Sweats and ID’s (Part 2 by Lifer Renee)
Renee – Only a teenager, she received a 60-year sentence. Now 15 years in, Renee is writing from Perryville prison in Goodyear, Arizona, providing a rare and unique insight into a women's prison.
The week went by. With no work for a month, I was going a little crazy, listening to people gossip and bitch.
“Go and see Officer Chitdez. Now!” a guard said on Thursday, referring to an officer in special prison investigations who I’ve known for 15 years.
I looked at her expressionless, or maybe dumbfounded.
“You know who that is, right?” she said in a lowered voice.
“Yeah, I know who it is.” My mind was racing: why does he want to see me? I got dressed, and walked up front, nervous. I sat outside of the yard office, waiting, for what felt like eternity before he called me.
Showing nothing on his face, Officer Chitdez pulled out the internal investigations IR report. “So tell me about these extra ID’s? You know they are considered escape paraphernalia.”
“Chitdez, man, be nice.”
He just cut his eyes at me. “Where did you get those ID’s from?”
I explained about losing and replacing them working for maintenance. “I did not know what to do with them, and forgot I had them. I couldn’t flush them. It’s my face and name. What if they clogged the toilet, and maintenance were called out? I’d be in trouble. I couldn’t throw them away. What if someone found them? And, come on, man, you’ve known me long enough. I’m not turning anything in to the cops. I just did not want to get into trouble. I didn’t know what to do with them,” I said, feeling frantic by now.
“When you worked maintenance, did you ever go offsite?”
“No. Come on, Chitdez, you’ve known me for 15 years – if I was going to escape I surely would have tried it when I was younger.”
“Has it been that long?” I could see him doing the math in his head. “So do you go offsite working for Televerde?”
“No.”
“Who was your maintenance officer?”
“Mr. Irvine.”
He tapped something into his computer. “So if you ever get an extra ID, what are you going to do?”
“Bring it to you.”
“OK, you can go. Try and stay out of trouble.”
I was relieved, but as I walked out of the yard office I told myself that I can not possibly take anymore.
Click here for Part 1
Post comments for Renee below or email them to writeinside@hotmail.com To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun Attwood
Renee – Only a teenager, she received a 60-year sentence. Now 15 years in, Renee is writing from Perryville prison in Goodyear, Arizona, providing a rare and unique insight into a women's prison.
The week went by. With no work for a month, I was going a little crazy, listening to people gossip and bitch.
“Go and see Officer Chitdez. Now!” a guard said on Thursday, referring to an officer in special prison investigations who I’ve known for 15 years.
I looked at her expressionless, or maybe dumbfounded.
“You know who that is, right?” she said in a lowered voice.
“Yeah, I know who it is.” My mind was racing: why does he want to see me? I got dressed, and walked up front, nervous. I sat outside of the yard office, waiting, for what felt like eternity before he called me.
Showing nothing on his face, Officer Chitdez pulled out the internal investigations IR report. “So tell me about these extra ID’s? You know they are considered escape paraphernalia.”
“Chitdez, man, be nice.”
He just cut his eyes at me. “Where did you get those ID’s from?”
I explained about losing and replacing them working for maintenance. “I did not know what to do with them, and forgot I had them. I couldn’t flush them. It’s my face and name. What if they clogged the toilet, and maintenance were called out? I’d be in trouble. I couldn’t throw them away. What if someone found them? And, come on, man, you’ve known me long enough. I’m not turning anything in to the cops. I just did not want to get into trouble. I didn’t know what to do with them,” I said, feeling frantic by now.
“When you worked maintenance, did you ever go offsite?”
“No. Come on, Chitdez, you’ve known me for 15 years – if I was going to escape I surely would have tried it when I was younger.”
“Has it been that long?” I could see him doing the math in his head. “So do you go offsite working for Televerde?”
“No.”
“Who was your maintenance officer?”
“Mr. Irvine.”
He tapped something into his computer. “So if you ever get an extra ID, what are you going to do?”
“Bring it to you.”
“OK, you can go. Try and stay out of trouble.”
I was relieved, but as I walked out of the yard office I told myself that I can not possibly take anymore.
Click here for Part 1
Post comments for Renee below or email them to writeinside@hotmail.com To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun Attwood
3 comments:
Renee you are so interesting, and also strong, although I doubt that you feel it all of the time (none of us do), but hang on in there, I do love your insights on prison life. Thank you for sharing them with us. I will remember it all for preparation if ever I have to go to jail. Of course I am not planning to commit a crime, but it could happen to anyone and especially nowadays with the poor economic climate that affects poorer people the hardest, then we get penalized for some silly petty crime just so that we can keep paying the bills and a roof over our heads. Renee keep strong, love and best wishes xx
Sophie
I always look foreward to reading your stuff. All the best.
I love hearing from Renee. She brings life into something that seems mechanical and gray. Hearing how she survives and copes makes life outside prison walls seem a lot more bearable and makes me more humble as a person.
~big jason
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