Tales From the Greyhound

A few years ago, I was headed to a gig, May Wilson in tow. I decided the best way to get me where I needed to go was to take the Greyhound. Anyway, let’s just say it was an interesting trip. Because when you ride the Greyhound, you meet every mutation on God’s green Earth and then some.

When I was on the trip, some strange woman who had no teeth asked me if she could use my cellphone. She looked like she could have been off Maury Povich or Jerry Springer for any reason. The toothless crone, who was all gums, somehow weighed nearly 500 pounds. I am not being rough on her, I am just wondering how someone of her size with no teeth could get anything high calorie down her throat. Yet she was doing it. If that ain’t skill, I don’t know what is.

This bizarre woman informed me her daughter was having a baby at that moment. In the next breath she asked if she could borrow my phone. I told her no. This woman was a stranger I met on the bus, and a shady one at that. Plus the fact she was so fat and had no teeth both fascinated and scared me. If I got close in any way I would get to know it all and God I didn’t want to.

She got off the bus somewhere, and I overheard her telling someone that this same daughter who was having a baby had just gotten out of rehab. The random man she was telling this to mentioned he had just been discharged from the psych hospital, and was no longer having random hallucinations. Wow, I certainly picked a bus full of people winning like Charlie Sheen. There was some real anti-talent here. If I were a producer, I would have exhibited them all in the freak show in some way.

For a minute, I thought the idea was cruel. Then I saw a near indigent itching his scalp talking to another indigent. One mentioned he was currently homeless and travelling the country. However, he was worried he had lice and a bug in his ear. I had bathed that morning. Suddenly, I felt like a misfit. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t correct. This wasn’t supposed to be. Granted, I was the one with the dummy in the suitcase but still……

Then Frank sat down next to me. He stuck out because he was a decent looking black dude who was rather sharply dressed for his choice of ride. Frank and I quickly struck up a conversation, and I found he was quite easy to talk to actually. We talked about life, travelling, and the places we had been. During our adventure, Frank had purchased some fried chicken. Frank felt I looked skinny, tired, and underfed, so he gave me a piece.

As we chatted Frank revealed he was an ex-con. After seeing what I had on this trip, this somehow didn’t surprise me. Frank also mentioned he had a cousin LaVon that he had been really close with in childhood. The two had been born days apart, and as teenagers committed a combination of burglaries together. However, as adults they had gone their separate ways. Frank when on to tell me his cousin was arrested for a series of armed robberies, and was sent away to prison. When that happened, the two lost touch because shortly thereafter, Frank was  framed for stealing cars. While he freely admitted to the teenage burglaries, Frank drew the line at grand left auto. However, the police pursued him in order to get a conviction. And their conviction they got. Frank was sentenced to 10 years.

Frank mentioned he missed his cousin LaVon terribly, and wondered what happened to the man. I asked how long LaVon’s term had been. Apparently LaVon had been sentenced to 15 years, but had done 5 when Frank was convicted. However, Frank had only served 3 of his sentence and had been out for 4 years at this point. Frank also mentioned LaVon had a short fuse and was more likely to max out, but he wasn’t sure. That is when I had an idea. I suggested Frank 4-1-1 LaVon.

Mind you this was in the days before iphones, and Frank was unaware of the magic of 4-1-1. For some reason Frank didn’t have a phone, but then again, no one besides me had one it seemed. So I let him 4-1-1 his cousin on my phone to see if the man was free. Plus Frank’s stop was the next one, I figured why not. Sure enough, Frank found LaVon. Frank was surprised to hear his cousin’s voice, and LaVon was equally as surprised to hear Frank’s. LaVon wondered how Frank had found him, because until recently he had been homeless. Frank relayed that a lady on the bus named April told him about 4-1-1. Quickly, the cousins made plans to reconnect and reunite.

Frank gave me back my phone and got off at the next stop. In case I got hungry, he gave me the remainder of his friend chicken. I reunited two cousins that had lost each other because of the penal system. In a bizarre way, this tale is sweet. In another way, if they were arrested for a string of robberies I would feel partially responsible for reuniting the dynamic duo.

Sigh, only on the Greyhound

Come see me Friday January 2

The Metropolitan Room

34 W 22^nd Street

11:45 PM. I am breaking a record, bitches

www.aprilbrucker.com

Arrested Development

It was a cold winter day when I found myself down at the Tombs. A blizzard had just hit, and the snow was still fresh on the New York City sidewalk. Because of the people heat and the traffic, the snow was starting to melt, becoming an awkward slush pond. My goal had been to get down there as early as possible. It wasn’t to be obnoxious to my less than law abiding friend AJ. Rather, it was because I knew everyone and their Baby Mama would be there in the afternoon, and I wanted to make as little contact with that shady foot traffic as possible.

Then again, it was ironic I was judging them as we all had a friend or loved one in jail. As I stood there, seeing the white bus that had Corrections written on it in blue lettering, I waited for the austere metal doors to open. As I finished my coffee I knew Mother Justice might not have been blind but nearsighted. Sure, maybe marginalized minority young men and poor whites got the rough breaks because they couldn’t afford a Kardashian, but in the end if you broke the law, the law always won.

The Tombs are on White Street, next to Court Street. AJ was waiting there until Rikers had a bed for him. Usually Rikers is overcrowded, so he had to wait. His mother was distressed because her prodigal son could be transported at any day without being notified beforehand. Such things happen when one is property of the state. Either way, the reason I was there on a Saturday was because the visiting days correspond with their last name, and he was at the end of the alphabet. Plus his parents, who came once a week to visit the dunce they raised couldn’t come because of the snow. While it was now a pain in the ass in the city, Long Island where they lived was still rather crippled from Mother Nature’s wrath. After a call from his mother asking me to come as a favor, I decided to go. Plus I wanted to visit my buddy anyway.

Yes, he was a dunce. AJ was my buddy and therefore my dunce. The details of his original charge and arrest were one for the record books, and if he played his cards right he might even be able to earn a Darwin Award someday. Yet while that was more likely as time went on, I didn’t want that. Despite having a head riddled with one bad decision after another, and leading a life on constant collision course, AJ above all things did have a kind heart and was someone I adored deeply. Often, we would check out guys together, the fag and the hag, and joke about getting into trouble with an entire basketball team.

AJ had been arrested for selling drugs to an undercover cop. With AJ, sex is always on the brain. The dude was cute, and he thought he was going to get some action. Instead, he got handcuffed, just not in the way he wanted. Because he had priors for possession, AJ was sentenced to Haven House, a therapeutic community. A place like Haven House is the last stop on the drug treatment train. It is for those who regular 28 day programs had not worked for, and AJ had done those like a revolving door. Jail had not worked either, partially because these people were repeat offenders because they were addicts. So in this setting that was akin to One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, my dear friend was losing his mind every night when he was in the long line to get his anti-depressant medication.

Haven House was not the place for my buddy. An NYU educated dancer, he had appeared on tours as well as on Broadway, where he did everything from swing to dance captain. Before his arrest, AJ had promised me a lesson. Either way, the inmates running the asylum, most of whom lived on the street and had no home training, grated on my pal’s nerves. AJ began to earn day passes, and would run off to meet various boyfriends. Then he would run back to his cage after a taste of freedom. One day, after six months drug free, he took a day pass and was determined never to return. It worked out because an old druggie friend called him.

Next thing I knew I got a message from our friend Dale telling us AJ was missing. No one knew where he was, and AJ was due in court. Because he had absconded, a warrant was issued for his arrest. Of course, as his mother was calling Dale, AJ was partying it up with three nice looking black models in the Chelsea Hotel. Like Amy Winehouse to rehab, he said, “No, no, no.”

After a bunch of us called him to see if he had died, AJ turned himself in. Off to the Tombs he went to finish the rest of his sentence in jail. If his sentence was one more day, AJ would have been going upstate to Sing Sing or somewhere of that like. His mother had given me his info, and AJ had spoken to me on the phone before my visit. Despite being locked up, my friend seemed to be in good spirits. Part of me thinks it is because he was just happy to be out of Haven House. Then again, by the looks of that Hell on Earth perhaps I too would welcome jail.

While some of our friends were surprised AJ headed to the Chelsea Hotel to do more damage when there was a warrant for his arrest, I wasn’t. At one point, before his life had taken the latest wrong turn, AJ had been a regular. My late friend Chacho had been the drug dealer of the Chelsea Hotel. A queeny king pin in his Louis Vuitton, Chacho was like a Santa Claus for bad kids, he supplied a substance known on the street as ice, and it was at the top of their wish list. On top of that, he knew who was sleeping, and he knew who was awake for days.

When I mentioned meeting AJ, Chacho was less than thrilled. He regaled me with tales of how AJ ran naked around the Chelsea Hotel, and was fisted routinely by muscle men. Not to mention once AJ leapt out a window using his tighty whities as a parachute he was so high. (For the record, it was the 2^nd floor and he landed in a dumpster). More often than not, Chacho was reluctant to deal to him and even cut AJ off on a few occasions. His fear, AJ was crazy, and the drugs were just going to make him a safety hazard. When a drug dealer calls you crazy and cuts you off, that says everything.

Then Chacho informed, “He also has a tattoo on his back that says Cum Fuck Pig with an arrow to his ass. I hope he never goes to jail. That will be one rough shower. You didn’t hear that from me, because snitches get stitches and I did illegal things at the Chelsea. Don’t want to incriminate myself.”

The steel door finally opened and I was jarred back to the present. A female guard reminiscent of the drill sergeant in Private Benjamin stood as I entered, eyeing me suspiciously. In a serious, authoritative tone, she informed me that my cellphone had to be turned off or risk being confiscated. The lighting was dim, almost as if they were going out of their way to make the place was depressing as possible. Yes, this was jail.

The female guard seemed angry and scary, so I complied. On the wall, as my things went through the first metal detector, I saw a sign that said, “Stop Inmate Suicide.” Underneath was a 1-800 number that could be called. Yup, I was in jail. No ands, ifs, or buts about it.

After passing the preliminary security check, I was greeted by several more female guards, all less than thrilled to see me. It wasn’t personal. They didn’t like anyone in the building, but then again, there was nothing to be liked about many of the tenants that resided here. One short guard, a Latina, served as an attack dog of sorts. I lifted my arms as instructed, and my sweat pants were rolled up because they were too long and I didn’t want them to drag. As I followed instructions, some skin unintentionally showed.

“Undo your pants so your skin doesn’t show. If you don’t, I’m giving you a shirt to wear so you don’t expose yourself!” She barked. This was her house and she was bitch in charge. Shit, when they took away a person’s freedom they weren’t fucking around. On the other hand, I knew she was probably like this with everyone and this was far from being personal. She had her reasons and I was best to comply. I followed the command, she softed from a bolder to a brick. Then again, dealing with the criminal element would make anyone a callous asshole.

After passing inspection, I was escorted to a waiting room. Across from me was a young woman, Italian or Latina, I couldn’t tell. She had done her hair and makeup for the visit, probably seeing a boyfriend of some sort before he went to stay for a period at Rikers. Either way, apparently her outfit did not pass inspection. She wore a burlap sack like shirt that said, “STATE OF NEW YORK” in white lettering. The bitch who was in charge of the house had gotten her. We exchanged a half knowing smile. It was a long day and it wasn’t even ten o’clock yet. Yes, we were both visiting people who when you said their names, the words asshole or fuck up most likely followed. The staff of this place wouldn’t let us forget it, either.

There were plenty in my group who would call AJ an asshole and fuck up, especially Dale after the antics of the past week. However, I still didn’t see AJ that way as hard as I tried. While I had known about his drug driven escapades through Chacho, I knew AJ the person through my other deceased friend, Joe. AJ had met Joe through Dale. In the gay world, Dale is sort of a Kevin Bacon. Because he is a party planner, he connects everyone by 6 degrees. AJ had gone to Joe’s art show and they hit it off. Through Joe, AJ had heard about his funny friend April the puppeteer and writer, the one with big dreams writing a book. So we knew each other long before we did. Thus in the end, unintentionally, AJ became my living link to Chacho and Joe, two dearly departed friends.  

When AJ found out about my book being published, he always encouraged him to be vocal. Maybe this is what made him such a hit when he taught dance at some of the best studios in New York, the gift to bring out the best in his students. AJ told me that people had to know that it was possible to accomplish a dream, but also that the book existed. He told me this during my visit to him at Haven House where a guy wearing an Afro with a comb in it asked me, “Do you have change for a dollar?” Then again, according to AJ, he asked all the ladies that question. It was his pick up line.

Because AJ was mandated to treatment and had no money, I gave him a copy of my book for his birthday. He had been deep into it during the time of his arrest, and intended to finish it in jail. However, the book was confiscated because there was writing in the front, aka my special message to my boy. Something about security. Again, when the state takes a person’s freedom, they aren’t fucking around.

Looking around the waiting room, the walls were covered in posters that looked as if they had been stolen from the classroom of my 5^th grade teacher. One had a squirrel chewing a nut that stated, “It’s nice to be important, but it’s important to be nice.” Granted, those who were staying here weren’t here for doing the right thing so this was irony at it’s finest.

Then the next poster was a Bald Eagle. The caption read, “Soar high like an eagle.” Now this one was just plain funny, because the clientele in a detention facility had done just the opposite, going for the lowest common denominator as they tested the laws of nature and the land. Not to mention they were terribly allergic to achievement.

Finally, the best poster was of an owl with a bubble coming out of his mouth. The bubble said, “Remember The Golden Rule: Treat others as you would want to be treated.” There was no comment for that one, none, except a full belly laugh where I ended up on the floor in my mind.

The book shelves of the place were filled with various reading materials for children. These books included The Bernstein Bears, Arthur, and of course Clifford. Then I realized that when the Baby Mama Squad brought their progeny to see their errant father who had seldom come around let alone paid child support. Probably mostly undisciplined because they were the product of a con and the dumbass that bred with him, these youngsters too needed entertained in the waiting room. This whole set up was campy, bizarre, funny, and sad all at the same time.

Finally, I heard a loud male voice announce, “YOUNG!”

I looked over and there was a guard with a handle bar mustache that looked like he was Shining Time Station with short man’s syndrome. Expressionless, he motioned me to a second metal detector. When I entered the visiting area, these were enlarged versions of Play School tables and chairs. Of course they were cemented in so inmates could not throw him if they felt like rioting. Yes, once again, I was reminded of where I was.

A minute later, AJ entered. Looking more refreshed than ever, he was dressed as if The Trix Rabbit picked his wardrobe. Adorned in a lime green jump suit, I figured the State of New York was already punishing this dude by making him wear something that clearly wasn’t his color. AJ gave me a huge, bear hug. “This is perfect! I am up and just had my hot chocolate.” Sigh, only a gay man would have hot chocolate in jail.

“How are you?” I asked. After all, my buddy was in jail. This was a place where you could get stabbed for being the wrong color. One never knows when they are wearing the bulls eye for the day.

“I’m good. Glad to be the fuck out of Haven House. You see, I go to Rikers. Then I am done. No treatment, nothing.” AJ said happily.

“Are you safe?” As I fielded the question I grabbed my friends hand, worriedly. Between the dim light, scary guards, and possible axe murderer for a roommate this was no place I would want to spend the night.

“Yeah, most dudes are drug offenders like me. We just play cards most of the time. Jail is kind of boring.” My buddy said. Then he reiterated that he was glad to be out of Haven House.

“Do they heat this place? It is winter.” I informed him.

“Oh yeah.” He told me. “The only downside here is I am without my hair dye. Other than that, I’m pretty good. They have me on a new anti-depressant that makes me lose weight and is amazing.” Again, only a gay man would see these particular ups and downs in this given situation.

As he said this, AJ stroked his salt and pepper hair. He was now in his forties and it was beginning to show. AJ told me his parents had been visiting him weekly, and his mother had been getting on his nerves. It was getting harder and harder for his family to come, and his sister was outright angry with him. She had told him after his initial arrest that if he screwed up again, she was done with him. Well AJ’s sister made good on her threat, proving it was a promise by not visiting him. While this saddened AJ, he admitted he knew she was justified.

Then sheepishly, AJ asked, “Is Dale mad at me?”

The answer began with a Y and ended in a yes. Dale was beyond pissed. From having his patience and friendship stretched, he had to deal with AJ’s ever beleaguered mother melting down on the phone. To boot, Dale had actually dragged AJ out of his drug den in the Chelsea Hotel and walked him to court where he voluntarily turned himself in. Perhaps AJ deserved the words fuck up and asshole tacked on after the mention of his name. He was still my friend, and he had lost his freedom. So I lied and told him no.

 “Am I a fuck up like Benny McMahon?” AJ inquired.

Good old Benny McMahon was a rent boy we had all known. Working as an escort well into his ladder 40s, recently the lifestyle had begun to wear on Benny as he had been forced to get dentures. Sober for about an hour a day, Benny recently got into a neat building with a door man through the welfare system. While Benny would definitely screw this up, he had one thing AJ didn’t: his freedom. Not to mention Benny could also pick his own clothing. In this case, Benny McMahon was far superior. Again, I didn’t have the heart to tell him this. So I changed the subject.

 “Are you happy?” I asked him.

“Oh of course I am. Are you kidding? No more treatment. And as you know, I love the black and Spanish guys, the dark meat. This place is a candy store for me.” AJ informed me, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

I burst out laughing as he said this. Sure, I should have done a face/palm but I couldn’t. Chacho and AJ had something in common. Aside from a serious drug problem, they couldn’t lie. They could steal and have sex with lots of strangers, but they couldn’t lie. As a matter of fact, there were times I preferred they did.

 “You have a boyfriend in here?” I asked now intrigued.

“Funny you should say that. You see the other day the guys asked if I was gay. They said they had no problem with it. Just wanted to know. I told them I was. Next thing I know this hot, gold toothed Dominican drink of water starts tapping me on the shoulder when I am not looking on the tier, and then running away. I was like, that is a dangerous game to play in jail, Pal.” AJ said.

“That is fifth grade affection if I ever heard it.” I told him. “Shit, looks like you found yourself a husband.”

“He says he has a girlfriend, but I think he’s into me.” AJ assured.

“Oh, he’s so into you.” I said. “And before you know it, he will be into you.”

“Oh I hope it’s in the shower. I have always wanted to have sex in the jail shower.” AJ told me. Then we proceeded to gossip about people we knew in the midst of our gigglefest.

Just then, we caught site of a Spanish gangster dude and his gal pal. She was wearing too tight jeans that accentuated her J-Lo-esque derriere. Playfully, she slapped her Boo, and he slapped her back. “Stop that!” The guard with the handle bar mustache thundered. The place went quiet. When things get quiet in jail, it is generally a bad sign. The air became so thick a pin could drop.

“Oh, he can slap me anytime.” AJ cooed. I laughed again. Yes, my gay friend and I were checking out men in jail. His life had sunk as low as it could get, and he could only think about the sexual fantasies he had yet to live. And there I was, checking out a dude with him. The whole thing felt unreal, but it was also kind of fun to behave like 7^th grade girls about boys regardless of where we were. Only AJ could make a jail visit this much fun.

Just then the guard announced the visit was about up. “Thank you for visiting me in jail on a snowy day, if there is anything I can do to repay you, let me know.”

“Take care of yourself and stay out of trouble.” I said. Then things got real. It’s the moment where I got to go to freedom, and he had to stay. Perhaps he was making a heaven out of hell to quote John Milton, but alas, he was still in jail. He hugged me quickly and ran off. There was a part of me that was offended, but part of me knew it was a way not to deal with things getting real. Then again, maybe this was why he was looking for love in jail. And this is why he turned to drugs in the first place. AJ couldn’t deal with real, and he had to do whatever he could to escape it.

Exiting the jail felt good, especially when they opened the metal gates and off to freedom I went. Despite the cold, I appreciated the sunlight gracing my skin in a whole new way. Even though I saw my breath as a result of it being January, I was outdoor to see my breath. I got on the subway, and back to my home to plan my day, my decisions and not that of a bunch of guards. Needless to say, I also made sure I had the right away when I crossed the street. I made sure the clerk truly gave me a $5 and not a $20 instead. When I owed money, I paid it honestly. In short, the visit with the friend who made horrid decisions made mine better.

AJ was released and relapsed again. I saw him on the street as he was coming off a bender and brought him hot chocolate, his favorite drink that got him through his time in jail. The poor thing was sweating bullets in November. I had to. AJ assured me he would pay back the favor.

Months later, I had a DVD taping. AJ told me he was coming, and I put him, Dale and the rest of the posse on the guest list. However, AJ was a no show. Word on the street was that he got arrested again. I hope he finds Mr. Felony Murder in jail, because visiting a friend once is good for the soul but it’s not something that should be done twice. Either way, it’s nice to be important, but it’s important to be nice as the poster says. I hope AJ gets it right this time. Like the bald eagle, I hope he soars high. And I hope he isn’t like the squirrel looking for his latest pair of nuts. Sigh McSigh Sigh.

www.aprilbrucker.com

Genius of Love (The Tom Toms)

Today's adventure was visiting my friend in jail. Yes, I visited a buddy in jail. Yes, I have shady friends sometimes. Well, he wasn't shady. He had a history of drug abuse and didn't want to get hooked on vicadin and accidentally sold to an undercover cop. Then he was put in a drug program where he absconded on a twenty four hour pass and relapsed and missed court. After being on the run for seven days he ended up in MDC-Manhattan Detention Complex.

Getting to MDC in the show was a trip but it was no biggie. I am a Northern East Coast Woman. I am used to snow. I debated whether or not to go but his mother had been talking me all week and they couldn't go because of the snow. Plus I missed my buddy who was so proud of me for writing my book and my puppet stuff. And this was my big chance to see him before he went to Rikers which by the way is a pain in the ass to get to. My mom didn't want me to go and said just wish him well. But I figured what else was I supposed to do? So I decided to go.

Walking into MDC I felt immediately like I was in jail. Maybe it was the metal detectors. Maybe it was the guards. Maybe it was being told I needed a locker for my cellphone and that I had to turn it off. When I went to get my pass they asked who I was going to see, and they didn't want the name but rather my friend's case number. It is weird saying you want to see someone and then calling off their case number. In some ways it is inhumane, doesn't even give them a proper identity. It's like they don't matter. They aren't a person. So many times organizations try to pitch and say that their customers aren't just a number. But here you are a number. After all, it is jail.

They asked me what my relationship was and I said friend. The guard shrugged and did a double take. They are used to women trying to get away with the bare minimum of clothing probably referring to themselves as girlfriend to see the male inmates. My buddy is gay. None of that would be happening here. I didn't want to tell the guard that, but my buddy's parents had been in all week and now they know them by name. Fortunately his mother is understanding about drugs and addiction, not many people's are.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a sign of what to do in the event of an inmate suicide. Wowsa, welcome to jail. People got depressed and killed themselves here. While the guards for the most part were kind to me because I showed manners I could tell they could be SOB's sometimes. Then again, they were well paid SOB's. They had to be SOB's. You don't go to jail because you were singing in the choir or skipping through daisies. It is a kind reminder that you broke the law. End of story.

After being processed I was in a waiting room watching the news. My stomach began to do flip flops. I had this feeling of doom. For some reason, although I had no reason to be scared, I feared they would get me for something. As a kid I always feared the principal's office and now it was like being in the principal's office but as an adult. Wait, this was worse than a principal's office. I didn't want to move for fear of being chastised. Another woman sat in the waiting area with me and flashed me a knowing, sympathetic smile. We were both there for the same thing. We both knew. The air in a jail is different. This is a place where you are told what to do, where to go, and freedom is another word for nothing left to lose in the words of Janice Joplin. Wait, freedom, what is that? That is what I have. My buddy, not so much. He got credit for time served but they were really thinking of throwing the book at him.

The lighting in a jail is different too. Most places try to have as much light as possible, happy if you will. Jails are kind of dark and scary. Sort of like the Shashank Redemption. My buddy's mother mentioned when you see an inmate you have to put a quarter in a locker and then put your stuff in there, but you get your quarter back or leave it for someone else out of good will. She leaves it for someone else. It's because it's the only ray of light there is in a jail. Sometimes, that person used all the money that they had to see their loved one locked up. I could only imagine the stress the family of the accused feels sometimes, and the stigma of guilt depending on the crime under charge.

Of course there are vending machines. Why have real food when you can have junk? Of course they serve the prisoners slop of some sort that is probably not fit to feed anyone or anything human. But this is the state, they barely view prisoners as human. To them they are a waste of space. Granted, many are. But some like my friend are drug offenders who are running from their demons and use a controlled substance to deal with their pain. Unfortunately Mother Justice does not understand depression and self-medication. If she did my former lover boy Holden Caulfield would not have had as many brushes with the law as he did. They say she is blind. Bitch is more like Helen Keller. On the walls of course were posters with slogans like It's Nice to Be Important But It's Important To Be Nice. Followed by Reach For The Sky and You Might Get the Stars, etc. I felt like I was in grade school again. But then again this was a place where perhaps they had to go back to basics. There were children's books which was nice I suppose.

My name was then called and off I went to see my buddy. I was escorted into a room with mostly playschool type tables and chairs and was directed where to go. The vibe of the place makes you comply. The guards have their eyes open and you don't even want to turn your head in the wrong direction. While it seems facist in some ways there are reasons for this. Security reasons. The lady guard asked me if I needed to go to the restroom before I went. I could tell she knew I was scared out of my wits. I did and my stomach in a response released stress related bile. The bathroom was disgusting, probably never cleaned. But this is jail. No one cares about you when you are in jail, remember? When I exited the rest room I felt better. I think they knew at this point I wasnt smuggling drugs or weapons in. I just wanted to hug my buddy, that's all.

My buddy came out wearing a lime green jump suit and was happy to see me and thanked me several times and mentioned he would not forget this visit in the cold. He seemed in good spirits and mentioned they changed his anti-depressant. Then like a good gay man he asked if he had circles under his eyes. I asked if I had woken him up and he said no, the timing was perfect. The reason I had come so early was because I knew around ten or eleven everyone and their damn mother would be there and I wanted to beat the foot traffic. While I was low drama it wouldn't be the same for everyone visiting. I bet around noon the fights with the female guards start because someone brought lipstick. My buddy had his hot coca and was happily up. He mentioned that his mother was losing her blessed mind which was true. I had been talking to her all week. She was a nice lady but losing her mind, after all, her kid was looking at some time and up to a week ago they were recommending a year. Plus with all the television shows about jail like Lock Up Raw it's easy to get scared. Not to mention my friend is gay and in jail, which either isn't a problem or puts a bullseye on your forehead.

I had written my boy a letter about a week ago and he mentioned he had written me but had no envelopes or stamps. Those things happen in jail. I told him lime green was a good color for him and we laughed about it. I teased him and said with a color choice like that he was obviously gay.

My buddy mentioned he was happier in jail than he was in his drug program. He said he liked the structure of jail and played cards and stuff with the other inmates. I teased him because he likes black guys and told him he was probably having the time of his life. We both laughed at that, because in part it may have been true. Yes, it is racist to assume the slew of black guys in jail are all gay but some of them are operating on the downlow. Then my buddy mentioned one Spanish guy with gold teeth had been hitting on him all week, tapping him on the shoulder and then when my buddy turns his head running in the other direction. I teased him about this dude liking him. We also laughed about how this was not the game to play in jail because flirt with the wrong person and you might meet with your end via shank. However, I also cautioned my buddy that there were three places never to find love: Drug/Alcohol Twelve Step Meetings, Rehab, and Prison. A guy from the TC he had deviated from was dating this other chick there and well, we had a laugh about this romance destined for disaster and doom.

Just then, we both looked around the room and the majority of guys in there were with female visitors. Some of these dudes were holding their hands and some of these women were getting that middle school droopy affectionate. I made a joke with my buddy that I should just start kissing him to make things awkward. We both agreed we shouldn't but laughed. Behind us there was a cute guy with a girlfriend who wore these tight assed jeans which she was probably given shit about upon walking in. My buddy observed that he was hot. Sure, he was hot but a little too gangsta for my type. Anyway, my buddy being his ever homo self began checking him out with me. We giggled like little school girls. I was surprised I didnt see former boyfriends personally. I mean, once I was watching a Lock Up Raw about Rikers and saw a lesbian chick I knew who used to beg for change in Chelsea. Hell, these things happen to me and only me it seems.

As I laughed and giggled with my buddy whether it was about the hottie and his gal pal or people we knew in general I began to forget I was visiting someone in jail. Even as he glanced at the clock knowing the hour would come to an end at some point it didn't feel like I was in the slammer. My buddy was making me laugh and we were having a good time just like we used to on Monday nights before his arrest. Nevermind I was dressed down no makeup and in jogging pants that hadn't been washed in some time. Nevermind he was talking about how he needed desperately to dye his hair back to brown from his salt 'n' pepper color. I was having a good time on a Saturday morning with my friend, and didnt even care that it was in jail. Even as he mentioned that the perspective cell/tier mates ranged from petty thieves to people charged with rape, rape/murder, or just plain murder we were having a ball. He told me he could sleep all day if he wanted or play cards with other inmates, whatever.

Just then the hot gangsta guy who was disgustingly kissing on his Boo playfully slapped her and the female guard said, "Dont you do that!" The room turned like WTF? Everyone got silent. This was strange. They say when things get silent in jail it is a bad thing. Something happened. I asked my buddy what happened who saw the whole thing out of the corner of his eye and he said the guy had playfully slapped the girl. I was like wowsa. And then my buddy added, "He is so cute that he can punch me anytime he wants." And then we both burst out laughing. I mentioned I was glad I didn't see any old boyfriends of mine and we both laughed again.

While gangsta boy was probably no homo with his gal pal he looked like he was a pro at this. I have a feeling he might be meeting my buddy for a love connection later. I mean it is jail. It could happen, especially if the gangsta boy is going away for sometime and won't see a woman and every man has his needs. Then my buddy asked how the snow had hit us and if it had stuck. Then it occurred to me that he didn't know because jails are not notorious for windows. I looked around and saw a window in the back, but there were probably no windows elsewhere. I told him it wasn't so bad in the city but it was probably bad where his parents were in Queens.

They gave us fifteen extra minutes on our visit which was nice of them, probably because my buddy is a good prisoner and I was well behaved, plus there weren't a lot of people there. My buddy then mentioned he had to pee like a race horse. Some of it is a combo of his meds and probably the hot chocolate he had drank before my arrival finally catching up to him. But I knew in the back of my mind the awkward departure was the fact that eventually he knew I would have to say goodbye and he would eventually have to go back to where he was housed, a jail cell. I know there was a part of him that envied the fact I got to leave and skip in the snow, even if it was a blizzard where my feet could get wet. He couldn't. While he is a gay gay he is still a guy, and departing from a jail visit isn't easy. I told him to go pee. I knew he would have to and I knew the awkward outros weren't him. This was part of his way of dealing with where he was, and while he was in good spirits no one wants to be seen or remembered as an inmate at Manhattan Detention Complex. While they had received good ratings on Yelp I can tell this is not the fine dining Manhattan is known for.

My friend then told me once again like he had at the beginning of the visit that he would never forget this. I know he won't. I often joked he was my gay husband. He'll be out in June and then we can hang out all the time like we used to on Monday nights. Maybe I can even go to Fire Island with him when the weather permits. I have always wanted to go and believe it or not as a fag hag I have never been.

 Either way, I had to wait to be released after he left. After all, you are in jail. As I was reminded I was told I could depart. I walked back through the dim lighting, got my things, and then my cellphone. Upon leaving, one step away from freedom, I was reminded again when the guard asked me not to touch that key when the door wouldn't open. I asked her if I could turn my cellphone on in the building and she said no. I had to wait until I got outside. I thanked her, wished her a good day, and left. As I was on my way out more people were on their way in to see a friend, family member, or loved one whatever. Some knew their sentence, others did not. Either way, while my buddy says his mom is freaking out I can understand why. It must be stressful as hell to have a kid in jail. I was just a friend getting to walk back into freedom. Imagine being a parent knowing your child can't.

There was a pang of guilt that hit me as soon as I walked back into the sunshine that I had never felt before. The guilt that I could leave while my buddy was damned to stay. Also the hatred of drugs and addiction and what they did to people. My buddy has a good heart but unfortunately has a drug problem. As a result he is in jail and his family is losing their ever blessed mind. While my buddy seems to be taking it in stride his mother isn't. Part of it might be his way of dealing, but maybe it hasn't hit yet. While his mother seems used to her son's battle with drugs, it probably still breaks her heart. Actually, I know it does. She told me so during the three times we spoke.

As the sun shone in my direction the guilt melted and was replaced by gratitude. I was not only grateful for my freedom, but grateful for all the good things I was doing with my freedom. It was also a gentle reminder to exercise good judgement at all times because as my mother used to say, "You don't have to work that hard to fuck up your life."I also realized my buddy wouldn't want me to feel guilt because he was so proud of me for the way my life was going. Once I didnt want to talk about my book and he stopped me and said, "You need to. You need to let people know they can do these things with their lives, April."

Before he got locked up my buddy had started my book and thought it was so special I was using my talents to make people's day, and was the first to describe my book as a "feel good book." I found myself saying a prayer for my friend and his gentle spirit, asking God to guide him in the process get his perspective shit together and to be able to say no to drugs for good. I also found myself hating drugs and what they did to people and their lives. How they stole time, ripped families apart, and just destroyed lives and everything else in their path as they held souls captive essentially like demons from hell. Walking to the subway I smelled that someone had lit a joint and it made me sick, so sick I wanted to smash something. This was the shit that was costing my friend his freedom and the word felony on his record forever. Sure, it was Tina that was his drug but I was not in the mood for Mary Jane or her lighthearted, Scooby Doo watching antics or any other controlled substance or their street name at that moment in time.

As promised I called my buddy's mom who was grateful I visited and was having her driveway shoveled. Because my buddy can't have things with writing on them in jail, his mother is reading my book currently. She had picked it up amongst his other things from his drug program and security wouldn't let her take it into the jail. While it merely had a message to my buddy for his birthday they couldn't allow it because of all the gang stuff that occurs in jails. I hope she enjoys it. She seems very nice and perhaps this will be the laugh she needs in this desperate hour of stress and darkness. I know he doesn't mean to cause her pain and even said so during the visit that it breaks his heart he does this, but addiction is an evil disease. With that, I gave God an extra thank you for my freedom and therefore promised to make better choices than I ever had and to be more responsible with it. Not that lately I have been making bad choices, but we could always be a little smarter. We all take our freedom for granted until we lose it.

To detox I went to lunch with my girlfriends. One had jury duty this week and had been turned away, too many jurors and not enough cases. The one case was the cannibal cop. While my lady friend had been glad she was turned away, she was like wowsa. I wonder if the Cannibal Cop is at MDC. I wonder if my buddy will think he is hot. Or better yet, according to court documents he is straight. What if I have a shot with that hottie? I think I better go back so I could bump into him. Oh no, maybe I better stay away for some time because I have a weakness for bad boys and outlaws. I will be sending him my panties and the next thing I know roasting on a spit as he eats my brain. Or maybe he will find love and marry my buddy and be the husband his mother wants him to have. I know, my buddy and I are friends for a reason. Okay, neither one of us make the best choices but still, we have a weakness for a hot guy even if he likes a little flesh with a side of fava beans a la Lector.

Either way, I can't wait for my boy's release in June. And perhaps this time things will go right and he will get it right. Cause the hot boys will be running about and maybe we can both get one, preferably with lots of money. Cause in the words of the Tom Toms, "What's you gonna do when you get out of jail? I'm gonna have some fun."

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
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