The Curious Case of Christopher Comtois (Part V)

Jail

    

     As I was walked from my doorstep to the police car the only thing that I kept thinking about was that I was mad that a day of skiing was taken away from me.  I love to ski and it was a perfect day.  It had snowed a little the night before up in Breckenridge and I was sure that my rugby buddies were making some good turns.  I did find it funny that I was handcuffed and about to be placed into a police car by a team of officers and my only thought was about missing a ski day.  Kidnapping?  I knew what kidnapping was and I was pretty sure that I didn't kidnap anyone.  Kidnapping?  Really?  That was a stumper.  I was placed in the back of one of the cars and off we went.  There were two officers in the front seat beyond the cage that separated us.  I asked them what was happening.  They were nice guys.  They told me that all they knew was that a warrant had been issued by the state of Florida very early in the morning and that they were told to come and get me.  They also said that two other times the night crew had come to pick me up but no one answered the door.  I knew that.  I asked them a few different times what crime I had committed.  The warrant only said "kidnapping," they said. There was no other information included.  Apparently when another state issues a warrant for them to serve they often don't have any idea of what the person they were arresting had been accused of.  They were simply picking up someone for another state.   Sounded super helpful.  But kidnapping?  I told them I hadn't kidnapped anyone.  No response.  What would happen to me next? The barrage of questions continued. First, I would be transported to their station, which was close by but not my final destination.  I would wait there until the downtown Denver station sent one of their guys to get me.  Then I would be taken downtown to be processed into the Denver City Jail.  This would take awhile.  And since it was Saturday, I probably wouldn't see anyone about extradition until early next week.  Great, I could have skied and turned myself in on Monday. Extradition?  The state that issued the warrant would have to come and get me.  And how long would that take?  More questions.  More answers.  One of them said that they didn't know exactly, but sometimes it takes from ten to ninety days for this to happen.  Ten to ninety days?  Uh oh.  When I was talking to Aimee about whatever it was that was happening, I honestly thought that I would be home that night.  Now these guys are talking about weeks or months.  I shrugged it off since I realized that these two were only there to pick me up.  Kind of like a cab called by Florida.  The cab drivers didn't know anything other than where to pick me up and where to take me. But when they told me where their station was located I thought it was stupid since the downtown location was much closer.  Why not just help those guys out and take me their first to get this thing moving?  Government protocol.  Whatever.  So while we drove through the streets of south Denver the inquisition continued with two police officers who basically knew nothing. 

     We finally got to their place.  I was taken to a holding cell.  They took off the handcuffs from one of my wrists and then sat me down on a bench and handcuffed me to a bar that had been placed in the stone wall for that purpose.  The cell was a traditional one with bars where I could see everything that was happening on the other side.  It reminded me of Gene Wilder living in his cell as the Frisco Kid in Blazing Saddles. It was near an administrative area with police officers coming and going. Talking about their day.  Their kids.  Every once in awhile when one would walk by I would get their attention to ask a question.  Not one of them stopped to answer me.  Or even look at me.  I was bothered by that.  I was a person who was obviously there by mistake but to them I was just another criminal.  I was supposed to be half way through a day on the slopes and probably sitting in the sun with a beer but instead I was sitting in a ten by ten jail cell handcuffed to a bar.  I knew next to nothing about why I was there and no one could enlighten me.  I asked several officers when I'd get a chance to contact anyone and finally one said, "Stop asking questions or we'll be forced to move you to a more secure cell."  More secure?  Would both of my hands be handcuffed to a bar?  Time had slowed.  I'm not one that deals with waiting for anything very well.  I hate traffic.  I'd rather drive fifteen miles out of my way than sit in stop and go rush hour traffic.  It may take me longer to get home but at least I was moving.  I would come back later if there was a line somewhere that I need to go.  The waiting is really the hardest part.  And now all I could do was wait.  I was sure that at some point that day I'd get to talk to someone in an official capacity that would understand that this was a huge mistake.  Someone reasonable.  But I understood that the person I was looking for wasn't there.  So I waited. 

     I had a truckload of questions in my head.  Waiting offers you time to ponder and I began going through my time in Orlando and if I had done anything that could be construed as kidnapping.  Did some former student that I gave a detention to make something up about me?  Was this really happening?  Should I be worried?  When do I get lunch?  I realized that I should have eaten a bigger breakfast in anticipation of not knowing when I'd eat again.  I was confused, hungry and being treated like a criminal.  It seemed like I had been there forever but it hadn't even been an hour.  I was glad that I didn't answer the door the first time they came to my house.  At least I was showered and rested and not sitting in my underwear.  I was very concerned about my job.  The one thing that I knew was that I would probably be missing work on Monday.  Ten to ninety days.  I may miss the rest of the school year.  As my mind raced and tried to grasp what was going on I concluded a timeline that I could live with.  As long as this was resolved by mid-May, I'd be OK with it.  I had already signed on to work at the camp in Maine again.  In fact, I had been promoted to Program Director, which was a position that was pretty much above the entirety of the staff.  I was very excited to take on this new role and as I sat in jail on March 1st, as long as this fiasco was done by the time I was supposed to head to camp, I'd be all right.  Plus, I had tickets to see The Who in Boston in July.  The Who is my favorite band and I had purchased the tickets months earlier.  If this thing made me miss the concert I'd be really upset.  It's comical that camp and The Who were my gauges on how much of this I could tolerate but that's the way I think.  This was hour one of my ordeal and without anything to go on minus "kidnapping," I tried to not get worked up about anything.   Eventually I would get to talk to someone who would listen to me and realize that I wasn't really supposed to be there.  But that person was probably skiing today.  

     Finally an officer came to my cell, opened the door and told me that he would be uncuffing me from the bar.  He explained that once the cuff was removed that I would need to stand up and turn around with my hands behind my back.  Anything other than what he told me to do would be considered resisting and force would have to be used.  I assured him that there would be no resisting or need for force.  I even think I made some joke about it.  So he unclicked the handcuff on the bar and I stood up and turned around and placed my hands behind my back as he grabbed me and placed my free hand back into the restraint.  He held my arm as he walked me out of the cell and through the building and back out into the parking lot.  I was placed into his car and we took off.  I resumed my question and answer session just as I had done with the first two guys in the car. This guy wasn't as friendly.  He told me to stop talking.  Several times.  I was grasping for any answers I could get.  I was totally in the dark and desperate to know anything, but it was obvious that I wasn't going to get it from him.  It was extremely frustrating to not know why or what was happening.  Or how long it would take.  I was just starting to learn that to them I was just another criminal.  They were just doing their job to arrest me.  The rest of it would be left to people not wearing uniforms.  They didn't care who I was or what I did.  I was a blip on their daily radar of dealing with the bottom dwellers.  I stopped asking questions. Then, after some silence, I engaged him in small talk just as I would a cab driver.  I asked how his day was going.  No answer.  I knew he heard me so I sat silent.  To me it's not natural and incredibly rude to ignore someone.  Although I was a criminal to him I was still a person and it really infuriated me that he was so callous.  I hadn't been rude or aggressive or anything other than cordial and was being flat out ignored.  It felt extremely demeaning and I think that I was more upset about how I was being treated than the situation that I was in.  I was blindly ignorant about what was happening and was desperate for any information that I could get and so far, aside from the officers that took me away from my home, I was being ignored and threatened.  But soon I'd be downtown and I figured that someone there would have some answers. 

     Eventually I found myself in a large holding cell somewhere inside the Denver City Jail.  This cell was just a room with benches and an electric door with just one small window.  There were probably eight or so other guys in there with me.  Some were trying to sleep on the floor.  Some were sitting alone and some were engaged in conversation. All were guys that didn't come from my neighborhood.  It was now mid-afternoon.  I was told that I would be processed into the jail and that it would take several hours.  But that one of the holding cells that I would be waiting in would have a phone that I could use.  It seemed like I had been gone from home for months and I could hardly wait to have the opportunity to hear a friendly voice.  I knew that things were happening on the "outside" and I was glad that I had been able to prep Aimee with phone numbers and information.  Being arrested and taken away from your home is not something that happens every day.  I took solice in the fact  that I had a large support group behind me. They would be as confused and worried as I was, maybe more so, but they would be looking for answers immediately.  I was sure that my mother already knew and that she was working the phones.  Even though I was the one that was in the middle of this storm, I was learning that I was powerless and completely at the mercy of those in charge.  I did not have any freedom and was left to wait for opportunities to ask questions or make calls.  My friends and family would be able to dig for information and I knew that they were mobilizing as I was sitting and waiting.  But now I was standing in a cell with other people who had been arrested.  I was the only white person in the room.  I didn't know anything about the system or protocol and just wanted to be left alone.  I thought about lying down to try to sleep until I was taken to my next destination but I knew that sleep was fruitless.  My mind was running in overdrive and I was anxious to get some answers. Any answers. One answer. Why the room included a clock was beyond me.  Time means nothing in there.  My life was in a holding pattern and the clock only reminded me how long a minute really was.  I purposely positioned myself away from it and sat down.  Every so often the door would open and an officer with a clipboard would come in and call out a name.  Someone would leave.  It was much like sitting in the waiting room at the doctor’s office and hoping that your name is the next one called.  Finally after two hours (I knew this because I saw the clock when I stood up) my name was called and I got excited to be moving on. 

     Each scene of my journey was a new beginning.  An opportunity to find out what was going on.  I'm not sure if I was taking this seriously or serious enough.  The night before I was a law abiding citizen getting ready to go to bed and get up early to go skiing and now I am in the Denver City Jail being processed in for kidnapping.  That was an awful lot to process and my mind had not made the switch over from normal life to whatever this was.  But the way I was dealing with it was the same as how I'd deal with any other challenging event, which was just to be myself and see where it took me.  I generally don't overreact to stressful situations and take things how they come.  In fact, in a strange sort of way, I was trying to enjoy it.  Make the best of a bad situation.  Not everyone gets to go through this and it was semi-exciting in a very odd sort of way.  It was kind of like reality TV but instead of watching, I was in it.  The gravity of the proceedings had not yet hit me. 

     I was taken to the area for fingerprinting and mugshots.  There would be no new information here.  I'd had my fingerprints done just months previous when I first got to Colorado.  It was required for my job.  And I had had my fingerprints taken when I was arrested for my DUI.  And probably a few other times for background checks for other jobs.  I was a fingerprint veteran.  For my mug shot I wondered if it was appropriate to smile.  If this story was going to be on the news I didn't want my mug shot to look like a guy who was guilty.  I know I've watched the news before when they talk about some person who was arrested for whatever and their mugshot was up on the screen.  And I would think, "Yep, that guy's guilty."  I didn't want that to be me.  I understood the fact that I was a teacher and had been arrested for kidnapping.  That much had not been lost on me.  Those two things together don't look so good.  But I resisted to smile as they took the front and side profile photos.  Afterwards I went to my third holding cell of the day. 

     There were a few of the guys from the other room in this cell and many more who had already passed through the fingerprint/mugshot phase ahead of me.  People all over the place.  I was tired of not talking and randomly engaged a group of guys in conversation.  Small talk, really.  But I realized as we spoke that these guys knew the drill.  This was not their first time in this room.  Somehow we got around to why each one of us was there.  Most gave colorful answers about being set up for this or that.  Theft seemed to be crime of the day.  I told them my story.  There was sympathy from this group.  They all hated the police and seemed legitimately upset.  It felt good to interact with people other than the police.  I have always believed that if you treat people right it doesn't matter their background or upbringing.  People are people.  I was talking to some guys.  Guys that I'd normally not be in a situation to talk to and I found their stories and lives interesting in a voyeuristic sort of way.  But I was one of them now living in the same boat.  They shed some light on the process and what would be happening next.  And all agreed that there was no way that I was seeing anyone in authority till sometime next week.  This deflated me.  Although I was trying to make the best of a really, really bad situation, I knew that there would be a tipping point.  I didn't want to be there and couldn't really imagine this thing going on for more hours, let alone days.  But we continued to talk and wait.  One by one a guy would get called onward to the next stop until eventually I was on my way out the door for whatever was next. 

     I was taken into an administrative office and sat down at a desk across from a woman in plain clothes.  She seemed pleasant.  She was the intake officer.  Her job was to determine if I was a threat to myself.  She asked me questions about my life.  Things like whether or not I had friends on the outside, a girlfriend, a job, etc.  I explained that I was a teacher and was supposed to be skiing that day.  I told her that I was confused and had no idea why I was there.  I gave her much more than she was asking for because I felt that I had to tell anyone who would listen to my story.  I thought that eventually someone would listen and believe me and get the ball rolling on getting me out.  No luck here.  In fact, I suddenly realized that in her mind, she was talking to a teacher who was being processed into jail for kidnapping.  What I said did not matter to her in the least.  I was a criminal.  She saw criminals all day.  Every day.  Off I went to the next cell.

     My new friends were all waiting for me.  Well, they were at least waiting.  But the gang was back together again.  And this was the room with the phones.  Finally.  All of a sudden I was free to make contact with the outside world.  It was probably 4pm or so and my first call was to my mother.  But it had to be collect.  I knew that she would be very anxious to hear from me.  My mother was a very reasonable woman.  She was much tougher than she appeared.  I knew she would be very worried about me but she was not the type to lose control.  There were three phones and each of them was occupied.  I don't know the last time I had felt this but I really wanted to talk to my mom. I needed that comfort.  So until a phone came clear I'd continue to chat with my crew. We talked sports.  We talked about jail.  I asked questions about what I could expect there.  I felt like I was getting some good information.  The consensus was that the City jail was less than desirable.  There was very limited time out of individual cells.  We would be locked up for 23 hours per day.  They were all in agreement that the County jail was the place to be.  They spoke about it as if it were a resort.  Most of them knew that they would be "in" for awhile and that they couldn't wait to get out to "County."  Out at County the food was better, the recreation was better, there was plenty of free time to play cards, talk to other inmates and they even showed movies!  Although I desperately wanted to be at home, the alternative, I guess, was to be at County.  I had an image in my head of a sort of criminal Club Med. 

     Finally a phone opened up and I walked over to use it.  There were instructions posted on the wall about the rules and how to make collect calls.  These phones were limited to 30 minute conversations. All conversations were recorded.  I would have to go through an operator to get through to my mother and then ask her if she would accept the charges.  I gave the operator the number and heard it start to ring.  My mother answered immediately.  The operator said something about accepting a collect call from the Denver City Jail.  She accepted.  And then I kind of turned into a 10 year old boy.  The weight of the reality of what was happening slammed into me all at once.  I had been very nonchalant from the beginning and now, with my mom on the other end, I began to have a very hard time keeping control of my emotions.  I was choked up as she asked me if I was OK.  That was the first thing she cared about.  Not what I had done or not done but if her first born was OK.  And that's why you call your mom first.  I told her that everything was all right and just gave her a brief overview of what had happened up until then.  It was difficult to really talk since 15 other guys were within ear shot of me but I didn't care.  But I tried to hide the fact that I was nearly in a full crying meltdown.  I certainly didn't want to enter jail as "they crier."  Who knows what that means in the hoosegow.  My mom asked me if I had any idea of why I was there and I said no.  I had not done anything that I knew of to warrant me being there.  She explained that she had called my aunt who lived just south of Orlando and that her and my uncle were already in the car and driving up to try to get some answers.  She had spoken with Aimee at length and had also tried to get some information from both the Denver and Orlando police, but they could offer nothing of substance.  She knew about as much as I did.  But it was extremely comforting to know that things were happening.  This would become the top of the priority list for my friends and family.  Our conversation was fairly short.  She reminded me that she loved me and I did the same.  We were not an openly affectionate family but at a time like this the gates were down.  I hung up feeling better and more confident that things would work out.  No one else looked like they needed to use the phone so I thought about who else I could call.  I couldn't call Aimee since she only had a cell phone and could not accept collect calls.  Kermit wouldn't learn about my situation until he got back from his school field trip the next day.  I didn't know most of the numbers of my friends.  I really wanted to talk to someone else since I didn't know when I'd be able to call again.  I chose to call Kira. 

     Kira and I worked together the summer previous at camp.  We were friends but didn't hang out much.  She was dating someone and I had a summer girlfriend.  It wasn't until after the summer that we began to talk on the phone.  Our conversations became more frequent as the school year went on.  She was in grad school in Minneapolis.  The more we talked the more it became apparent that we had a connection that was more than just friends.  The more we talked, the more I tried to picture her in my head and whether or not I was attracted to her when we were in Maine.  I wasn't sure.  I obviously knew what she looked like and that she was attractive.  But I just couldn't decide if she was attractive to me.  We began to talk every day.  Finally, sometime in January, we decided that we would have to see each other.  So she booked a ticket for mid-February to come out to Colorado.  We had the whole weekend planned.  Three nights of outings, one day of skiing and talk of romantic things.  We had built up a full-on relationship on the phone.  After six weeks of build up after she booked her trip, the day finally arrived.  I drove out to the airport to pick her up.  I waited for her to come up the stairs from the train.  The anticipation was was massive.  As if in slow motion she appeared and was walking towards me.  I immediately knew.  It wasn't there for me.  Not an ounce of attraction.  I really, really wanted it to be there but I know myself and I know that it cannot be manufactured.  I had always preached that if the spark wasn't there between a boy and a girl it didn't matter how well you got along or what you had in common.  You can't fake attraction.  It is what separates men and women from being "just friends" and more than friends.  And I knew that I just wanted to be friends with Kira.  It was unfortunate since we did get along so well but it took me all of five seconds to know that the weekend was not going to end well.  We did all of the things that we had planned on doing.  And we did have fun.  But I pulled away and stayed distant.  When we were out with a group of my friends I spent more time with them than I did with her.  It wasn't like I could just put her back on the plane.  I had to play it out to conclusion.  And she was being very affectionate.  As affectionate as I would have been had I had those same feelings.  Unfortunately, though, I introduced the monkey wrench into the plans.  Each of the first two nights ended with us in bed together.  Every drink lowered my defenses until resistance was futile. I was not the type of person who would take advantage of a situation simply for sex and I really didn't want to complicate things.  I knew that it would make the end that much more difficult.  So I'd wake up, curse myself for apparently being the type of person who would take advantage of a situation simply for sex and start to pull away again.  After two nights and two days of this yo-yo act I could sense her growing frustration.  Finally, on Sunday, I had to say something.  I felt awful about it and I hate delivering bad news but I told her that it just wasn't there for me.  This did not go over well.  She wanted answers and I didn't have any.  We finally determined, well, I finally determined, that we would take a week off from talking.  Perhaps I was wrong.  I knew I wasn't but I didn't like that she was hurt and I gave in a little bit.  Instead of just standing firm and ending it for good I said we'd take a break.  And that break started exactly six days prior to calling her from jail.  It was the previous Sunday that she was leaving to go back to Minnesota.  But now, in the situation I found myself in, I reached out to her for the emotional support that I needed. 

     Kira answered the phone and I stood at the phone and listened as the operator explained where I was calling from and about the reverse charges.  Although obviously confused, she accepted the call and I gave her the rundown.  I didn't even know what to say and neither did she.  She was obviously very concerned.  She had wanted me to call all week and had forced herself not to call me.  And now I was calling her from jail.  A call every girl craves.  It was as if the previous weekend had not happened.  The enormous levity of what I was going through erased the fact that I didn't have the same feelings for her that she did for me.  She was someone that I did have an intense personal connection with and that was exactly what I needed at that moment in my life.  The 30 minutes flew by and a recorded voice came on the line to say the call would be terminated in exactly one minute.  I didn't want to hang up but I told her that I'd call her as soon as I could.  I didn't realize it then but I was in a very fragile state of mind.  I was vulnerable and needy.  I was powerless in my fate, scared and worried.  And Kira represented an outlet.  I was sad to have to hang up because I knew that I'd be called to move on soon and each door that opened was a walk into another unknown.  I was growing incredibly hungry as it had now been over nine hours since I ate.  After I hung up the guys around me who I had spent half the day with started giving me a good natured hard time about my "girl."  It was kind of like being in a locker room.  We were all in this thing together.  Being held down by the man.  It was weird.  Really weird.  But just a few minutes later my name was called and I was escorted to another area. 

     My memory fades when I think back to the next few hours.  I know that I had to go through another intake procedure of non-consequence and I'm sure that I asked pretty much anyone in a uniform for any answers that they could give me.  This was a constant.  At some point I was told that I would be transferred upstairs to the felony floor where I would stay until someone from extradition would come and talk to me.  No one had any idea when that would be.  Monday or Tuesday probably.  I remember being in at least one more holding cell with phones and I again called Kira for another 30 minute conversation.  I called my mother one more time since I could and she didn't have any new information.  Eventually I was in a group with a few of the other guys I knew and we got onto an elevator and went upstairs.  It was now around 7pm.  Once we arrived upstairs we were sat down at some tables out in the open and trays of food were brought to us.  A bologna sandwich, carton of milk and a cookie.  All of the guys complained and commented that County food was so much better.  Man, I love County already.  As the food was placed in front of me I asked the officer who brought the trays out whether or not there was a vegetarian option, which got big laughs from the guys.  I was being serious.  Back in my real life I had been training for my first marathon.  Somewhere I had read an article about eating a strict vegetarian diet and performance enhancement.  Although I didn't really get into the science of it I figured I'd give it a try.  I was now a vegetarian, a fact that my friends on the "outside" all found to be very funny.  But sitting there that first night in jail my mind still hadn't completely flipped over to the fact that I was in a situation unlike anything I'd been in before.  There was no vegetarian option.  I would get what I got and that was that.  I played my question off as a joke but now I was probably being labeled by the jail guards as the "funny guy."  They probably didn't like the "funny guy."  Great.  Five minutes into moving into my new neighborhood and I was already in trouble.  There wasn't much conversation as we ate.  Everyone was tired and hungry.  As I ate I took a look around to gauge my surroundings.  It was just one long hallway on either side of the elevator we had gotten off of.  Along the opposite wall was a continuous row of cell doors.  Big, thick electric doors.  The "lunchroom" was just a few tables sitting in the hallway near the wall.  There were some other cells on the opposite side of the hall but also an administrative office part way down.  It was dull and drab.  I could hear guys in their cells trying to communicate with each other.  The lighting was dim.  We were all still wearing the same clothes that we had been arrested in.  Some guys had torn and ragged shirts and pants on.  None had a Colorado Avalanche fleece and half marathon t-shirt on as I did.  I looked horribly out of place.  And was.   Our meal ended and each one of us was escorted individually to our cells.  An officer called my name and walked me to the right and down towards the end of the hallway.  A door was open on the left and he brought me in and gave me the rundown.  He pointed at my sink, my toilet and my bed.  One pillow and one blanket.  I was fresh out of jokes by that point but really wanted to say "I'll take it!" as Steve Martin had done in the Jerk when he was shown the cleaning closet that his boss was offering him for rent.  There was a little green bible on the bed.  The officer yelled down to someone to "Close 13."  I was now number 13.  I honestly had Bob Seger in my head singing "I Feel Like A Number."  The door closed and locked and I just stood there.  I had tried to ask the officer more of the same questions that I had asked everyone else and got nothing in return.  As I stood there I had no idea what to do.  It seemed like my journey was over.  At least during the day I was on the move.  I was taken from place to place.  There was always another destination ahead.  More people to see.  The phones.  At every new turn I may be able to find something out.  And now I was at the end of the line, at least for that day.  I was left alone with no where else to go.  It took me a long time to even move.  We are not built to be locked up in a small cell.  At least those of us who choose to obey the law.  We live our lives in freedom to do as we choose.  And all of a sudden I had no choice.  Nowhere to go and nothing to do except think.  I wondered if I should start to do push ups or something.  Being at my home getting ready to go to bed the night before seemed like years ago.  Literally.  It was all so surreal.  I sat down on the bed.  Someone earlier had told me that each day would start at 5am with breakfast.  That's all I knew.  It was 7:45pm and I simply couldn't fathom the fact that I had over nine hours to wait until the next time that I'd have any contact with anyone.  I didn't know when I'd be able to call anyone again.  I wasn't tired and I really wanted to brush my teeth.  There was no toothbrush.  At least there was a window that I could look out of.  It was a pretty good view of downtown Denver.  I could see a clock tower across the way.  I watched as people walked on the sidewalks. Sidewalks that just a day previous I had been running on.  I often ran downtown.  My house was just over two miles away but I was looking in the opposite direction.  Time had stopped. 

     Just a few minutes after I had finally lain down I heard my door opening again.  I immediately got very excited.  I thought that something had happened and that this was over.  I sat up as an officer walked in.  He told me that it was getting close to visitation time.  Really?  I can have visitors?  This is great news.  But he told me that there were two people downstairs who wanted to see me and that I could only have one.  I would have to choose.  One was named Aimee and the other was Jerry.  There was no choice.  It was night one and I was slowing going into a bad place mentally.  The very last thing I needed at that moment was to have to talk to one of my least favorite people on earth, Jerry the school board president.  I knew he wanted answers that I didn't have.  I knew he wouldn't be sympathetic.  He would be smug and although he'd probably try to tell me that Jesus was on my side, I knew that he would be thinking that I was certainly guilty of whatever they were charging me with.  He would not be there to support me. He would be there to try to figure out how to manage the situation at school.  Which I understood and at some point I'd have to face him but I told the officer that I'd like to see Aimee.  He left and told me to stay put with the door open and that he'd be right back.  A few moments later he was back and walking me through the admin office and into another room.  This room was one straight out of the movies.  It had a few rows of desks with Plexiglas cutting through the middle.  Each table was sectioned off by partitions for privacy.  On each side of the Plexiglas was a telephone receiver.  I was walked past three or four other inmates talking to someone they knew on the other side of the glass.  Finally I came to an open chair and Aimee was sitting in the opposite chair holding her phone.  I sat down and we just looked at each other.  I grabbed the phone and we both started laughing.  We had had so many fun experiences together over the past five years.  We worked at summer camp together.  We were roommates at Club Med.  I had visited her in San Diego when she was still in college.  We lived blocks away from each other in Denver.  So many stories and so much history.  She was my sister.  My partner in crime (not this crime).  And now we just looked at each other and laughed.  I think we were laughing because it was all so ridiculous.  There is nothing that can prepare you for sitting in the chair I was in.  I had never known anyone who had gone to jail for anything other than stupid stuff.  Eventually she asked me how I was doing.  I replied that I was great.  I was having a super fun time.  I told her that I was making new friends.  Then she told me how angry Jerry was that I chose her.  They had been sitting together downstairs when they realized that they were both there to see me.  When they were told that I'd had to choose between them, he was absolutely sure that it would be him.  When they were informed that I chose Aimee, he banged his fist on the table and said that I had made a big mistake.  Typical.  We only had 20 minutes, we were told, so I said that I didn't want to waste our time talking about him.  Aimee told me about talking to my mom and that she had called her dad, who was a lawyer in Kansas City.  I was good friends with her parents.  They were also trying to do whatever they could to help.  She assured me that people were working on getting some answers and not to worry about anything.  And instead of focusing on the obvious, we spent the rest of the time talking like we would have been had I not been in jail as an accused kidnapper. She told me that after I had been taken away the officers who remained at my house asked if I had anyone tied up in the basement.  This got a big laugh.   We talked about the rest of her day. What she was doing the next day.  Plans we had for a few weeks down the road.  And as we were given the word that time was nearly up, we laughed out loud as we both put our hands up on the window to simulate touching, just as we'd seen in countless movies.  It seemed like the right thing to do for two wise-asses.  We understood the comedy in this whole crazy thing.  I don't think that either one of us really had a grasp on the seriousness of what I was facing.  I know I didn't.  I didn't know enough to get too worried yet.  I had just spent a day unlike any other in the 33 years that I'd been alive.  I had next to no information about why I was there and what was going to happen.  As the officer came to get me to return to my new home, we both said "I love you" and I was taken back through the offices and down the hallway.  I walked in my cell and again heard "Close 13!"  The door shut.  I looked out the window and saw the clock tower.  It was 8:30 on Saturday night.  People were going about their lives on the street.  I went out about mine and laid down on the bed and hoped that 5am would come quickly.  There would be no sleep.