All they did was put me in another box with twenty other low lives. I sat for another two hours.
Eighty percent of the guys waiting to get out should never be here. The other twenty should never leave.
“Sanchez…342,” a female CO called.
“Right here,” I said. I walked out of the cell and into a line of inmates 4o deep. These fools just love to look at you to size you up. Fuck’em all. I hate cholos and I’m going home. In here, we all wear the same clothes. We all look the same. But we know who the real gangsters are. So, I’m sure they know I’m not one.
They took us to get our street clothes and belongings. Fuck. I have to walk out with these slippers.
A room filled with happy criminals getting ready to be released. Changing into the street clothes that some have not seen for months or years. My shit stinks.
I got locked up on Friday night slept on the floor, didn’t get processed ’til Saturday night. Went to court on Monday morning.
“Time served,” said Judge Ramirez without looking twice at my folder.
Now I’m here Tuesday, 7am, almost out the door. County sandals and smelly clothes.
“Sanchez…342,” said another CO.
They shoved ten of us into a small room where we barely fit and slammed the door behind us. Then with a loud clank another door opened and I saw the sun.
It was blinding at first, then cleansing, then it fed my soul the warmth I haven’t had since my mother was alive. She died in 89.
I think I levitated out of that room. The sun in my eyes and the warmth in my chest took me to a different place. I couldn’t even hear the others being greeted by family and friends. I simply stood there for about five minutes.
………………………………………………………………
At the end of the block was a line of twenty pay phones. Half of them being used by fellas who were released and are trying to get a ride home. Most of these guys can’t afford a cab. Neither can I.
I had a few quarters in my property and pulled them out to call home.
We’re sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected. If you feel you have….
Click.
I knew it.
“Hey dog,..” a soft voice said. It startled me because it was too close to me but it wasn’t threatening.
“…Wussup? You trying to get a ride home?,” he asked.
“Naw..I was just checking my messages,” I said. I recognized this guy he lives on the next block from me.
“I live right there on Winter St.,” he said. He looked me in the eye and extended his hand, “Daniel, they call me Silent.”
His voice was smooth, but firm and serious. He had a little bit of raspiness in his voice. It made me feel like he was going to pull out a cigarette at any time.
I shook his hand and said, “Yeah, I recognize you. I’m Raul.” He’s stronger than me. “I’m actually gonna walk home.”
“Fuck it. Let’s walk homie,” he said.
As we walked over the bridge on Cesar Chavez heading to East Los. We started to get to know each other. I looked back at the jail and cursed it. I kept walking and as reality set in I realized I hadn’t called my job.
