Fall 2009

Falling Pieces

by Tanya Robertson

Dear Jamie,
Hello Jamie,
Dear Jamie Clatsop,
Jamie,

There are times when you look back over your life and you absolutely can’t believe how bad you’ve messed up.  It’s not that there were never any good moments.  There were.  The bad ones just seem way more prevalent.  I don’t make the mistake of pretending, though.  Pretending that life is anything other than what it is can cause a whole mess of trouble.  In the beginning, this was a lesson I had to learn repeatedly.  I’ll explain what I mean about this later.  For now just know that I have changed.  I have learned.  The me I am now is different. 

It has taken me a long time to work up the courage to write to you.  Each time I think about it I can’t figure out what to say.  Explanations are neither important nor adequate.  It’s best, I think, for me to simply tell you about my life and perhaps that will help you understand why I did the things I did.

I don’t expect to ever meet you as I’ll most likely spend the rest of my life in this cell with its four walls, two cots, sink and toilet.  I used to have a cellmate but she got out five weeks ago.  Geronda had served one hundred and twenty-three months (that’s just over ten years) for killing her husband.  He didn’t beat her.  He didn’t emotionally abuse her.  He didn’t molest their children.  She just woke up one Thursday and was sick of him. 

The next Thursday she waited for him to come home from work, fixed him a catfish dinner with coleslaw and baked beans, a last supper of sorts, and while he watched wrestling shot him in his right ear.   When the police arrived she explained how some gang bangers had broken in and killed him.  The way she describes it she put on a good scene act but gun shot residue doesn’t wash off so easily and that’s how she ended up in my cell. 

Women receive a desperately disproportionate number of years more than men for killing their spouses.  Fortunately for Geronda her husband was a low-life and her court appointed lawyer demonstrated this as part of her only defense.  The judge gave her ten years.  Apparently Geronda isn’t as good an actress as she thinks because every time she went up for parole she was denied.  They didn’t believe she felt remorse.  Instead of getting out early for good behavior or some other earned credit she managed to get another ninety days added on for fighting.

You would think that the first thing she would do when she got out was visit her children or her mama.  She went to see her husband’s brother whom who whom she’d been having an affair with while her husband worked the streets.  He invited her in, went to the back of the house, returned with a shotgun and avenged his brother.  The kind of guy who has sex on a regular basis with his brother’s wife is not the kind of guy who will wait ten years for you.  Geronda didn’t learn the things she should have learned.

I won’t tell you I had a miserable childhood because I didn’t.  My parents loved me and treated me well.  We weren’t well off by any means but the bills got paid, we had plenty of food on the table and a decent roof over our heads.  Believe it or not, Jamie, I never heard my parents fight over money.  My mother kept to a strict budget and clipped coupons out of the Sunday paper and I guess that’s why there was a little left over every month.  My father insisted that we had to go to college and they were saving as much as they could for me and my sister.  That’s a sign of love, right?  When parents clip coupons to pay for your education? 

I was born in Fort Knox, KY where my dad was stationed.  Our house, a three-bedroom ranch with two bathrooms and a large eat-in kitchen was the perfect size for our family.  My parents had a bathroom and my sister, Patricia, and I shared the other one.  The kitchen, though, was where everything happened.  Although we had the option of doing our homework in our rooms, Pat and I almost always sat at the kitchen table.  Mama put fruit and other snacks out but not enough to spoil our dinner.  She worked a part-time job at an insurance company so she could always be there when school let out. 

My dad insisted that we have dinner together as often as possible.  Every afternoon he called my mother to tell her his estimated time of arrival and dinner would be timed with his car pulling into the driveway.  On weekends when my dad didn’t have to report for duty he would grill out in our back yard (is back yard hyphenated?  I can’t remember) where my sister and I played in a tree house he built in one weekend. 

He got up early one Saturday morning, worked all day and finished it up on Sunday after church.  My mother planted day lilies around the base of the tree and let Pat and I go through old boxes in the garage to find curtains and other items for decoration.  Once Mama checked our homework we were allowed to hang out in our playhouse, which we named Halo House.  We felt like angels floating in the air and that’s where we got the name.

So, you see Jamie, I didn’t grow up in a bad situation with a crack addicted mother or an incarcerated father like so many of my fellow inmates.  I went to school dances and vacation Bible school.  My parents didn’t divorce and cause me to rebel.  As a matter of fact, they’re still together.  I don’t talk to them much now.  It’s hard for my father – me being here.  He seems overwhelmed by his disappointment. 

“Is it something we did, Casey?” Mama keeps asking.

“I don’t understand why you made the decisions you’ve made,” Dad repeats.
Perhaps their disappointment is not only directed towards me.

I know you’re asking yourself how I ended up on this path.  The smallest incident or wrong decision can change your entire world.  You’ve been there haven’t you?  Haven’t you ever fucked up?  If you look back over your life right now can’t you see a time when you’re thankful for a decision you made – knowing that the consequences of any other decision would have been severe?  At the time I truly believed I was making the choices I had to make. 

As my parents expected of me, I did attend college.  I went to Western Kentucky University in Bowling Green, KY, only an hour and a half from Fort Knox.  During freshmen orientation I met a girl named Haley Blackwell from Nashville, TN.  She was from a pretty poor family and relied heavily on federal grant money, student loans and her job at the food court.  Between our two schedules we never really had time to hang out so our friendship didn’t develop. 

I ran into Haley at the beginning of our second year and she had made quite a transformation over the summer.  Her hair was dyed blonde and she wore much nicer clothes.  She told me that she no longer needed her job at the food court and that we should hang out now that she had more free time.  Later in the week we discovered that we had General Psychology together.  After class she invited me out to dinner. 

When we got to the restaurant she explained that she had become a vegetarian (Jamie, you’ll see the relevance of this soon) and ordered an avocado and dried cranberry salad. 

“When did you decide to become a vegetarian?” I asked.

“Over the summer.  I decided to put a little more focus on my health and appearance.”

“Is that why you dyed your hair?  Or, is that a guy thing?”

Haley laughed.  I realized that I’d never heard her laugh before.  “A little bit of both I guess.”

“So you met someone over the summer?”

“No, not one guy in particular.  Hot weather, hot guys.  Why stick to one?”

“I did notice that you dress differently.  You used to wear jeans and sweats all the time.  Every time I’ve seen you this week you’ve had on a skirt or a dress.”

“Feeling good on the outside makes me feel good on the inside,” she said.  “What about you?  Any special guy in your life?”

“Did you have any classes with Corey Nuckolls last year?”

“You were dating him?”

“Yeah, we were together for almost a year.  Then I found out in May that he was cheating on me.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter.  I’ve moved on. He wasn’t that great in bed anyway.”

We got a pretty good laugh out of that and enjoyed our dinner.  After that we started hanging out after class every week.  It took me a few weeks to realize that she was always busy on Friday and Saturday nights.  She told me she had a babysitting job and that’s why she didn’t need to work at the food court anymore.  Babysitting.  That’s what she called it.  All I knew was that she had enough money to treat me to dinner regularly. 

I asked her if she knew of any other families looking for a babysitter.  Obviously she was making more than I was at Barnes and Noble.  Now pay attention Jamie.  This here is how life can veer off track.  Haley told me she wanted me to meet her boss.  Maybe she could point me in the right direction, toward better employment opportunities. 

Haley told me to dress as if I were going to a job interview with a really attractive man.  I understood later that that was a test. 

I apologize, Jamie, for the mistakes in this letter.  You see, we can only have a few pieces of paper at a time so I can’t keep starting over.  Paper can be folded and made into shanks.  Murder in prison is a pretty common occurrence.  When you’re already paying your dues in hell what’s a few more years to rid yourself of a nuisance?

We drove to a bar in downtown Nashville, about an hour away.  I thought we were going to meet a man but Haley led us to a booth occupied by a woman in her mid-forties.  She was quite beautiful with green eyes, chestnut hair and olive skin.  Her name was Marlena Estill, or at least that was what they told me that day.

Marlena ordered a round of cosmopolitans apple martinis – it was apple martinis – and the conversation started off very light.  It was that “getting to know you” chit-chat that people do.  A man walked by and Haley commented on the cut of his suit and how distinguished he looked.  Marlena agreed and asked my opinion. 
“Even though he’s older I think he’s attractive.  Some men become more handsome with age,” I said, “and some women do too,” I added looking at Marlena.
“I agree,” said Haley.

Marlena smiled, enjoying the compliment.

Eventually Marlena asked me all about my job at the bookstore and sympathized with the difficulties of working your way through school. 

“That’s why I’m hoping to find a better job,” I said.

“Of course.  I’d like to ask you about something but I don’t want you to take offense or get upset,” she said.

I frowned, trying to imagine what she was going to say next.  Usually when someone prefaced a question with something like that it was racial – “Do black people tan?” or “Can I touch your hair?”

Haley put her hand over mine.  “It’s okay.  It’s nothing bad.”

“I just wondered if you would ever consider working for an escort service.  Before you jump to conclusions, there are limitations and sex is at your discretion,” Marlena said.

I’m telling you now Jamie, it felt like I sat there for two lifetimes trying to process what I’d heard.  “You mean like prostitution,” I finally managed.

“No.  Like a date you get paid for,” said Haley.  “If you have sex, that’s up to you.” 

“Is that what you do?” I asked her.

“Yes.  I make good money and I have a nice evening.  I don’t do anything that makes me uncomfortable.  It’s perfectly safe or I wouldn’t have invited you to meet Marlena.”

“Isn’t it illegal?”

“You don’t have to do anything illegal.  No one is going to pressure you into anything either.”

“But the opportunity is there?  What if you get caught Haley?”

“There is no risk.  Technically, I work for a babysitting service.  I don’t negotiate prices and I don’t accept money.  All customers pay the company and I receive a paycheck.”

Marlena leaned forward.  “I can see you are a little panicked, Casey.  There is no need for that.  I take very good care of all of the sitters.”

“I’m making anywhere from one thousand to four thousand dollars each weekend,” said Haley.  “Think about what you can do with that money.  You wouldn’t have to rely so heavily on your parents and you can quit your job at the bookstore.  You’d have more time to study and you can move out of the dorm.”

“I need a moment.  I have to think.  Take me home.  Can you take me home now?”

“Of course she can,” said Marlena. “Take your time and let me know what you decide.  You can see how well Haley is doing and when she graduates she won’t have years worth of debt.”  It was only when I went to stand up that I realized I had been boxed into the booth. 

On the drive home Haley droned on and on about the benefits of working for Marlena.  She made it sound so good.  At first she only went on the dates and refused to have sex.  One night she went on a date with a client she really liked and after a few drinks went back to his hotel with him.  She didn’t tell Marlena but the next weekend when she went to pick up her paycheck there was an extra fifteen hundred dollars.  Apparently the client had informed Marlena and paid the extra fee.  From then on Haley decided during the middle of dinner how the night would end. 

“Is this why you became a vegetarian?” I asked when she pulled up in front of my dorm.

“Yes.  Just like a supermodel my body is my money.  Besides,” she laughed, “I eat meat sometimes on the weekends.”

I’m really convinced, Jamie, that the devil knows when you’re down or having doubts.  Five days no, it was six days after my meeting with Marlena that the timing belt in my nine year old Kia Spectra broke.  The engine locked up and it would have cost more to fix it than the car was worth.  The justifications started after that.  Who would I really be hurting?  A date with a successful businessman couldn’t be that bad.  There’s nothing illegal about dating.  No one would ever find out.

If after my first arrest I had taken a step back and tried to rebuild my life from scratch I wouldn’t be in prison today.   It was my first offense (I hadn’t even received a traffic ticket) and it was a misdemeanor.  But Jamie, I just could not seem to get myself together.  I was too depressed to figure out my next step. 

I was expelled from school, my parents weren’t speaking to me and I had moved in with Patricia.  The press had called Marlena’s business a sex ring involving multiple students from Western Kentucky University.  It made the national news and our pictures were shown at the top of every news cast.  Can you imagine what this did to my father?  He was humiliated and furious.  Oh God, I just can’t tell you what it was like seeing him in that courtroom.  Patricia didn’t know what to say to me so we didn’t talk.  The only good thing was that Patricia lived in Nashville, a city big enough to hide in.  I waited until the press coverage died down and then cut my hair.  The few times I went out I wore dark glasses, no jewelry, no make-up and a baseball cap.

Finding a job was practically impossible.  It took me a couple of months but finally I started waiting tables at a bar downtown.  A reporter came looking for me one day and made a scene.  After that some of the regular customers knew who I was and constantly propositioned me.  I stopped showing up for work.

About two months later I saw Haley leaving the probation office.  We weren’t supposed to have contact so I followed her to a run down apartment complex.  I saw which apartment she went in and came back that night.  The doorbell was a bunch of wires hanging out of the wall so I knocked.  A shadow passed over the peep-hole and it was a long moment before she opened the door.  She stepped back, yanked me in and slammed the door behind me. 

“I wondered when you would show up,” she said.

“I didn’t know where you lived until today.”

“That was you following me today.  I thought so but I wasn’t sure.  Have a seat.  I just made tea.”

We sat across from each other at the kitchen table scooping sugar, the clank of our spoons against the sides of the cups the only sounds in the apartment.

“I can’t find a job,” I said.

“Neither can I.”

“Let me rephrase that.  I can’t hold a job.”

“Neither can I.”

“Reporters are everywhere.  Our faces are everywhere.  Our lives are nowhere.”

“Ummm….Hmmmm.”

“We have to hold jobs as a condition of our probation.  They keep sending me to shit holes where men think they can paw me all day.”

“Yep.”

“Can’t you fucking say something a little more substantial?”

“I’m getting out of here,” said Haley.  “I’m going to Rhode Island or Vegas.”

“Why those places?”

“Prostitution is legal,” she said simply.

“What?  You want to go back to that?  That’s why we’re up shit’s creek now.”

“We had money in the bank, a roof over our heads and control over our own lives.  There is nothing here except being called whore every time we walk down the street.  I know some girls who went to Rhode Island after graduation and they said it was just as good there as it was with Marlena.”

“You’re not allowed to leave the state.  How are you going to manage that?”

“Look.  I only report in once a week.  In a couple of weeks that goes to once every two weeks.  That gives me a two week head start.  Why would they look for me in either of those places?  I’m changing my name and I already have identification in that name.  You can do the same,” she said.

“The last time I followed in your foot-steps I ended up here.”

“Then why did you come to see me?”

The answer to that question eluded me.  I shrugged and went back to stirring my tea.

“Go back to one of those shithole jobs, save every dime you can and keep the probation office satisfied.  We’ll get you a new id and then we’re out of here.  I have a guy who will drive us so we leave no trail.”

“Fine.  It sounds like you have it all worked out.  How do I get the id?”

“Get two-hundred dollars together as soon as you can and come back here.  I’ll take you to get it.”

“Okay.  It has to be better than here.”  Jamie, it doesn’t take a genius to recognize that committing a crime in order to get away from the punishment of another crime is sheer stupidity.

Four weeks later Haley and I made our escape.  The guy, Tim (no last name), she found to drive us had business in Boston and wanted to leave the next morning.  He didn’t want to be seen picking us up so we all met in the parking lot of a grocery store.  We made it to Pennsylvania before the car overheated and a cop stopped to help us.  Tim said not to worry because the car registration was up to date and there was nothing to make the cop suspicious. 

Everything was fine until another cop showed up to check on the first cop.  A police dog was in the back seat of the second squad car and it was going ballistic.  Tim started ranting about how long it was taking the tow truck to get there.  He told Haley and I to get back in the car and told the cops they didn’t have to wait with us.  By then, though, the cops were wondering what was in the car that made the dog bark.  They wanted to know if it would be alright if they checked the trunk.  Tim said it was no problem and opened the door to pop the trunk. 

Jamie, I swear to you I didn’t know about that gun.  I was looking out the back windshield and before the sound even registered blood splattered on the glass.  Haley was screaming and shots were fired.  The window on my side of the car exploded and then everything was silent.  I pressed myself onto the floor boards and closed my eyes, willing myself to be blind. 

I stayed that way until someone dragged me from the car and laid me on the ground.  “She’s not wounded, just in shock,” I heard a man say but they loaded me into an ambulance anyway.  Handcuffs fastened me to the gurney.  My memory isn’t very good regarding those next few days.  The court appointed attorney explained the situation to me. 

The next part is somewhat graphic, Jamie, but I’ll leave out most of the gruesomeness.  The bullet that blew out the window above my head also found its home in the back of Haley’s head.  It exited through her nose.  She bled out right there in the front seat.  “Tim” was really Andrew Singleton and was a felon with several drug convictions.  He was also a suspect in the murder of three people in Georgia.  He had three bullets in him and died at the scene but not before fatally wounding both of the officers. 

I’m guessing no one really explained this stuff to you and I know you didn’t come to the trial.  It had to be hard for you.  Remember what I said about pretending?  Well, I can’t pretend to know how bad the situation is for you.  I call it a situation because I don’t know what else to say.  Incident doesn’t fit and accident is downright disrespectful. 

You must hate me.  Perhaps you’re too good a person to carry hate around.  I don’t know.  Let me tell you Jamie that most days I wish I had caught one of those bullets too.  It may look like I’m the only survivor but no one lived through that.  Does it help you, even a little bit to know that guilt is eating away at my flesh? 

Do you wish, Jamie, that your husband had opened that back door and let that dog out?  Maybe Andrew Singleton would have been mauled before he got to that car door.  Maybe he’d have let your husband and Officer Givens find those drugs and weapons in the trunk.  Maybe Haley would still be alive.  Maybe Haley is better off.

Yours truly,

Casey Domino