The Curious Case of Christopher Comtois (Part VIII)

Monday

     I had it figured out.  I now knew why I was in jail.  And I was convinced.  From the time I got back to my cell after my visit from Jerry I had done nothing but think. It’s all you really have to do while locked up.  I had not slept as it was impossible.  From Sunday night at 8:30pm until the lights came on at 5:30am on Monday morning all I did was rotate between laying in bed with my eyes wide open and standing up looking out of the window.  All the while my mind racing with the overload of information that I had received.  Sexual contact with a minor.  The more I focused on it the more I was in disbelief.  Pure disbelief.  I was working on less than just a few restless hours of sleep since Friday night and was pretty sure that I couldn’t keep it up but I had no choice.  Every time I closed my eyes my mind would take me on a journey to any number of worst case scenarios.  All ended with my life being pretty much over.  I tried to comprehend not getting out of jail for many, many years.  Not ever doing the things that I loved doing. Not traveling or running or playing sports or just being on the couch flipping channels around.  Or getting married and having a family.  Hanging out with friends.  Laughing.  Loving.  It was hard to conceptualize.  I was staring at a future that quite possibly could find me in a real prison with real criminals and real problems.  Not my new buddies on the end of the hall next to me.  Even those guys probably couldn’t handle prison.  I had always enjoyed watching television shows or movies about prison life.  I was very interested in the human condition and the realism of lives that I would never be part of. But now I was living on the outskirts of one of those lives that I had previously just watched from afar.  I wouldn’t make it in prison.  No way.  I had always been very social and had the ability to fit into most any group that I found myself in.  Case in point the locals in jail with me.  In the middle of a hurricane of terrible luck I was still enjoying my interactions with the guys I had met just a day previous.  But prison, I assumed, would be a different story.  It’s just not for guys like me.  And the elephant in the room was the fact that I’d be going in a child predator.  I had watched and read enough to know that guys in prison who had harmed children were not going to run for Prison President.  Although I continued to try to make light of what was happening, the fear of prison and the awful things you think about in relation to it was well within the grasp of my mind.  A mind can be a terrible thing.  As the hours clicked off across the landscape of downtown on the clock tower, I finally figured out why I was there. 

     There had to be an answer.  Had to be.  I just couldn’t imagine one of my former students making up something about me.  It was just too far fetched.  Although I had next to nothing to go on, it was just a gut feeling.  I thought of every girl in the school from my year in Orlando.  Girls I coached and those that I taught.  Even those who were not in any of my classes.  And it didn’t add up.  Nothing happened in that small environment that someone didn’t know about the next day.  It was like living in a small town.  You could do something by yourself one night and someone would be talking about it the next day.  If a girl had waited many months to make up some story about me groping her or whatever it was, I believed that the story just wouldn’t hold up.  Someone would be a voice of reason, especially after whatever investigation had been conducted.  I had too many friends there and too many positive interactions with students.  My record was clean.  I couldn’t think of one red flag.  No way someone makes something up and it gets this far.  At least that’s what I convinced myself to believe.  You can talk yourself into just about anything with nothing but hours to sit and think.  But sometime in the wee hours of Monday morning it hit me. Hard.  I sat up in bed and laughed that I had missed it.  It seemed so obvious.  It wasn’t me at all.  I had it figured out and I couldn’t wait until the sun came up to start telling everyone about it.

     Late in the school year one of my seniors was telling me about his parents moving over to Tampa in May.  It was over an hour away from Orlando.  He was graduating and going to college in the fall.  He didn’t want to spend the summer after his senior year away from his friends before they all headed off to school.  I had grown very close to that senior class.  It was a small class and I taught them all in American Government the first semester and Economics the second semester.  Many of them played sports for me.  Golf, girls basketball or baseball.  They were a wonderful group of characters.  We shared some good times at school together.  Nate was one of my favorites.  He reminded me very much of myself at age 18.  He was very upset about the premise of spending the summer in Tampa.  Even though he’d be able to come over to Orlando frequently it just wasn’t the same.  Around that same time I had decided to take the job at a camp in Maine.  I wouldn’t be in Orlando that summer.  During one of our conversations I off-handedly mentioned that he should sublet my apartment while I was gone.  He would be able to stay in the area and I wouldn’t have to pay for an apartment that I wasn’t living in, which was always a hassle when I’d gone to camp.  He took me seriously.  The next day he said that he had spoken with his parents and they were not opposed to the idea.  I began to give it serious thought.  I knew that I’d have to speak with his parents and keep everything out in the open.  Although I wasn’t involved in their lives outside of school and kept my professional distance in regards to what seniors in high school do when they aren’t in school, I didn’t want anything to be misconstrued.  I discussed it with our principal, Mr. Wudke.  Technically it was my decision alone since Nate would be graduated by the time he would move in I wanted to avoid any perception problems with me allowing him and his friends to live at my place.  No one seemed to have any issues with it.  And after talking with his parents we decided that it was a “go.”  A day or two before I left with my buddy Will to begin our road trip to rural Maine, I met with Nate and took him through the details of the summer.  When and where to pay rent, utilities, etc.  I kept everything in my name and trusted that he would take care of the responsibilities.  There were certainly other seniors that I liked but would never have considered doing this for.  But Nate was a good guy and as responsible as an 18 year old guy could be.  Or so I hoped.  I ended up taking Nate’s truck down to Club Med to pick up Will since my car was in the shop being serviced before the 2500 mile trip.  The next day Nate came over as we were loading my car.  I would be leaving everything that I didn’t need for the summer at my apartment and went through it all with Nate.  I gave him the keys and any final instructions for mail forwarding, etc. and suddenly Will and I were off on our own adventure.  As we drove north, Will and I talked about what it had would have been like for us if we had our own apartment away from our parents the summer before going to college.  Nate was in for a fun summer.  A big part of my final instructions to him revolved around partying.  There was no doubt that my apartment would become the hub of operations for him and his friends that summer.  Young adults that less than a week previous were students in my class.  Now they would be drinking beer and having a blast on my couch in front of my television.  My rules were simple:  Clean the place up frequently.  Don’t trash it.  Don’t break my stuff.  Respect my personal belongings.  Don’t be loud.  Don’t have any free-for-all blowouts.  Limit the fun to small gatherings of friends.  Nate agreed.  He promised me that everything would be alright.  His parents were right down the road and they knew, as I did, what would be happening there.  I wasn’t concerned.

     Throughout the summer I would call back down to the apartment or I’d get a message that he had called me at camp.  We spoke at least once a week.  Sometimes when I’d call there were several of my former students there.  All drinking beer and having fun.  Harmless stuff.  As I sat and looked out at the skyline of Denver I couldn’t believe that I had forgotten about all of this.  It hadn’t even crossed my mind.  It was just last summer but I had been focused on the school year when trying to figure out what put me in jail.  I concluded a scenario in my head that made total sense.  And I agreed with myself that it was why I was in jail.

     At some point during the summer someone at my apartment  brought a girl back there that he had just met.  Since 18 year old guys don’t usually have an apartment to themselves and since this person had just met some girl that he wanted to hook up with, at some point he told her that his name was Chris Justice and that the apartment was his.  It could have been Nate but maybe not.  There were several guys that he was friends with that could have done it.  I concluded that the night moved along and eventually my former student and current imposter made his move with this girl.  Something went wrong and she got upset and left.  The girl was under the age of 18.  Eventually this girl told someone about what had happened to her and her parents found out and were very upset.  They pressed her for details and eventually she relented and told them everything about the evening, including the name of the guy who had taken her back to “his” apartment.  The parents called the police to report what they had been told and an investigation ensued.  The police did a background check and matched me with my address.  They found out where I worked and went to the school and started asking questions.  The road led to Denver and that’s what brought me into this nightmare.  I knew this was what had happened and I was very excited.  I couldn’t wait for a new day and a chance to tell Mr. Worstell and my mother and Kira.  I hoped that one of my friends would visit that night so that I could tell them.  All I had to do was talk to Nate and get the ball rolling to find out who really was responsible.  I felt bad that one of my former students, maybe even Nate, would be getting into trouble because of this, but it would certainly look better that it was an 18 year old that had done this to the girl and not a 33 year old school teacher.  It may not even get to that. 

     My mind had been eased.  Although I still faced many uncertainties I knew that if I actually did have to go to Florida and face this, the victim would eventually have to see me and know that it wasn’t me.  I doubted that it would get that far but at least I had an answer.  I went back to my original livable timeline that I came up with during that first police car ride on Saturday.  As long as I was out by the time I was to go back to Maine, all would be OK.  Without the specter of going to prison until I was 60 I could make it.  The stress and worry of the unknown was the worst part of being there.  If I took that out it wasn’t awful.  It wasn’t ideal and the endless hours of boredom would destroy me but with a light at the end of the tunnel, I could do just about anything.  I’m fairly sure that I ended up finally getting maybe two hours of sleep before the dim lights buzzed on at 5:30am.  Another new day in jail.

     The weekend was over.  I watched out the window as there was noticeably more activity on the streets at the crack of dawn than there had been on Saturday night.  Early risers were heading to work.  I was not.  I was heading to breakfast across the hallway from my cell.  My revelation had energized me.  I felt much calmer and more prepared for the new unknown.  I had only been in my “downtown third floor room with a view” for 36 hours but it seemed like I had always been there.  I had never known time to move so slowly.  It was like perpetually watching a pot waiting for it to boil.  Eventually my door was opened and I shuffled to my place at the breakfast table and sat down.  Breakfast talk was limited but I was anxious to get my buddies up to speed on my new information.  There were some new faces and a few of the guys I came in with were gone.  This area in the jailhouse was not built for long term housing.  It was more of a layover.  Guys either post bond and leave or they are transferred to County.  Most people are only on this floor for a few days or less.  At some point during breakfast I asked an officer if we could have anything different to read or something to write with.  Nope.  The Bible was it.  After I cleaned my tray of the same powdered eggs, toast, oatmeal and milk I had the previous morning I asked one of the guys that was already there when I arrived on Saturday if he’d been able to shower and use the phone more than once a day.  No and no.  I really wanted to shower.  And I wanted another toothbrush.  I wanted a lot of things but I didn’t think that those two things were a lot to ask.  We were given the word to return to our cells and I stood up and went over to ask the guard about a possible shower and when I could use the phone again.  I decided not to push it with a toothbrush inquiry again.  I was told that I would get to shower sometime after lunch and that he didn’t know about the phone.  I couldn’t figure out why there seemed to be so much that was up in the air on a daily basis.  Why couldn’t there just be a daily schedule for showers and phone calls?  Why didn’t I get handed a toothbrush when I arrived and maybe a new one every few days?  It made too much sense.  But I was learning that nothing made sense in there.  These guards were new faces to me.  I guessed that there was a weekend crew and a weekday crew.  Two shifts per day, one day and one night.  I saw the same guys on the weekend and now a new crew.  I really didn’t want to go back to my cell and sit and wait for lunch.  I was slowly dying in there.  And why the hell was lunch at 9:30am?  I just shook my head every time I thought about it.  Who in America has lunch at 9:30 and dinner at 12:30?  No one.  Besides us.  So I walked back to my bed and sat down to do nothing.  Again.  I re-opened the provided reading material and actually tried to take it in.  I had never read the Bible much and decided that I probably wouldn’t get a chance like this again.  Take advantage of my sudden allotment of free time and get some of the Good Word.  I was actually finding it interesting.  And it killed time.  I stayed away from the spiraling negative thoughts and hung to my theory of why I was there.  I was asked no less than five times over the next four hours what time it was. 

     Everyone was a little livelier for lunch.  People had started their cell to cell communication shortly before we got out to eat and I joined in to relay my visit with Jerry.  Someone asked me if I wanted him to kick Jerry’s ass when he got out.  Not a bad idea, I thought.  As we ate I detailed my late night epiphany.  Some of the new guys needed the background information so I went through the whole thing for the group.  Most thought that what I conceived was plausible.  This added to my confidence.  I was concerned that I had not been able to use the phone after breakfast as I had done the day before.  It was over 24 hours since I last made contact with the outside world and I really needed that boost of morale.  Since the officers were guys that did not work over the weekend, I didn’t see anything wrong with keeping up with the constant questions.  I wanted to know if they had any idea when someone would talk to me about my case.  No idea.  I asked about the phone and shower again perhaps just to remind them in case they had forgotten since breakfast.  Later, I was told.  I was in a holding pattern in pretty much every aspect of my life.  I didn’t know when I’d be able to talk to my mom or Kira. I didn’t know when I’d get to shower.  I didn’t know when Mr. Worstell would return or if anyone else would surprise me with a visit.  I didn’t know when someone would be seeing me to read me my rights and lay down the extradition options.  I didn’t know if I’d ever brush my teeth again.  All I did know was when we ate, when visiting hours were and the amount of time in between these that I would be in my cell.  I really tried to talk myself into the fact that most adults don’t get this much time to relax on a bed very often.  I should be taking advantage of it.  

     Back in my room I was wondering how the kids were reacting to me not being in class.  How had the school handled it?  Did the kids all know that their teacher was sitting jail?  Who was teaching?  And did my friends in Orlando know that I had been arrested?  They all knew that I had been investigated but I wasn’t sure if someone would tell them that I had been arrested.  Probably.  I felt really bad that there was a girl out in the world who had something happen to her and that her and her parents thought that her assailant had been taken off of the streets.  At some point they would have to learn that the guy they had wasn’t the right one.  It was all so depressing.  This wasn’t just about me.  It was about my students and their parents, my family and my friends, the two schools and the victim and her family.  And her friends.  And her school.  And the person who actually did whatever they did to create this mess, who was most likely someone I knew.  It had so many branches that I was kind of boggled by it all.  Instead of focusing on all of the negativity I tried to take my mind to other places.  I watched people on the streets and made up their stories about what they were doing.  Who they were and where they were going.  They had no idea that anyone was watching them.  I had always been interested in sociology and I spent at least a few hours simply watching people walk or run or work or talk.  It’s amazing the things you can come up with to keep your mind occupied. “The woman in purple is late to work.  She is walking very fast and hoping that her boss is also running late, which was usual.  She had to eat on the way out of the door and forgot her coffee.  Her boyfriend didn’t call last night and she’s worried that he has met someone else.  Her bank account will be overdrawn if she doesn’t make it to the bank before five o’clock.”  I did this with no less than 50 people I saw that morning.  I wondered what it felt like to be in jail for years.  Your life is on hold and living each day just to get back to your life outside.  It was purgatory.  My time in jail wasn’t even a drop in the bucket.  It didn’t even have a drop or a bucket yet.  I wished that I had something to write with because I would have loved to have documented each thought and each tangent that I had.  I have always had quite an incredible long term vivid memory, but having a pen and paper to capture my thoughts would have made the time alone almost seem valuable.  Iit was senseless to be frustrated for what I didn’t have.  I was lost in random thoughts as I watched the world in motion and almost didn’t notice that the door to my cell had unlocked and an officer was coming over towards me.  It wasn’t yet dinner time so something must be happening.  I snapped out of my inner world and rejoined the present time and got excited to find out what was coming next.

     This new officer informed me that my lawyer was there to see me.  Since he wasn’t in over the weekend he wouldn’t know who had visited me the day before.  Was it Jim returning or Mr. Worstell, or had another lawyer joined the team?  I walked back to the conference rooms and saw Mr. Worstell sitting in the chair nearest the door.  I walked in and greeted him and thanked him for coming.  He asked how I was doing and I said that I was ok.  I relayed that I had eaten breakfast and lunch already and that dinner time was right around the corner.  He found that highly amusing.  He was dressed casually but I guessed that this was his daily wardrobe.  He was probably nearing 50 years old and seemed like he had probably gotten into law to legitimately help people.  We chatted for little bit about nothing.  I got the sense that he kind of knew that I needed some interaction with someone other than the police or other inmates.  He didn’t seem rushed.  I really appreciated that he seemed to naturally understand that I was in incredibly difficult situation and probably was a bit unstable emotionally. Being out of my cell and having a conversation with someone who was on my side gave me sense of normalcy. I asked him if he knew whether or not the Missouri Tigers had won their basketball game the day before.  He wasn’t sure.  I realized how deep I was in this crazy ordeal when I had the thought that I didn’t care if they won or not.  Suddenly it didn’t matter to me at all.  It felt very insignificant.  Had this whole thing never had happened, the result of the game would have been very significant.  I grew up on the Missouri side of Kansas City and had loved the Tigers since I was very little.  I graduated from Mizzou.  I bled black and gold.  But I realized sitting there that I honestly didn’t care.  Nothing mattered except for the realism of what I had been going through since very early Saturday morning.  I had never felt like this before in my life.  Then again, I had never been accused of something sexual nature with a minor. 

     Finally we got down to business.  He had out a blank legal pad on the table.  I was happy to know that I had not yet lost my wit when I made an observation about the legal pad and him being a lawyer.  I applauded myself.  He just looked at me, which was a typical response, so it felt normal.  He began by telling me about the letter that the school gave to the parents.  It said basically what Jim and Jerry had told me that it would say.  They were protecting themselves in the letter, he said.  I don’t think that he was a big fan of the administration of the school.  He didn’t come out and say it but semi-implied his annoyance with how he talked about them.  His son had asked him several questions about me the night before and he assured him that I was being wrongly accused of something.  I knew that he would be telling other students this.  Of course I cared what the parents thought of what was happening but much more than that I didn’t want my kids to automatically think that I had done something wrong.  The adults would instantly draw their own conclusions, but at least the students would be able to hear that Drew Worstell’s dad told him that I was innocent.  Dave (he finally made me stop calling him Mr. Worstell) said that he had several calls into both the Denver and Orlando police.  He didn’t have any more information than he had the day prior but he wanted to start getting names and phone numbers and important information from me.  I stopped him before we got started with the details.  I had to tell him my theory of why I was there.  He listened intently.  When I was done he didn’t outright dismiss it but he explained that until we knew the rest of the charges and had a chance to read the police report we couldn’t entertain any guesses.  Soon we’d know exactly what we were facing.  I was a little unhappy that he wasn’t already on the phone calling up Nate but I understood what he was saying.  I didn’t feel like I was in a position to disagree.  This man was basically giving me his time and energy for free.  He didn’t have to do what he was doing and I was grateful.  I did tell him that I would be clinging to my expert analysis for awhile until we did get the facts.  So for the better part of an hour and a half he had me run down exactly what had happened starting on Friday night with my conversations with Amanda and Todd.  He wrote their names and the name of my school in Florida.  He asked me to take him through my year in Orlando. He got the names and phone numbers for my mom, Aimee and Kermit as well as my friends in Florida.  He was going to begin calling everyone as soon as he left.  There wasn’t too much else that he could do until he was able to get the arrest warrant and the police report from Florida.  I knew that he was beginning to wrap things up but I really, really wanted our time in the conference room to continue.  It was an escape.  I didn’t want to go back to my cell.  I told him that so he asked me a few more questions just to fill the time.  When he said that he had enough to get started, he explained again what I needed to do when the police came to see me and inform me about extradition.  He was coaching.  He nearly gave me a script.  Answer yes or no.  Don’t offer any additional information.  Remember that they are not your friend.  I assured him that I wouldn’t. He told me to call him collect as soon as the police had made contact with me about the official business.  I thanked him again for what he was doing and we parted ways for the day.  I was again injected with an energetic enthusiasm as I headed by to my cell to wait for dinner, which was before most people’s lunch.

     As the officer escorted me back to my cell, he actually engaged me in conversation.  This was a first.  He asked how I was doing and if I needed anything.  A rookie, I thought.  He probably hadn’t yet been hardened to the criminal element that he faced every day.  Perhaps he was just a nice guy.  Regardless, I was encouraged.  I asked if I could get a new toothbrush and when I’d be able to shower.  “You haven’t showered yet?  When did you get here?” he asked as if I had slipped through the cracks and not asked anyone about this yet.  “I got here on Saturday afternoon and I’ve been asking about a shower ever since I walked in the door,” I answered.  He promised to make sure that I would be able to get one soon and he stopped at what appeared to be a storage room and grabbed a toothbrush out of a bin.  I contemplated asking him for six or seven more but was simply thankful for one, plus the promise of the shower.  I didn’t want to push my luck with any more questions, but it had been since just after breakfast the day before since I had been able to use the phone.  I took my chances and he said that after my shower I could stay out and make some calls.  Wow.  I had a new toothbrush, a scheduled shower and then some phone calls.  All of this around dinner time.  My appointment book was filling rapidly.  I’d have to turn down any further requests for my time. 

     Upon my return to cell number 13 some of the guys in my area said “hey” and asked how I was doing.  They wanted to know the latest with my saga.  I was happy to oblige and suddenly it was dinner time so we could continue to talk at the table.  I had gotten so wrapped up in talking to these guys that I even forgot to use the toothbrush that I so desperately had wanted.  I decided I’d hold off until after dinner.  We were first up to eat again and on the menu was some sort of stew option, a piece of bread and an apple.  If I were writing the review of the food on the felony floor of the Denver City Jail, I’d have to rate it somewhere below a half a star.  They would not be receiving my recommendation.  I mentioned this as we ate and got big laughs.  Even a guard standing nearby found it funny.  I went back into my story with the guys and felt more positive than I had been since my arrival.  There had been a semi-flurry of activity that morning and I was able to push aside the stress and wandering mind of the night before.  Any activity other than sitting or standing in my cell was good.  Also, in the back of my mind was the possibility that at any time someone from the Extradition Division would be talking to me.  I had been well instructed by Dave on what to do when that happens and to call him immediately. 

     By the time I finished my dinner I had caught everyone up with my story.  Most of the original guys from Saturday were still there.  I asked about what was happening with them and most were simply waiting to be transferred out to County.  I wasn’t sure if I would ever be joining them.  So much was up in the air.  I craved more information as if it was water and I was lost in the desert.  Living minute to minute not knowing what was ahead was very, very draining.  But I was surviving.  I had my theory, a good lawyer who seemed to care, friends and family worrying and working for me and I didn’t feel like I was in any sort of immediate danger.  Life wasn’t good but I tried to keep the glass half full and focus on what I could control. 

     Going back into my cell after any time away from it was depressing.  I dreaded it.  I wished that I had a ball and glove so I could at least do my best Steve McQueen impression from The Great Escape.  I could probably waste away many hours just tossing the ball against the wall.  Unfortunately I’d have to imagine it.  The time spent alone in my cell offered nothing except for inner discussions with myself and a wandering mind that often betrayed me.  Luckily, though, the guard who promised me a shower came through.  I could hear things happening down the hall at the other end and it looked like a few guys at a time were being allowed to use one of the two curtain-less showers.  I also saw the two phones being used so I knew that I’d get to make some calls soon.  This raised my spirits considerably.  My mom would be at work so I wouldn’t be able to talk to her.  I’d call Kira.  I knew that she was probably very concerned since she hadn’t spoken to me since early Sunday morning.  She wasn’t connected to any of my other friends so she wouldn’t have any other information unless she had tried to find out something on her own. 

     The shower was fantastic.  I’d always wondered what it was about the simple task of showering that invigorated you but the shower in jail helped give me a sense of normalcy.  Unfortunately I’d be putting on the same clothes as before but at least I was clean.  The bottoms of my jeans had sort of started fraying recently.  In a little fewer than two full days I had totally pulled out the stitching all the way around the bottoms of both legs.  I guess when I sat on my bed thinking I would pick at them.  I didn’t even realize I was doing it the first night until many, many hours had gone by.  So now I was clean but putting on dirty and frayed clothes.  I was looking more and more like a criminal, I thought.  I was the last inmate who was offered a shower.  Not everyone took one.  In fact, not very many took a shower at all.  Maybe hygiene wasn’t on the criminal’s list of importance.  When I was finished and clothed, the officer told me that I could use the phone for awhile.  I immediately got excited to be able to connect to the outside world.  I knew that Kira would be eager to hear from me. 

     My conversations with Kira since my first call from the holding cell downstairs had been about what was happening with me.  We had not discussed anything about her visit or our “break.”  Our time had been limited during our calls and the extreme nature of what I was going through was an obvious overshadow to everything else.  My mind was so clouded with fear and stress and uncertainty that I hadn’t really given any thought to what feelings I knew were missing for me in regards to her.  I pushed that fact aside as I dialed her number.  Kira represented emotional support for me, which I desperately needed at that moment in my life.  The overwhelming nature of the possibilities that I faced made me feel very exposed and vulnerable, something that I had never experienced before.  I was aware of it and didn’t like the feeling but couldn’t do much to control it.  As the phone rang at Kira’s apartment I briefly gave thought that me calling her was probably very selfish on my part.  I knew what I knew, which was that I didn’t have the romantic feelings for her that I knew were necessary for me to put the effort into any sort of quality relationship.  I was angry at myself for crossing the line when she was in town and ending up in bed with her.  If I hadn’t gone to jail and been in this mess I would have probably just not called her for several months.  Let it blow over.  The “kicker,” though, was the underlying fact that we were both planning on working at camp again in just a few short months.  Not to mention that I’d be her direct supervisor.  By the time we got to Maine I was sure that she would be over me not calling her.  Or so I hoped.  But her being available to talk while I was locked up represented a huge outlet for me.  We did have a natural emotional connection and our conversations up until her visit were the basis for at least a solid friendship.  I put aside any guilt that I had for calling her and we ended up getting to talk for the entire 30 minutes before time expired, which was almost exactly when an officer came out of the office and gave me the sign to wrap it up.  I caught her up on what information I had, my conclusion of why I was there and what would be happening soon.  A lot had happened in a short amount of time that day and I wasn’t too unhappy about returning to my cell.  I’d get to brush my teeth with the worst toothbrush/toothpaste combo in America, relax on my bed and begin the waiting process again for the next round of events.  The only thing on my horizon that I knew for sure was visiting time, which was about six hours away.  I was encouraged that it was daytime on a weekday and I knew that my people as well as the police were working on whatever they had to do in relation to my case. 

     Six hours in jail does not exactly fly by.  Especially after 5pm.  Once the “work day” was over I felt a little more uneasy since it seemed obvious to me that I would have to wait until the next day for anything to happen that would move me forward.  The more time I had alone, the more the negative thoughts would slowly return and the more I would create any number of possible scenarios on the future of my life.  There was only so much people watching out the window and reading the Bible that I could take.  I was horribly sleep deprived.  I wished that after visiting time that I could simply return to my cell and sleep through the entire night until breakfast on Tuesday.  Maybe.  Probably not.  I had no idea if anyone would be coming to see me that night but as eight o’clock approached on the tower I became anxious and hopeful that I’d get a short break out of my cell.  I watched out of the window on my door for an officer coming my way, which finally happened a little late.  During the walk to the visitation room I hoped that Jerry wasn’t fulfilling his promise of being back.  I was happily surprised to see Kermit sitting in the chair opposite me as I sat down.  We both picked up our phone receivers and he started with a “What the fuck?”  We  laughed and he told me that Aimee had filled him in on everything that had happened while he was gone.  I could tell that he really didn’t know what to say.  He had no idea of whether or not we could joke about what was happening or if I was hanging on by a thread or whatever.  It was kind of like a conversation that you’d have with someone who has a terminal illness.  Do you talk about it or avoid it altogether?  I tried to keep the conversation light and didn’t focus too much on where I was.  I asked him about Space Camp and what he did the rest of the weekend.  I told him about Jerry’s visit and my new jail buddies and how much I hated the toothbrush situation.  I also let him know that Dave would probably be calling him and how lucky I was that he was on my side.  Several times he asked me what he could do to help and my response was that he was doing it.  However long this took, I said, any time he could visit would be the biggest help for me.  The more contact I had with friends and family the more I felt I could stay afloat. 

     Unlike the six hours that took forever, the 20 minutes of visitation time flew by.  I felt like I had just sat down when we got the word that it was time to wrap it up.  Kermit finished by informing me that he was close to scoring 50 goals on the NHL Playstation video game that we were wrapped up in.  We had been playing this game for months and had a competition going of who could score 50 goals in a game first.  We had both been close.  I told him that it was unfair that he was using my jail time to gain an advantage and that it wouldn’t count if he did it while I was gone.  He disagreed.  The funny thing was that I really didn’t want him to score 50 goals when I was away, and I was serious when I told him that.  For that brief moment in time my worries and fears about my situation left me and the only real emotion that I had was hoping that he didn’t attain the 50 goal goal while I was gone. I wanted to get home so I could at least have a shot at being first.  As we said our goodbyes and he said that he’d come back when he could that week, my last words were “It doesn’t count if you do it when I’m in jail.  That’s the new rule that I’m putting in” and I hung up.  I could see him laughing as he walked away.  I’m sure he was going home to do nothing except playing NHL Live 95 so he could come back and tell me that he did it.  I was fairly sure that our conversation was the only one in the visitation room revolving around video games and amended rules of what happens when one of the roommates is in jail. 

     I returned to my cell with the night upon me.  I was back in my holding pattern and was not looking forward to night number three.  The nights were awful.  Nothing to look forward to for nine hours until breakfast.  Time to kill and nothing to do but think and maybe read up on John, Mark and Luke.  I began to go through everything I knew up until that point.  Over and over.  I wondered what my other friends would think as they found out.  Kermit had asked me if he should tell anyone that called for me, which I told him would be OK.  I would want to know if one of them were in jail.  I wanted to be able to call a few other people but wanted them to know where I was before I spoke with them.  The collect calls and announcement of where I was calling from was a bit much if you didn’t already know.  I knew that I was still very much in the dark and was extremely hopeful that Tuesday would be the day that everything came to light.  As I stood and stared out of the window I tried to think of what beer tasted like and whether or not I’d ever be able to actually drink some again.  I wished that I had a case under my bed and that I really, really didn’t want Kermit to score 50 goals.