and left. The bailiff looked at me for a moment, then reached into his pocket and handed me a comb.

"Maybe you ought to spruce up a little bit, dear." He led me down the hall to a small bathroom. I looked at myself in the mirror and began to comb my damp hair. I stopped suddenly, when I realized that I had been thinking that I wanted to look nice for Nicky. I felt shame that he still had so much of an emotional hold on me, but at the same time, I understood that part of what I felt was sadness that this was probably going to be the last time we ever saw each other.

I finished up and the bailiff took me back to the security room. A short while later, there was a knock on the door, and he motioned for me to come with him. I had been called to the stand.

I entered the courtroom through the same door I had left it. The last thing I had seen then was my mother and my attorney, Sarah, watching me being taken away, and the first thing I saw upon entering was the two of them, sitting side by side in the spectators area. My mother smiled and gave me a quick wave. I tried to smile back, but couldn't. I was guided to the witness box and sworn in. When I sat down I raised my eyes to the defense table and saw Nicky.

I barely recognized him at first. His unruly tangle of dark hair had been cut short and neat. His denims and leathers were gone, replaced with a conservative suit coat and tie. His shining blue eyes had not changed though, and when they met mine, it was a struggle to break away from his gaze.

I had met with a deputy district attorney a week earlier to discuss my testimony, and Sarah had prepared me further. The prosecution would go easy on me, she explained, because they wanted to make Nicky look as bad as possible, and it served their purposes to portray me as his victim more than his accomplice. The defense, she warned me, would do whatever they could to make the jury see me as a slut, a junkie and a liar.

The prosecutor began with a series of routine questions to establish who I was and what my relationship had been with Nicky. I felt embarrassed when he asked my current residence and stumbled over the answer, but other than that, they were easy questions and I began to relax a little. I tried to avoid glancing over at Nicky, but could not help doing so now and then. Every time I did, he was looking not at me, but down at his hands on the table.

The questions turned to drugs. How long had I used them? How often? How did I get them? It became clear that Sarah was right, they wanted to create the impression that I was young and naive, befuddled by dope and easy prey for someone like Nicky.

They moved on to the events leading up to the murder. I couldn't look at Nicky now. At one point I looked to my mother and saw her weeping. She had never heard the whole story before. She hadn't wanted to listen when I tried to talk with her about what happened. I almost broke down myself seeing her cry, but I held it together and steeled myself for the increasingly painful questioning. But something was going on. Nicky and his attorney were having an animated whispered conversation. The judge rapped his gavel.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Burroughs?" he asked Nicky's attorney.

"If I may, your honor, I need just a moment to confer with my client."

The judge granted his request, and a minute or two later, the attorney addressed him again. "Your honor, may we approach the bench?"

I thought it was just some legal technicality and was a bit amused how much it all seemed just like an episode of Law and Order, but when the attorneys and the judge began conferring, I could tell from their bearings that the discussion was serious. After a few minutes the attorneys returned to their tables and the judge addressed the courtroom.

"We will recess for one hour." He looked at me. "Miss Bennett, you may step down, but you may be called back to the stand. The bailiff will escort you out."

As I stood up to leave the courtroom, I looked over to the defense table. The attorney was talking to Nicky while he gathered up his papers, but Nicky was looking straight at me. When our eyes met he placed his hand over his heart and then held out his open palm towards me. His blue eyes were filled with tears.

The bailiff took me back to the holding room. I asked him what was going on.

"Don't know," he replied, as he shut the door and left me alone. There was a stack of magazines on a side table. I looked through them, but as I had no plans to go fishing, plant a garden or redecorate my home anytime soon, I didn't pick one to read. I paced back and forth, replaying my testimony in my head. I shouldn't have said this, I wish I'd thought to add that. Finally the door opened, and the bailiff and the sheriff's deputy entered the room. The deputy was carrying the shackles.

"Alright, dear, time for you to head back," the bailiff said, as the deputy bent to cuff my ankles.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Change of plea," he replied.

"What does that mean?"

"Means he changed his plea, I reckon."

"He pled guilty?"

"Did he plead guilty before?"

"No."

"Well then?"

The deputy finished shackling me. He was rougher than he needed to be and seemed impatient.

"Can I see my mom for a minute before we go back?" I asked.

"No. You came to testify, not to visit."

"Can I talk to my lawyer?"

"What you can do is go back where you belong, so I can get home in time for supper."

He steered me out of the courthouse and back into the cruiser. He may have made it home in time for supper, but I did not. My meal that night was a packet of Ramen noodles.

Sarah came to visit me the next day. We sat in the small room reserved for attorney consultations, and held hands across the table.

She explained to me that Nicky had instructed his lawyer to tell the district attorney that he was willing to plead guilty to second degree murder. They had agreed.

"So what happens now?" I asked her.

"Now he has to write out a statement, just like you did, before his sentencing hearing."

"What do you think he will get?"

She shrugged. "Fifteen, twenty years, I'd guess."

I moaned. Twenty years. I didn't think he would be able to do it.

"Don't tell me you still feel sorry for him," Sarah snapped. "He'll still be in his forties when he gets out."

"I know. That's not it. I was just..." My voice trailed off.

"What is it, Melissa? What's bothering you? He's going to get a better deal than we thought he would. He wasn't going to get acquitted, believe me."

"No. It's the timing. Why did he do it then? Right in the middle of my testifying? That's what I don't understand."

She stared up at the ceiling, tapping her fingers on the table. I'd seen her do that before, it meant her lawyer brain was kicking into high gear. "He must have been afraid that something very damaging was going to come out in your testimony."

"Like what? He knew everything I was going to say."

"But neither he, nor we, knew everything they would ask. Don't think that because they went over your testimony with you, that they didn't have any surprises to spring."

"I don't think that's it," I insisted. "I think he wanted to save me from having to testify in front of everyone. The public, my mother..."

She looked skeptical.

"Sarah,I don't think you can understand. You see him as an asshole and you see me as his sad little victim, but we loved each other. Maybe we still do. I don't know."

"Well, look, the court has accepted his plea, so you and I have no further business. But there is one more thing I'd like to do."

She took my hands again and squeezed. "I am going to go through every word of his statement once he's submitted it, and if there is one word that is favorable to your legal position, I will file for a mitigation of sentence."

"You said that I couldn't appeal because I pled guilty."

"We can't appeal, but we can ask for a reconsideration of your sentencing if new evidence is presented."

I nodded that I understood, but I was not really paying attention to her. I was still thinking of the timing of Nicky's decision. Was he somehow protecting himself with his change of plea, or was it done out of consideration for me? Or was it both? I wrestled with the question until his sentencing, when his statement became part of the legal record and his secret was revealed.

On the outside, I would have responded to my emotional turmoil by getting high and staying high as much of the time as possible. You can get drugs if you want them in prison. It's risky and they will come at a heavy cost, but they are available. The temptation was great, but I resisted. Despite everything, I physically felt better than I had in years. Somewhere along the way I had stopped counting my drug free days and had started counting the weeks and then the months. If I backslid now, I would inevitably end up with more charges on me, and more years inside. Somehow, I found the strength to resist.

I would have liked to keep to myself, but of course, that's not possible in prison. And there was Tanya to consider. I could tell that she was getting increasingly annoyed with my moody disposition. A week after I returned from my court appearance, I was finishing my work shift when she and her friend Lisa appeared and beckoned me to follow them. They led me to the door of a small mop closet. Lisa bent to the lock and jimmied it open. The three of us squeezed into the small space. There was barely room for us to stand up.

Lisa was behind me. Tanya's face was inches from mine.

"I don't know what's up with you," she whispered. "But I'm starting to wonder if you and me have a problem."

"No, no. I've just been upset about having to go to court."

"Well, time you got the fuck over it."

Lisa handed her something. She waved it in front of my face. It was a homemade dildo. I'd seen them before, making them was almost a cottage industry in the prison. All you needed to do was wrap a couple of maxi pads around a pen, secure them with dental floss, and slide the finger of a latex glove over the whole thing. The only hard part was sneaking the glove out of the infirmary. Everything else was available from the canteen.

"Your pretty boyfriend is somebody's bitch now, just like you're mine," she said, as she unfastened my jeans and pulled them down my thighs. I had never been afraid of her before, she had always treated me well. But I'd been careful never to anger her.

She began to caress my pussy and Lisa wrapped her arms around me and held mine tightly against my body. "Don't be titty grabbing my bitch." Tanya laughed. She held the dildo in front of my face. "Show me how you sucked his dick," she ordered.

I began to suck on the dildo. She slid it in and out between my lips. "Good girl, get it wet. You're gonna want it wet."

I followed her suggestion and imagined it was Nicky's cock in my mouth.

Despite my fear, I felt myself becoming aroused. She took the dildo away and began kissing me. I sucked on her tongue like it was a cock as well.

She jammed the dildo into me and I let out a scream. "Fuck, be quiet!" she hissed. Lisa put her hand over my mouth. The dildo was sliding in and out of me, and my hips were moving with it. It had been months since I had felt anything bigger than a finger inside me. The dildo filled me and before I knew it, I was riding it hard. I closed my eyes and I thought about Nicky, about how much I had loved the way he fucked me, how much I had relished being filled by him. Memories flooded my mind; of his hands, of his kisses, of his cock. I began to cum and to sob at the same time.

"Shit, I think she's freaking out," Lisa said. Tanya responded by pumping the dildo faster. I shook my head free of Lisa's grasp and looked Tanya straight in the eyes. "Fuck me," I hissed. "Harder".

She was punching the dildo into me, bruising me with every thrust. I took in the pain and wanted more.

"Harder, bitch."

Lisa clamped her hand on my mouth again, and when she let go of my arm, I elbowed her in the ribs.

"You cunt!" she gasped. She grabbed my hair and pulled my head back hard. My knees buckled. Tanya leaned against me and I was squeezed tight between them. I did not know it was possible to be so angry and so turned on at the same time. I began to sob louder.

"She's gone psycho," Lisa told Tanya. Tanya hesitated, but I took hold of her wrist and held it tight, trapping the dildo inside me. I stared at her. I was past words, and my thoughts were not clear, but my emotions were. I could not have articulated them at the time, but later I knew exactly where my head was in that moment. I'd been fucked and used and dumped and kicked aside for years. I wasn't afraid of her, I wasn't afraid of anyone. Fuck me, I'll ride with it. Hit me, I can take it. Kill me, I'll stare you right in your eyes when you do it.

They could have shivved me in that closet, they could have cut my throat. Tanya slapped me hard across the face. I didn't break my stare.

"Let's go," she said to Lisa. She turned and walked out of the closet. Lisa shoved me hard against the wall as she pushed her way out from behind me. When she'd slammed the door shut, I pulled up my pants and slumped to the floor. I was drained of all my anger and my sorrow. I felt like a great storm had passed and the air had grown still and calm. I owed three great debts. I owed the state the next few years of my time, I owed my mother for all the love and faith she had shown in me, and I owed it to myself to make something of my life. I was ready to tell everyone else to kiss my ass.

When I entered the common room that evening, Tanya was sitting with her friends at their usual table. I ignored them and crossed straight to my cell. I had to wait a minute for an officer to buzz me in. I glanced over to the corner. Tanya had been looking at me, but averted her eyes from mine. I didn't know if I should expect further trouble from them or not. As it turned out, they left me alone. Maybe they thought I really was crazy. But as the days went on, I began to notice that my status in the unit had subtly changed. It may have just been familiarity, or it may have been that once Nicky's trial ended, the notion that I was a snitch faded, but gradually, the other prisoners began treating me with more respect.

Days passed slowly, and then weeks. Time inside is different from time outside. The numbing thing is not the length of your sentence, it is the unrelenting sameness of every day which turns you into an institutionalized zombie. The only defense you have against it is to keep your brain as busy as possible. I took every course I could. I read constantly. I began to keep a journal.

Occasionally, events would interrupt the unchanging daily routine. My cell mate Desiree was moved to maximum security when she was caught with a bottle of benzos her boyfriend had slipped to her in the visitors room. Tanya and Jessica joined her there a few weeks later, after a court date on an old burglary charge.

After Desiree was moved, we went through a series of short term cellmates, women who were in for drunk driving or minor drug offenses. There was no point in even trying to get to know them. Short timers did not live in the same world that we did.

The biggest change in our lives came when Theresa was granted early release. The night before she left, we sat up long past lights out, having an impromptu going away party. As we talked and ate up all of her canteen items, Theresa was almost giddy. All she could think of was being with her little boy again. She was oblivious to how glum Alicia became as the night went on.

One evening, shortly after Theresa went home, I entered the common room to see Alicia beckoning to me. I crossed to where she was sitting. She stood up and said, "Come here, we are going to start something new," and gestured for me to follow her to our cell. I was apprehensive. My first thought was that she wanted me to replace Theresa as her partner.

I had taken the lower bunk that had been Theresa's and I sat down on it when we entered the cell. Alicia picked something up off the small metal desk in the corner.

"From now on, every night before lights out," she said, tossing the object to me. It was a copy of Stephen King's vampire novel Salems Lot. "I can't read very good, you know that. I want you to read it to me."

"You can take reading courses, you know."

"Fuck classes. I just want to hear the story."

She laid back on her bunk and I began to read. I read to her every night for the next year. Sometimes, after the lights went out, we would talk about the books, and that would lead to talking about our lives, our experiences, our hopes. Alicia was not a criminal with a heart of gold. She was not an innocent woman victimized by an oppressive system. She was a hardened criminal with little remorse for anything she'd done. But she was a human being, and as we shared the book, and others after it, I came to know her, and in a way, to love her.

Theresa was only out for a little more than a month when we received the news that she was dead. She had gone right back into the chop shop business with her brothers, and one night, as she was delivering a stolen car, a state trooper hit his lights behind her and she took off at top speed, lost control of the car and slammed into a bridge abutment. Alicia took the news without any show of emotion, but late that night, I heard her sobbing in her bunk. I crossed over to sit beside her, but she rebuffed my attempts to console her. Eventually, she allowed me to hold her hand, and I sat with her and held it until she finally fell asleep. In the morning I asked her if she wanted to talk, and she said no. She never mentioned Theresa again.

Our new cellmate was a middle aged woman named Carrie. She had been the town clerk in a midsized town not far from my home. Over the years, she had embezzled hundreds of thousands of dollars from the taxpayers. Even so, she considered herself morally superior to lowlife druggies like me and Alicia. As many people do, she responded to her incarceration by becoming religious. When she would try to tell us about Jesus, we would respond by telling her about our most scandalous exploits. Eventually, she gave up her missionary efforts and we settled into a grudging detente. If we didn't have to hear her Good News, she didn't have to hear our thoughts about which drugs best enhanced anal sex.