LINKED
Racist, at least that was one of the nicer names hung on her. She pretty much left me alone as I did my job and avoided her around the Immediate Care Housing (ICH) area. This was the spot where AICs with "manageable" mental health issues were housed. She could be vicious, not to the clients, but to the other peer companions who were slacking.
One day there were only two peer companions in the whole ICH. I became upset because I was trying to catch up after seeing to the needs of the clients and my coworker Sebastian was sitting on the couch staring into space. Sebastian worked hard for the client, which I acknowledged; it feels me with regret and remorse that in my annoyed distraction, I didn’t recognize his thousand-mile stare.
Moments later Sebastian tumbled down the stairs convulsing at the bottom. A seizure brought on a coronary. The paramedics arrived a short time later. They work tirelessly to save him. The sickening crack of his chest could be heard at the top of the stairs. And then Sebastian was gone.
Staring at the spot where Sebastian's essence had last been in this realm, I felt a presence behind me. “Do not talk about this on the yard," the ICH Sergeant barked, and then stormed off complaining about doing paperwork. I sighed.
"If you need someone to talk to," a soft voice whispered. "You can talk to me." I jumped not realizing she was behind me. I searched her eyes for deceit. She heard what the sergeant said. Didn't she? Her eyes softened. "Really, if you need someone to talk to … " she nodded.
By dinner time, the death was all over the prison. "Did you hear about the weirdo who offed himself? Jumped off the building." Another said, "I heard they found him in the counselor’s office swinging by some sheets. Going to some investigation by the Department of Justice." There were all sorts of stories. This was the first time I was happy to obey a direct order. Every time I was asked about it, I just shrugged.
I was the only companion on duty on the morning shift the next day (nobody had been hired for Sebastian's position yet). Sweat slid down my forehead as I did both jobs. Doing Sebastian's job put me in her line of site. I could feel her eyes saying, if you need to talk ... I bit my lip surprised when I found myself in front of her, "Can we talk?" I said.
She looked around. "Hold on," and left. I wanted to kick myself, as I was sure she was coming back with the Sergeant and other officers to take me to the hole. I followed her to a third-floor office where she unlocked the door. She directed me to a chair. "I needed to make sure Sarge was busy,” she said sitting across from me.
For forty-five minutes we exchanged emotional words and tears. We spoke not as guard and prisoner, not even woman and man, but as human beings who had been touched by the loss of a fellow human being.
Years have gone by, but I still remember a couple of situations. My cellie and I were walking to chow, and he saw her saying, "I can't stand her. She thinks she's all that, but she ain't nothing but stuck up and racist."
"Why do you say that?" I asked. "You tried to get at her and she turned you down." I shook my head laughing. My cellie thought he was God's gift. I know she's not racist.
"Bobby told me he heard ... "
"First of all, Bobby would know the truth if it walked up and slapped him in the face." I sighed, "Second, I've talked to her. She's not racist. Nobody is Blacker than me. Trust me, if she is talking to me, she is not a racist. She just won't put up with no B.S." I sighed again. "Have you even talked to her?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
I laughed thinking about another time shortly after Sebastian's death. She was working on the yard in the midst of five officers and she called my name. I drug my feet towards them, and she bounced away from them meeting me halfway.
"How are you doing?"
"I am okay," I lied. Her eyes pulled the truth out of me.
"I'm not doing to cool either." She started to walk away from the officers. "I am thinking about getting another job. I looked up at her not knowing what to say. "I have my degree in art."
"What are you going to do, go into advertising?"
"Ohmygod," she stopped and stared at me. "Most people make jokes about being the next Picasso. You're the first person since school who knew what my degree could be used for."
I shrugged. We talked over the years in the chow hall and in the block. She even met my family when she worked in the visiting room. My Mom and sister liked her, and they don't like anybody.
She eventually left corrections and got a job in advertising. Her last day she came and found me. Grabbing my hand she looked me in my eyes and wished me well. And she was gone out of my life. I miss her. I still feel that link between us. I think it will always be there. | ARA