The Curious Case of Christopher Comtois (Part VII)

Sunday

     After my visit with Aimee and after I was brought back to my new home, Cell 13, I was left standing inside the doorway about as confused as I’d ever been in life.  Which is saying something.  I had just spent the entire day being shuttled from place to place and room to room.  I had tried to gather as much information as I could at every turn.  After having contact with upwards of 20 law enforcement officers and speaking with my mother and Aimee, I had the bare minimum of information about why I was there.  I just stood there in my cell without moving for what seemed like an hour.  I ran through my head the events of the day and tried to take it all in.  The conversations with Amanda and Todd.  The first ride to the other police station.  The time in the holding cell handcuffed to a bar.  The ride to the City Jail.  The intake process and my visit with Aimee.  All I knew for certain was that I was arrested for kidnapping by the Denver PD on orders from the Orlando PD and some guy named Geoff Laney.  There would be some type of extradition involved that could take anywhere from ten to 90 days.  And at some point, probably early next week, I’d be speaking with an officer who would give me more details about this “extradition.”  By this time it was nearly 9:30 on Saturday night.  I knew this since I had a great view of the clock tower across the way in the Denver skyline.  I decided to lie down on my bed and try to close my eyes to sleep.  I was fully dressed.  The lights in the main hallway outside my cell were on but dimmed.  I could hear other inmates trying to talk to each other, which was difficult since each cell was totally enclosed and you had to really raise your voice for the other person to hear.  Or you had to lie on the floor and talk through the space between the door and the floor.  The bed was a single and very much like the beds that we slept on when I worked at summer camp.  One thin mattress over a board.  I didn’t mind it.  But trying to sleep was silly.  I normally don’t have any trouble falling asleep when I’m tired.  I can sleep almost anywhere.  And have.  But now my mind was my enemy.  Throughout the day I was engaged with people and always had somewhere new to go.  Although I had blocks of time to myself, I was always looking ahead to whatever was coming next.  Now I was left alone to my thoughts and imagination.  This was all so new.  I was still very calm and convinced that this was some sort of horrible mix up that would be resolved very soon.  But my brain works at race car speed pretty much all of the time.  As I lay with my eyes closed, one minute I’d be OK and the next I’d have created an entire scenario that had me spending my life in prison.  But since I had very little to go on I was mostly in a state of confusion.

     The night went slowly.  I did manage to sleep a little but only the kind of sleep you have when you wake up and you’re not even sure if you slept.  Every time I’d wake up I’d hope that many hours had gone by but when I’d look out the window at the clock tower it was usually just 20 or 30 minutes that had passed.  The main focus of my thoughts hovered around the word kidnapping.  How on earth could I be in jail for kidnapping?  Over and over I’d go through my year in Orlando.  I had been very careful, as we are taught as teachers, to not allow myself to be in a room alone with a female student.  It happens at times but we know that in this day and age we have to be careful.  When I coached I never allowed just one student to ride to or from a game with me.  Sometimes parents would ask if I could drive their son or daughter home and most times I would not, especially if the student was female.  There were exceptions.  If I knew the student and parents very well or if there were several students going to the same location. And then only with the parent’s permission.  I had worked with kids for most of my adult life and had been trained very well to protect myself from potential problems.  I couldn’t come up with anything at all that would raise any red flags from the previous school year. 

     As the night wore on and became Sunday, I was growing anxious for the next day and the potential for resolution.  I knew that my friends and family would resume their search for answers and perhaps I’d have the opportunity to speak with someone who would listen to me.  Every once in awhile throughout the night I would hear someone in a cell near mine yell out, “Hey, 13, what time is it?”  Apparently I was the only person who had a direct view of the clock tower.  I’d sit up and yell back the time.  Great.  I was the timekeeper.  I very much wanted to avoid seeing the clock as it would remind me just how little time had gone by since the last time I saw it.  I wanted to be helpful, though.  The last thing I needed was some guy getting angry with me because I didn’t tell him the time.  It may be construed as a sign of disrespect and I’d find myself in a jail fight.  Which I wanted to avoid. 

     Finally, around 5am, the dim lights came on to full strength.  I could hear a section of cell doors down on the other side of the hall open and could see a few officers walking in the hallway escorting a group of inmates to the tables where I had eaten my lunch the day before.  It was breakfast time.  Evidently a group of guys would eat and finish and then another group would be able to do the same.  I guessed that since they started at the other end of the hallway that my group would be last.  Since the lights were on and I had nothing else to do I picked up the New Testament and started to read from the beginning.  It reminded me of sitting in a waiting room at a doctor or dentist appointment.  In fact, it reminded me of sitting in my own doctor’s office.  I hated going there because their reading selection was horrible.  It was as if my mother had been in charge of ordering the magazines.  There was nothing that I’d ever read in a normal situation.  I’d find myself reading Better Homes and Gardens.  In a waiting room there is nothing else to do.  You can sit and do nothing, read a magazine or go to the restroom.   Those are your options.  All just to kill time until your name is called.  Conversely, I looked forward to getting my hair cut at the barber down the street from where I lived.  Their reading selection was excellent.  They always had the current Rolling Stone or Men’s Health or something else I liked to read.  There had been times that I let the next person in line go ahead of me when I was engrossed in some article that I wanted to finish.  Sitting there reading the Bible was like me reading Better Homes and Gardens.  It was there, I had nothing else to do and I was trying to kill time.

     Finally a few groups ate and went back to their cells and then the doors on my end clicked open. The officers motioned for us to come down to eat.  I was hungry.  For breakfast they brought out a tray for each of us with one piece of bread, some instant scrambled eggs and a small dollop of oatmeal along with a carton of milk.  No Tabasco and no ketchup.  I didn’t bother to ask for anything additional this time.  Most of the guys in my breakfast group were guys that I had spent the previous day going from cell to cell with.  No one really said much.  Most guys looked like they had just woken up.  Some of us exchanged a faint “good morning.”  I asked one of the officers when we’d get a chance to use the phone and if we’d be able to brush our teeth.  He said that he didn’t know when phone usage would be that day and that he’d get me a toothbrush at some point in time.  This made me happy.  At least this guy listened to me and actually gave me an answer.  Although we had only moved less than 25 feet to get to the tables it felt good to be out of my cell.  I was beginning to realize that my life would be marked by doing something, like eat breakfast, then return to my cell and wait for the next thing on the schedule.  It was an extremely tedious way to live since the time waiting was spent in a cell with absolutely nothing to do.  I took advantage of being out and asked the officers who were near us more questions.  Would we be able to take a shower at any point?  I wanted to feel as normal as possible.  I was told that some time later that day we would probably be allowed to shower.  I had noticed when we first got upstairs the night before that there were two single showers near the middle of the hallway.  The showers did not have shower curtains.  I realized that nothing that we did would be done in private. 

     Breakfast lasted no more than fifteen minutes.  No one left any food uneaten on their trays.  The portions were very small and I finished still very hungry.  I began to imagine what I’d be doing if I were at home.  I’d be sleeping.  But I’d get up and probably go down to a local diner where Kermit and I went every Sunday.  I’d have an omelet and coffee and toast.  Since Kermit was not home I’d probably end up going alone or I’d call Aimee to come down and join me.  I’d go for a run at some point before noon and then most likely watch football for the rest of the day.  Instead, I finished my powdered eggs, toast, oatmeal and milk and then walked the 10 steps back to my cell to begin my wait again.  I hoped that the lights would once again dim but no luck.  The day had started even though the sun would not be up for a few hours.  Someone yelled down for another time check.  “5:45”!  I hollered back.  I again picked up the New Testament and went back to page one to start again. 

     There was no relaxation.  My body was in a constant state of tension.  I had a noticeable knot in my stomach.  Reality was just starting to settle in that this was my life for the time being.  Until I got any new information all I could do was try as hard as I could to remain positive.  I knew that eventually things would begin to unfold and I’d have a clearer view of what I was facing.  But it was very, very difficult for me to accept that this was actually happening.  I was worried that my mother didn’t get any sleep, either.  I hated that she had to go through this, too.  I knew that she would be at home wishing that she was in Colorado and at least be able to visit me.  I also knew that she would be doing whatever she could do to help. My Aunt Jo was in Florida working hard to get information.  She was my favorite Aunt and her and my Uncle Don were probably in Orlando talking to the police department already since it was two hours later on the east coast. 

     Not much time had gone by when an officer came to my cell to ask if I wanted to make any phone calls.  Of course I did, I told him.  There was just one phone on the wall and he told me that I only had a few minutes unless no one else needed to use it.  He said he’d be back.  It was just after 6am so I called my mom.  She was very happy to hear from me.  I told her what had gone on since my last call, which was late afternoon the day before.  She told me that my aunt had been to the Orlando police department and had not been given any information other than what we already knew.  I reassured her that I was doing alright and that I was staying positive.  I didn’t want to worry her any more than she was.  She asked me if I had thought of any reason why this was happening.  I said that I had gone through everything in my head and could honestly come up with nothing.  She sounded OK.  It eased my mind to talk to her.  There is a tremendous comfort in making a connection to the outside world when in the situation I was in.  It was a departure of my new reality and I knew that I’d rely heavily on being able to make these calls.  We didn’t have much else to say so I said goodbye and hung up the phone.  The officer who had taken me to the phone wasn’t in sight so I decided to call Kira again.  I really wanted her to answer.  She did and again we went through the process of the operator going through the motions of the collect call and the announcement of where it was coming from. It was obvious that I woke her up and I apologized for it.  She didn’t care.  She was happy to hear from me.  I described where I was and what I had been doing.  I was a little surprised that I was still on the phone as it sounded like I’d only get five minutes or so.  Kira and I ended up talking for another 20 minutes until the officer came around the corner and motioned for me to wrap it up.  It was amazing to me how much better I felt after my conversations.  Talking to my mom and even more so Kira elevated my spirits.  It reminded me that I was not alone.  It also reminded me when I had to hang up the phone that I was very much alone.  Jail was a cold and uncaring place.  These officers relegated to jail duty were callous for the most part.  I wasn't being treated poorly but I was being treated indifferently.  My fellow accused criminals were dealing with their own issues.  I was not a needy person on the outside but the confinement, uncertainty and lack of information made me feel vulnerable and extremely emotional.  The officer took me back to my cell and I asked him when the next opportunity to use the phone would be.  Maybe in the afternoon.  Maybe?  I don’t like maybes.  I wanted absolutes.  I asked him, a different officer than before, if I could get a toothbrush.   He seemed confused that I didn’t already have one and said he’d get me one soon.  I went back inside and sat down on my bed again to resume my biblical study.  It was the only outlet to try to keep my mind away from focusing on my reality and the endless possibilities of what could happen next. 

     Hours went by and I found myself still trying to read.  I realized  that I was having a very difficult time focusing on the words on the page.  I would read a few sentences and then have to go back and read them again since my mind would wander off somewhere else.  Since this was still early in my journey I could only think about what I had maybe done to cause this and what may happen to me next.  It took me probably 10 or more minutes to read something that I should be able to do in a minute or less.  It was a constant cycle of reading, thinking, creating scenarios and then snapping back into the present and re-reading what I had just read.  It was horribly frustrating.  But then at some point I could hear doors opening down the hall again.  It was time to eat again.  Lunch?  I looked at the clock and it was just 9:30.  Lunch at 9:30?  Maybe this was like pre-school and we were getting a morning snack.  No luck.  A guy in the cell next to me was trying to talk to me and he told me that lunch was at 9:30 and dinner was at 12:30.  Really?  Dinner at 12:30?  Who came up with this schedule?  If I was done eating by 1pm I would have to wait over 16 hours to eat again.  This did not make me happy.  My neighbor and I continued our conversation about nothing.  We had met the day before.  He was from an area of Denver that I avoided.  It was a rough area.  He was in for something involving a robbery.  And he looked exactly like Ice Cube during his N.W.A. days.  Black baseball cap, curls coming out the back, baggy clothes, trimmed beard.  It was good to be able to talk to other guys.  It helped pass the time and brought a little normalcy to the situation.  Although it was hard to hear and the best method was to lie flat on the floor and talk under the door it was worth it.  We ended up talking about our lives, what we did for fun and our current situation.  I hadn’t spoken with him much the day prior and I explained what had happened to me.  He seemed sympathetic.  A few other guys joined in the conversation and we focused on my story.  They asked me question after question about the endless possibilities of why I was there.  It was evident that they believed that I wasn’t supposed to be there.  Maybe it was a set up.  Maybe someone made something up about me.  Eventually everyone on my end of the hall was involved in this.  Probably eight or nine guys.  None of us could see each other as we were all lying behind our doors with our mouths close up to the gap under the door.   The humor of this was not lost on me.  By the time the conversation wound down the electronic doors on our end unlocked and we were summoned to the tables for lunch.  We all sat down and continued to talk like normal people sitting together at a meal.  The focus was on me.  Everyone at every table was involved and seemed honestly invested in what was going on in my life.  By the time lunch ended it felt like I had bonded with everyone on “my side” of the jail.  We went back to our cells and I again asked a different officer about a toothbrush.  He said he’s look into it. 

     Dinner time arrived at 12:30 and this time we were the first group to get out to eat.  I had now been under arrest for over 24 hours.  It felt like 24 years.  The table conversation focused on sports and at some point in time we got into a strong debate about the NCAA basketball tournament.  I found it funny that we were all in incredibly tense situations personally.  All of us incarcerated and facing serious charges.  Many of these guys had lengthy records.  But we were just a group of guys sitting together at a meal and talking about college basketball.  We argued and laughed and even gave each other harmless harassment.  The only thing missing was hot wings and beer.  None of these guys were guys that I’d ever find myself out with again.  In fact, many lived in parts of town that I’d legitimately be in danger if I found myself lost and wandering around.  But here, we were equal.  It wasn’t prison.  We would all be leaving to go home or off to County sometime soon.  We would only be out of our cells together for just over an hour each day but there was a bond.  There were the police and there was us.  Since I wasn’t the police I was one of them, regardless of my situation.  No one really knew anyone’s name.  I was just “The Teacher.”  This type of interaction made my new life tolerable.  It kept my mind from wandering and was ironically enjoyable.  I found out more about jail.  I was learning the routines and my new “normal.”  I actually felt like these guys were my friends.  Maybe we could all have a reunion when it was all over.  Probably not. 

     When I got back to my cell I asked about the already-promised toothbrush.  Different guy.  Same answer.  “You don’t have one?”  I told him that I had asked after every meal since breakfast.  He’d get me one.  I didn’t hold my breath.  I then resumed my rotation of sitting on my bed, lying down, sitting up again, standing up, looking out the window, sitting down, standing up, on and on and on.  Sometimes I pick up the Bible again and resume my reading, thinking, reading, thinking regime.  Over and over and over.  I began to get super annoyed that I was not able to run.  Running had always been a big part of my life and just a few months previous I had decided that I wanted to run my first marathon.  It was in San Diego and in early June that year.  I was smack in the middle of my training schedule.  I even got the kids in class involved in it.  We made a poster board with each day of each week of my training.  My mileage for each day was listed all the way to race day.  Every morning the kids would ask if I completed my training the day before and one of the them would get to go up to the board on the wall and put an ‘X” through the previous day.  They were excited about it.  When I thought about this I was reminded that those kids would be coming to class the next day and I wouldn’t be there.  I really enjoyed that group of kids.  However much I didn’t like the administration of the school I loved teaching that class.  I was angry that this situation would adversely affect them.  I wondered how the school would handle this.  It was certainly touchy since no one really knew what was happening.  Maybe I’d be out quickly and maybe I’d miss the rest of the year.  There was so much up in the air that it would make it extremely difficult to gauge how to deal with it.  I wondered who would teach my class and how the students would react.  I was sure that the parents of those kids had probably already been contacted or at least had heard something about what was going on.  It reaffirmed how powerless I was.  Those parents, many of whom I was friends or at least friendly with, would begin to wonder about me and would draw unfair conclusions.  I would if I were them.  Most of the time when someone is arrested there has to be a reason.  My job situation was a major concern but my own circumstance and self preservation took the forefront.  Everything else was just collateral.  I wanted to know why I was there.  I wanted to be out running.  I wanted to be able to do things when I wanted to do them.  I was only a day into this and my frustration level was rising by the hour.  I didn’t have my damn toothbrush and had asked multiple times.  I wanted to take a shower.  I wanted to change my clothes.  I began to get worked up for the first time.  I felt like punching a wall or yelling but I knew that I had to remain calm.  I sat down and tried to focus on staying positive.  And then my door unlocked and an officer came down and walked in.  It was mid-afternoon and no one else was out of their cell.  Something was happening and my energy level immediately shot up.  “Your lawyer is here.”  I have a lawyer?  Apparently lawyers have special access to inmates.  They do not have to wait until visiting hours to see people.  Lawyers can come and go as they choose to see their clients.  I didn’t say anything as I was led through the administrative offices and into a hall with several small meeting room doors.  The officer opened one of the doors and I walked in and saw one of my student’s parents sitting at the small table. 

     The officer shut the door and I said “Hi, Jim” and he stood up to shake my hand.  It all happened so fast that I didn’t have time to think about anything.  He asked me to sit down and asked how I was doing.  I explained to him that I was terribly confused and frustrated.  He then asked me if I had any idea why I was there, to which I told him a definitive “no.”  He explained that the school had been contacted that I had been arrested.  At the time no one from the Denver Police could tell them anything.  Since he was a lawyer he could come in and see me.  Jim was a member of the school board and whereas he wasn’t my favorite, I had had a decent relationship with him and I liked his son.  He said that only the school board was aware of my situation and that he wanted to talk to me before they made any decisions about what to do next.   I asked if he had any information on why I was there.  He paused and then told me that he hadn’t found out much but what he did know didn’t sound good.  My stomach dropped as I realized that something was about to be said to enlighten me on why I was sitting in jail on a Sunday afternoon.  I wasn’t prepared for came next.   Jim said matter of factly, "I got through to someone in Florida who told me that what you were being charged with was sexual in nature but did not involve actual sex.  And there was a minor involved.  That was it.  That was the only information that he had."  I had been desperate for information and there it was.  Information.    Something of a sexual nature that didn’t involve sex with a minor.  Wow.  I’d have preferred he had said, “Looks like you bounced a check to Wal-Mart.”  I asked him to repeat it and then he asked me if any of this rang a bell for me. Did something of a sexual nature with a minor ring a bell?  With me?  I was so stunned that I wasn’t exactly sure how to react.  “Chris, does a bank robbery ring a bell?  How about some human trafficking?  Forgery?”  My immediate reaction to most things is sarcastic.  I kind of went off the ledge and babbled to Jim about how ridiculous this all sounded. But I was adamant that whatever information he got was incorrect.  I emphasized it several times.  I was angry.  I was shaking.  I promised him that I had never done anything ever remotely close to what he had found out.  I told him that he had to believe me.  This was a huge mistake.  I didn’t feel like he believed me but he said he did.  He told me that Jerry was very upset that I didn’t see him the night before and that he’d be back that night.  I was in shock.  I wanted information and now I had it.  At least some of it.  I was sitting across from a parent of one of my students in jail defending myself from allegations that I had done something of a sexual nature with a minor.  I was a teacher.  I was his son’s teacher.  And I’m accused of something of a sexual nature with a minor?  I’m pretty sure I sobbed as I promised him that these charges were false.  He tried to comfort me but it felt forced.  He told me to try to stay positive and that they were all working on getting more information.  What I read into it was that Jerry sent him in there to find out what I had to say.  I understood their situation.  It wasn’t a good one.  They had a teacher incarcerated for a sex crime with a young girl.  Parents would be shocked and outraged.  I immediately thought about my mugshot being on TV and was mad that I didn’t smile.  Jim said that he had to leave but that he’d be back.  He told me that they were constructing a letter to give to the parents explaining that I’d been arrested and that they were searching for more information.  He added that he would recommend that I was maintaining my innocence.  I told him that I was innocent and not just maintaining it.  He shook my hand and we opened the door.  He walked the opposite way that I was led.  Soon after I was back in my cell.  The officer who took me back walked out and then walked back in, reached in his pocket and handed me a toothbrush.  At least I had that going for me. 

     The toothbrush was horrific.  It was pre-loaded with toothpaste but not enough to even be of use.  But at least I could scrub my teeth.  It didn’t help.  I had just been given a bombshell of information that I was trying to absorb.  I sat down on my bed and tried to take it in.  Sexual contact with a minor?  The one thing that I absolutely knew was that I didn’t do whatever it was that I was charged with.  I could stop going through my year in Orlando and trying to pinpoint anything that I may have missed.  This was wrong.  The police were wrong.  I realized that my situation was much more serious that I had previously thought.  What Jim told me was devastating.  It was real.  Although I didn’t have any details, my guessing was over.  I was being charged with a sexual act with a student, I assumed.  One of my former students probably.  Maybe someone did make something up.  Regardless of why, I was really sitting in a jail devoid of freedom and facing some really serious stuff.  I hadn’t been truly worried until that moment.  I was all over the board with my thoughts.  I was nearly sick.  I was locked up and powerless to help myself.  I tried to pull myself together and regain some composure.  I couldn’t sit still.  Normally I can’t sit still anyway, even in the calmest of situations but now I was relegated to an expanse of nervous energy and no outlet to expend it.  I wanted to run as far and as fast as I could.  I wanted to sleep and relieve myself of a few hours of constant thoughts.  But before I could even grasp what was happening my door unlocked again and the same officer who had brought me my toothbrush opened it and told me that I had another lawyer waiting to see me.  I imagined a line of them out the door downstairs.  One by one they would come see the guy accused of a sexual act with a minor.  Like a circus.  At least things were happening.

     I was again led to the same area of conference rooms and pointed towards an open door next to the room where I was just an hour or so previous.  I walked in and a man who I recognized was standing on the other side of the table.  He was pleasant looking.  I knew that I knew him but I wasn’t sure how.  He stuck out his hand and introduced himself as Dave Worstell, the parent of one of the students in the middle school.  In the afternoons at my school my students would go across the hall to another teacher who taught them English.  Her 7th and 8th graders would come to my room and I’d teach them social studies.  His son was in the 7th grade.  A good kid who was pretty quiet.  Mr. Worstell explained that he was an attorney and had gotten word about my situation.  He came down to try to get some more information about what was going on.  Another parent had called him.  The word was spreading quickly outside of the school board.  I told him about Jim just coming to see me earlier.  He was unaware of that and told me that he had just come down on his own.  His demeanor was very calm.  He asked how much I knew about why I was there and I relayed what I had just found out.  He knew the same.  He asked if I had any idea what all of this was about and I went through the same thing I went through with Jim.  Since I had been able to process this a little bit since my last trip to these conference rooms I was a little more collected.  I assured him that I had not done anything wrong like that ever.  I told him my background and my work with kids and that this was some horrible mistake.  I couldn’t tell if he believed me.  But he was reassuring.  He explained my situation and what was going to happen.  Some of it I kind of already knew.  Sometime next week an officer would come to talk to me to advise me of my rights.  He or she would then explain my options, which would be to waive or fight extradition.  If I fought it, I would appear in front of a judge who would set a bail.  If I could pay the bail or a percentage to a bondsman, I would be set free and would then have to make my own way to Florida to turn myself in. I would then appear in front of a judge for an arraignment and another bond would be set.  Again, if I could pay it I would be free until my court hearings.  If I waived extradition then the state of Florida would have ten days to come to Colorado to pick me up and take me back to Orlando.  The same arraignment/bond/court situation would then happen.  He offered more information.  He was very adamant not to tell the police anything.  He seemed extremely confident about this point.  The police, he explained, were always coming from an angle.  Even if they seemed supportive everything I told them once my rights were read to me could be used in court.  Everything.  Do not talk to the police without a lawyer present, he warned.  He asked if I had a lawyer.  I told him that until Jim came to see me I didn’t even know why I was there.  I didn’t know any lawyers and I certainly didn’t have any money to afford a good one.  I continued to “maintain my innocence.”  Strongly.  He understood that I was scared and confused.  I could tell he genuinely cared.  He seemed like a kind man.  He told me he would have to excuse himself for a moment.  He stood up and left the room and went down the hallway and out of sight.  I was stunned.  I had craved information and now I had much more than I wanted.  The reality of where I was and what I was facing was smacking me in the face with gale force.  I sat and waited for him to return.

     When Mr. Worstell came back, he calmly sat down and told me that he was going to ask me a very important question.  He said that I absolutely had to answer him honestly.  There couldn’t be an ounce of falsehood.  I sat up.  He asked me if there was anything at all that I had done wrong in Florida to cause this.  I looked him in the eye and told him with as much conviction that I had in me, “No.”  I said it again.  He paused for a moment and then told me that he believed me and that he wanted to help me and be my lawyer.  I immediately felt a sense of relief.  Here was a man who absolutely believed me who wanted to help.  I got emotional.  I actually got very emotional.  Uncontrollable for a short time.  The weight of the past two days crashed down on me and I even my wiseass veneer and nonchalant normal melancholy was powerless to stop it.  I paused for several minutes and finally composed myself.  Through snot and tears I said something to the effect that I didn’t know how I could pay him and he said not to worry about it and that we’d figure it out later.  His son really liked me as his teacher and he hated seeing innocent people wrongly accused.  He stopped and again made me assure him that I was innocent.  He said that if things came out later that indicated otherwise that he would immediately resign as my counsel.  I told him that he had nothing to worry about as I thanked him over and over again.  He told me to hang tight and remain positive.  He would start investigating and would be back as soon as he could.  He stood up, shook my hand and was gone.  It was now late afternoon on Sunday and my life had taken another sharp turn.  I knew a little more about why I was locked up but I also had someone on my side other than my friends and family.  An officer came back and escorted me back to my cell.  I had a lot to think about.  And time to do it.

     The next three or four hours were spent either sitting in bed letting my mind wander or standing looking out the window doing the same.  Every so often I’d get asked the time.  My convict buddies were anxious to hear where I had been and what had happened.  I told them the entire story.  I told them about the new information about my charges.  And about Jim and Mr. Worstell.  We were again lying on the floor talking under the doors.  They all seemed invested in my life.  Without conversation my thoughts often turned dark.  I envisioned my fate as a convicted pedophile.  I was scared to go to prison.  I was living a worst case scenario, especially for a teacher.  Every time my brain took me to a bad place I’d try to snap out of it and remember that good people were working hard for me.  Many people cared about me and wanted me to get through this thing.  I jumped back and forth from positive to negative.  Sometimes I’d look in the fuzzy mirror and stare at myself and wonder how the hell I got into this situation.  I’d laugh out loud.  I had been involved in some crazy stuff in my life.  I had lived enough for five people.  I enjoyed life and tried to make the most of it at every turn.  I loved adventure and tried to turn this into just another one of them.  Not many people I knew, if any, had been where I was.  I looked at my face and couldn’t believe that this was really happening.  I wondered what my friends that knew where I was were talking about.  Kermit was most likely home by now and knew where I was.  I figured that Aimee was over at my house filling him in on the events of the previous day, our visit last night and whatever she knew.  I tried to put myself in their place.  What would I think if I came home and Kermit was in jail for “something of a sexual nature with a minor?”  Would I immediately believe that he was innocent?  I was sure that I’d at least have a little doubt and I didn’t begrudge them if they did as well.  We don’t always know everything about our friends.  In the middle of one of my thoughts my door unlocked and I realized that it was now 8pm.  Visitor time. 

     I had a strong feeling walking towards the door of the visitor room that my 20 minutes would be spent with Jerry.  Which I thought would be a great title for my book.  20 Minutes With Jerry, by Chris Justice.  I was not looking forward to his visit.  As I walked by other inmates who were seated and on their phone talking to someone they knew I could see his neatly combed hair above the partition a few sections down.  I moved into my area, turned and looked through the Plexiglas and there he was.  He already had the phone in his hand.  I sat down, lifted my receiver and said hello.  I would swear that he had a smirk on his face.  “Hi, Chris, how are you?” he asked.  I told him that I had been better.  He tried his hardest to appear sincere as he told me that I had a lot of support outside.  He had spoken with many parents and that they all were concerned.  He had spoken with Jim who had relayed our conversation from earlier in the day.  He asked me to give him any information that I had.  He said that he had to have something to tell the parents.  The school had to have something to go on.  “Jerry, I can only tell you that I didn’t do whatever they said I did and that eventually I would be set free.  This is one big mistake and it’ll all come out eventually.”  He asked me to bow my head to pray with him, just as he had done every time I had ever had a meeting with him.  Thankfully I wouldn’t have to hold his hands like I had done previously.  Normally his prayer ritual really kind of freaked me out.  It was abnormal behavior between two men, I thought.  Not that I am against prayer, in fact, I had already prayed since being arrested.  But Jerry was kind of creepy.  He had this mustache that reminded me of Robert Redford in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.  His hair was similar.  But he was no Sundance.  Maybe a pudgy, scary version.  He was a “born again” Christian and found a way to work that fact into every conversation.  I liked his daughter a lot.  She was a good student.  She was funny and smart.  It often shocked me that he was her father.  And it saddened me that she had to grow up in his house where I was sure that he was overpowering in his convictions.  He was aloof and tried to act powerful.  One time he asked me to stay after school so he could come down and meet with me.  After he sat down and we held hands to pray, he went off on a tangent asking me why I thought it was important to include the Philadelphia Eagles, Phillies and Flyers in my lecture about the city of Philadelphia.  He explained that when he asked his daughter what she learned in school that day, the only thing she could give him were the three major sports teams in Philly.  He assumed that my discussion about historic Philadelphia only included baseball, football and hockey.  It didn’t.  I mentioned that sometimes his daughter had a hard time listening and would often talk to her neighbors.  Not possible, he said.  Did I even talk about the Liberty Bell?  I sometimes laughed out loud when he’d ask me questions like that.   He was sort of the bad version of Ned Flanders, Homer Simpson’s neighbor.  And now I was sitting across from him with my head lowered as I listened on the phone as he spoke with Jesus on my behalf. 

     “Chris, I don’t know how we can keep you,” he said.  The school would have to find a substitute to take over my class.  He wanted to know how long this would take.  Like I knew.  I was genuinely worried about my job.  Even if I wasn’t going to renew my contract and return the next school year, I still needed a job and I had to set my pride aside and ask him to just give this some time and it would work out.  I wanted to finish out the school year.  “I’m just not sure how long we can stick this out.  These are some serious crimes we’re talking about.”  He didn’t have to tell me.  I was well aware.  Part of me wanted to tell him to fuck off.  Is this how a Christian behaves, I wondered?  He was such a pompous ass.  I restrained myself and told him again that I was innocent and that eventually this would all work out.  He told me that he couldn’t make me any promises but that a letter would go out in the morning explaining that I had been arrested, I was maintaining my innocence and that the school was standing behind me.  I really wished that one of my friends were here instead of him.  As important as my job was it was low on the pole at the current time.  I was slowly losing my patience and my emotional state was rocky at best.  I had my nemesis sitting across from me who was most likely regaling on the inside. If things had ever been worse in my life nothing was coming to mind.  Just as he asked me to bow my head again for a final prayer the officer came over to let us know that time was up.  Thank God.  Literally.  In what had to be his best Ah-nold impression, Jerry said “I’ll be back” as he got up to leave.  As humorous of a memory as it would have been I decided to not hold my hand up to the window and ask Jerry to reach out to me like Aimee and I had done.  I hung up my phone.  It was 8:20pm and I figured that a shower and a phone call were out of the question.  I returned to my cell and went over to the bed and sat down.  I could have vomited at any point.  I thought of Mr. Worstell and thanked Jesus on my own for bringing him to me.   I wished I had a hamburger.