Transitions by Mike Hormek - HTML preview
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Chapter 2
As Jack stepped into the medium-security prison, a sense of unease settled over him. The clang of metal gates closing behind him echoed through the corridor, a sound that would become all too familiar in the coming days.
After receiving his prison clothes, the warden said, "welcome to Hot Springs Correctional Institution. As your prison warden, I must address you on this significant day- your first day within these walls."
"First and foremost, I want to acknowledge that being here might not be where you envisioned yourselves. However, it is crucial to understand that every choice has consequences, and now you find yourselves here to serve your time and hopefully rehabilitate."
"This institution operates on a discipline, respect, and accountability foundation. You will adhere strictly to the correctional staff's rules and regulations. While you are here, you will comply with the regulations. Your safety and the safety of others are our utmost priority."
"Let me be clear: being incarcerated does not define you. It is a chapter in your life, not the entirety of your story. Each of you has the potential for growth and change, regardless of the circumstances that led you here."
"Take advantage of the resources available through educational programs, vocational training, and counseling services—they are here to help you rebuild your lives."
"However, I must emphasize that participation in these programs is not optional. We believe in rehabilitation, but it requires your active engagement and commitment. Use this time to reflect on your past choices, identify areas for improvement, and work towards becoming better versions of yourselves."
"Remember, you are not alone in this journey. Your fellow inmates are here facing similar challenges. Support each other, but also hold each other accountable. Building a community of trust and respect within these walls is crucial for your well-being and eventual reintegration into society."
"As you begin your time here, I urge you to focus on your goals. Stay out of trouble, respect the staff and your fellow inmates, and take advantage of every opportunity for personal growth and development."
"While the road ahead may seem daunting, I have seen many individuals walk out of these gates as better, stronger, and more resilient individuals. Your past mistakes do not determine your future. It is defined by your choices today and every day moving forward."
"In closing, I want to remind you that you can shape your destiny, even within these walls.
Make the most of your time here, and remember there is hope for a brighter tomorrow."
Dressed in the standard orange jumpsuit, Jack walks through the maze of cell blocks to his designated unit. As he entered the common area, the air was thick with tension, where inmates lounged around, eyeing him with curiosity and suspicion. Jack kept his gaze straight ahead, trying to project confidence despite his turmoil.
"I wonder if they know I was a cop?" he wondered. "and if so, what will be my fate?" Finding an empty bunk in the crowded dormitory-style housing, Jack stowed away his few belongings, a stark reminder of the life he left behind.
As he settled onto the thin mattress, the reality of the situation sank in. He was no longer a cop but just another inmate, subject to the rules and hierarchy of prison life.
Throughout the day, Jack navigated the complex social dynamics to find his place within the prison's ecosystem.
A correction officer informed Jack that he would meet the warden in his office tomorrow at 9
am.
"Jack," the warden said, "I called you to discuss your transition here, which may be challenging.
I will help make it as painless as possible. I read your file, and I am sorry you got up in all that, but the law is the law when death is concerned."
"Thanks. I have been in law enforcement for a long time, and this side of the law is new to me."
"I understand. Being a former cop might make your time here a bit different. I was a former cop myself. But you'll find that some inmates may have preconceived notions about you because of your background. It's important to stay vigilant and earn their respect through your actions."
"Yeah, I figured as much. I am not looking for any trouble. I want to do my time and move on with my life."
"That's the right attitude to have. Even though we have a good record here of non-violent conflicts, sometimes stuff happens out of frustration with being incarcerated. Keep a low profile, watch who you befriend, and avoid any necessary conflicts."
"Also, some inmates will try to test you, especially at first, so be prepared and handle yourself with dignity and respect. Then you will earn the respect of your fellow inmates."
"Thanks. Is there anything else I should know?"
"As a former cop, do not give advice or protection. Stay clear of illegal activities."
"Okay, Okay. Thanks for the advice. "
"Come see me anytime."
Jack was allowed 300 minutes of phone time each month. It was a week before he called Sarah.
"Hey, how are you?"
"I am okay. And how are you?"
"Fine. I took care of your business as we discussed."
"Great, look, I have 300 minutes of phone time each month, so if we make short calls, we can call more often. Can we plan on Sundays, too?"
"Sure."
"If you don't hear from me on Sunday, give it a few days, and then call the warden. He's a good guy."
"Okay."
"Well, good talking to you. Later then."
"Later."
Jack kept to himself mostly, wary of drawing attention to his past as a law enforcement officer.
Yet rumors spread, and Jack could feel the weight of judgment on him from all sides. Mealtime and phone time were chaotic, with inmates jostling for positions in line and trading goods like currency.
Jack observed the intricate dance of power and alliances, knowing he would have to learn the rules quickly if he hoped to survive.
As night fell and the lights dimmed, Jack lay awake on his bunk, listening to the sounds of the prison coming to life around him. The reality of his new existence sank in with each passing moment, a stark reminder of the consequences of his actions. Despite the challenges ahead, Jack stayed solid and resilient, determined to make the most of his time behind bars and emerge a better man from the darkness. But as he closed his eyes and drifted to sleep, the specter of uncertainty loomed large, casting a shadow over his first week in prison.
Jack sat on his bunk, staring at the inmates doing their thing. He hadn't spoken to anyone in days, preferring the constant noise and tension of the prison yard. But today, something was different.
He noticed a new inmate who chose a bunk near his. His face seemed out of place amidst the other inmates. He is a result of the harshness of his existence, marked by weathered features and a hardened
exterior forged by years of exposure to the elements. He is an elusive and haunting figure, presenting a paradoxical blend of menace and vulnerability.
"Hello, my name is Jack."
"They call me Gums because I have no teeth. Bad dental work."
"Welcome. How long is your stay?"
"Two years."
Jack offered his hand. And he was returned with a surprisingly positive grip by a calloused hand.
At first glance, one might mistake Gums for a relic of another era. His long hair and unkempt beard, reminiscent of a bygone time, will shortly be history upon a haircut, shower, and shave.
But Gum's face leaves the most lasting impression, a map of hardship etched in every line and crease. His weathered, rough, calloused, and sun-worn skin bears witness to a life spent beneath the unforgiven glare of the sun inhabiting the forgotten corners of city streets. His deep-set eyes, obscured beneath a curtain of tangled hair, betray a lifetime of sorrow and regret, their haunted gaze reflecting the weight of the burdens he carries.
After a few minutes of casual talk, Jack realized that this man was well-educated but had somehow become a victim of circumstance.
Despite his grizzled appearance, Gum's presence has a certain magnetism, a raw intensity that commands attention even amid a crowded street. His movements are deliberate and purposeful, each step a testament to the resilience of the human spirit in the face of adversity. His inner turmoil is evident with every word.
But beneath the hardened exterior lies a complex tapestry of emotions and history, each thread woven with the care and precision of a master craftsman. Despite his hardships, a flicker of humanity, a glimmer of hope, remains within Gums' soul. This resilience, this underlying determination to survive against all odds, defines his character and sets him apart from the countless others who wander the streets in search of salvation.
"This is the first time I have been in prison. Can you tell me about it?"
"No, I just got in here myself."
"If I might ask, why are you here?" Gums asked.
"I was in a fight, and a death happened. And you?"
They say I assaulted a man, but I don't remember doing it.
"That's a bummer."
"It's not all that bad. I'm off the streets."
"Jesus, is this guy okay? Why commit a crime intentionally to go to prison," Jack thought. "but what do I know?"
In the end, Gums represents more than just a homeless man serving a sentence for assault. He symbolizes the thousands of homeless who strive for a transition in their lives in the face of adversity.
Later that week, Jack and Gums talked again, sitting on a bench in the courtyard. They lapsed into silence for a moment, the weight of their situations hanging heavy in the air.
"If you feel like talking, feel like talking?" Jack asked.
Gums sighed, running a trembling hand over his recently shaved head.
"Assault, assault."
"So, who did you assault?"
"My memory is foggy, a pickled brain from drug use over the years. They said I got into it with some guy who was mistreating a homeless woman. I guess I got a bit carried away."
Jack nodded, a newfound respect blossoming for the man beside him.
"You were just trying to do the right thing."
Gums shrugged, a hint of bitterness in his voice. "Doesn't matter now. We are both stuck in this hellhole."
"Would you rather be on the streets.?"
"I can get meals and a bed here. The streets are not a walk in the park. But at least out there, I have some freedom."
"Is that why some homeless people reject help?"
"Yes, they are afraid of being told what to do. then there are mental issues."
Jack paused momentarily. "But out there, it's survival of the fittest. You must watch your back every second, never knowing when trouble will come knocking."
"You seem to know a lot about the homeless. What did you do on the outside?"
Jack had to buy time to tell Gums he was a cop. The warden had warned him about getting too friendly with an inmate.
After a short pause, he said, "I did many things and ended up in law enforcement." Jack changed the subject before Gums could respond and asked, "Do you think it's better on the inside for a homeless person like you?"
"To tell the truth, it's not much better. Time will tell, but at least I have a roof and three meals outside; I would have to beg and scrounge up enough for a decent meal. Sometimes, we would scrounge into trash cans for throwaway food."
"Well, freedom counts for something, I guess," Jack added.
"Freedom? What freedom? Out there, you are shackled by poverty, by addiction, by the system.
At least in here, you know what to expect. I wish I could return and take a different path when I had choices."
Jack wanted to hear more about Gum's life, but he suspected that Gums did not want to talk about it, and the yard time was up.
The next few weeks were without incident. Jack is interested in a Nevada criminal justice certificate and has signed up for courses online at UNLV.
It was a clear sunny day when Jack was standing alone in the courtyard enjoying the sun when Bro, another inmate, and his entourage, known for extorting prisoner assets, approached him. With a steely gaze, he stood his ground as Bro, the formidable leader of the clique, got closer with his cronies close behind.
"Well, well, well, what do we have here? It looks like we've got ourselves a fresh piece of meat.
Isn't that right, boys?"
Bro's lackey chuckles, exchanging knowing glances as they size up Jack.
"Fresh meat ain't always good, and I ain't joining your little club."
Bro, grinning, said," Is that so? Well, you see, here we have a little hierarchy. And everyone's gotta pay their dues. Even a washed-up cop like you?"
"Do I look like a washed-up cop?"
"You must wash off the blood when we get through with you."
Jack ignored the comment, "Dues, huh? Funny, I don't remember signing up for your club. And as for paying, I'm all paid up on my debts."
Looking closer, his tone low and menacing, Bro replied. "You don't get it, do you? We run things around here. And if you wanna make it out in one piece, you better start showing some respect."
"One has to earn respect, Bro, And you ain't earned mine. I've seen your type before -bullies hiding behind a gang, preying on the weak. But I ain't one of them."
Bro's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as he regarded Jack with curiosity and grudging respect, "You got some nerve, I'll give you that. But let me make one thing clear-cross me, and you'll regret it."
"Excuse me, I did not get your name?"
"They call me Bro."
Jack chuckled, "Bro?"
"Yeah, Bro, and wash that smile off your face."
Jack unwaveringly met Bro's gaze: "You don't scare me, Bro. I've faced worse than you, and I ain't about to back down now."
Now, there is a tense silence between them, the weight of unspoken threats hanging heavy in the air. But beneath it all, there is a newfound sense of mutual understanding and acknowledgment of two men who refuse to be intimidated.
With a hint of grudging admiration in his voice, Bro said, "you got balls, I'll give you that.
Maybe you ain't as soft as you look, ex-cop."
"Maybe not, Bro, but one damn thing's for sure- I ain't your pawn, and I ain't playing your games."
With that, Jack walks away and returns to the library to continue his studies, leaving Bro and his cronies to stew in frustration. He was with a sense of triumph in his step, a reminder that even behind bars, a man's integrity is his most potent weapon.
During the remainder of his incarceration, Bro and his cronies stayed away from Jack, who would not be intimidated. On the other hand, Gums caved to their demands and would give up a portion of his assets upon demand.
Jack is interested in learning more about Gum's background. There is more to that story than he is telling me.
They met again in the courtyard, where they could talk privately. Jack felt Gum trusted him now that some time had passed, and they were friendly.
"Has the guy, Bro, and his cronies bothered you?"
"Yes, I don't smoke, so I get cigarettes for them on my account."
"I hate that, but there will be consequences if you don't."
"How about you? Are you giving them anything?" Gums asked.
"We worked something out."
Gum's did not pursue the issue.
"So tell me about how you became homeless. There is a path to get there for everyone."
"How well I know."
Jack leaned back against the prison wall, gazing at the clear sky, barely able to keep his eyes open after the noon lunch. Razor wires and guard towers blurred any vision of the serene countryside.
Gums sat beside him, his weathered face reflecting the weariness of life on the streets.
"Jack, you ever wondered how life can twist and turn like a damn roller coaster?"
Gum's gravelly voice broke the silence, drawing Jack's attention.
"Every damn day, every damn day."
Gums sighed heavily, rubbing his shaved head where huge disheveled hair once was.
"It started all back in college, you know? I thought I had it all figured out."
Jack could not help but think, "I knew it; he has an education."
Gums continued, "I smoked a little weed, partied hard, but still managed to graduate with a degree in business."
Jack arched an eyebrow, "A degree in business, huh? So what went wrong?"
Gums chuckled bitterly, "Life, Jack, went wrong. I joined the Air Force and became a pilot. I flew missions in the Middle East, crashed my plane, and survived to see things no man should ever see. I came back with scars on my body and demons in my head."
Jack's expression softened with empathy, "PTSD?"
Gums nodded, his gaze distant. "Yeah. I tried to drown it in a bottle, but that only made things worse. I got a job with a firm delivering mail by air as a pilot, but they found weed in my urine, and I got fired on the spot."
Jack winced, understanding the cruel irony. "And then what happened?"
"To ease the mental anguish, I started on cocaine and got hooked." he said, his voice heavy with regret. "It began a downward spiral; I lost my wife, my car, and eventually, my house. I had nowhere to turn nor anyone to turn to. We had no children; my father was dead, my mother was in ill health, and I was the only child all alone in the world. I was scared to death as to how I would survive. I begged on street corners to fuel my habit and had withdrawal convulsions when I could not get cocaine. With little food and occasional shelter, I went cold turkey and kicked cocaine."
"Good for you, man. So, the crossroads you took was smoking weed, which got you fired."
"I guess."
"Why didn't you go to the VA? They have programs for that."
"I started to, but I missed appointments when I started cocaine, and the coke screwed my head up."
Time was up before Jack could ask about the assault.
"If you don't mind me asking, how did you lose your teeth."
"Some in a street fight and the rest due to gum infections. I managed to get them pulled by a dentist who donated his time to a clinic."
Jack frequently communicated with Sarah. It amounted to small talk. Sarah noticed Jack's excitement when he discussed his online Criminal Justice Certificate, which was well underway. Sarah patiently waited for Jack's release, which was only a few months away but seemingly an eternity.
The buzz in the confines of the prison was about the new lady employee on the cafeteria line.
She was like a breath of fresh air filled with the aroma of spring flowers. She was Jane, a blonde who did not do an excellent job concealing her hair but was brunette. In the dimly lit confines of the prison cafeteria, amidst the clatter of trays and murmurs of inmates, Jack's eyes met Jane's. Something about her, a glimmer of curiosity and a hint of defiance, caught his attention. As days passed, their exchanges grew from fleeting glances to hesitant conversations. Jack, haunted by the memories of that fateful day, finds solace in their brief conversations. She was different, unapologetically herself, in a place where masks were the norm. Their brief conversations grew more private. One day at lunch, she slipped Jack a piece of paper with her address. Write me, she said. It was a bold move, one filled with uncertainty and longing.
Letters soon began to exchange hands, each a glimpse into the other's world. Jack's words carry a weight of remorse, a burden he carries for life lost under his watch. In her letters, Jane poured out her heart with dreams and aspirations,
a picture of a life beyond the confines of prison walls. She spoke of freedom, of second chances, unaware of the shadows lurking in Jack's past.
As the days dwindled and Jack's release drew near, Jane fell deeper into the illusion of their connection. She mistook Jack's gratitude for affection and his kindness for love. So, in the fading light of the sun's rays each night, she awaits the day when Jack's embrace will satisfy her longing. Beyond the facade of letters and longing lies a truth too painful to bear, a truth that threatens to shatter the fragile bond they've built. On the outside, Jack and Jane stand on the brink of a collision, their destinies intertwined in a dance of love and betrayal.
Jack's release day was near. He wanted to hear about Gums's involvement in an assault charge, which Gums had been reluctant to discuss in the past.
He caught up with him in the courtyard, "I asked you once about the day you got caught up in the assault charge."
"My memory is bad for that day because I was smoking weed with some of my friends. All I remember is a bully named Butch who has a reputation for taking things from people experiencing homelessness, including any money if they have any. He watches beggars, follows them, and jumps them when he can. He is a real ass hole."
"So tell me what you remember."
"Well, some of us use a particular ally to sleep with makeshift shelters when the weather is good. That day, a lady, I don't know her name, was begging and getting some money. I was taking a nap in my sleeping bag when I heard a scream, and Butch was maltreating her and ripped off a pocket where she kept the money. I jumped up and tackled him. That's the last I remember until waking up in a jail cell with a terrible headache. I on the head. I was charged with assault because Butch was knifed and survived. The woman was nowhere to be found, nor was the money, and my DNA was all over Butch. My public defender said I should plead and serve my time, which I did."
"Do you think the woman knifed you?"
"Could be, but it does not explain the knot on my head."
"Was it on the front or back?"
"It was on the side above my ear."
"It sounds like somebody hit you."
"It doesn't matter now, It's over."
"I guess. So I am being released, and you have eight months left. Here is my number. Call me next week so we can keep in touch."
"Okay."
Shortly after Jack's release, he received a letter from Jane with her phone number, pleading for his communication.
Jack had mixed emotions about calling her. After all, Sarah was expecting his full attention and found him temporary lodging until she made room for him to move in with her. He had completed his Certificate in Criminal Justice, and Sarah secured a job for him in her employer's firm.
Jack opened the letter with anticipation about what he might read. He was not ready to confront any issues, so he became nervous, and his hands shook as he opened the letter.