"Shut up! I'm trying to sleep!" A voice huskier and deeper than most men's bounced off the cold, cement walls of the cell and into my eardrums, silencing my whispers across the room to my friend. It came from the bunk under me from a person I could not see but could only imagine like a monster hiding under my bed. Startled, my arms, already hugging my legs in an attempt to keep warm, tensed up. I nuzzled my face into the barrier made by my own limbs. I lay there in perfect fetal position until the voice turned into a hoarse snore. I lifted my head and looked toward the top bunk across from mine where Kate lay. As our eyes met, we tried to bury our laughter in one of the thin white sheets given to us to sleep with. Our giggles were a combination of disbelief over where we were, how we got there, and the people we were surrounded by, the other "inmates." We laughed because we were scared. We laughed because we did not belong there. We laughed because we did not know what else to do.
My eyelids were heavy, but I could not sleep. I covered myself from head to toe with a sheet like I was a corpse sprawled out on the floor of a crime scene. I closed my eyes and listened to the other inmates. It seemed like none of them could sleep either. Although for most the source of their insomnia was drug or alcohol withdrawal rather than anxiety. Every once in a while the snores coming from beneath me would stop, interrupted by a hacking cough. I could hear the monster under my bed tossing and turning, punching the mattress, grunting, audibly frustrated by her discomfort. I tried to picture what she must look like, using only her voice and coughing fits to guide me. I figured she must be like the majority of the other inmates I met who did not have anyone to bail them out either. I imagined her skin, dark and weathered. Her hair was probably matted and sticking out at strange angles. Her teeth were rotting with some missing. I assumed she was addicted to some sort of poison, her body sweating and aching as it begged for more of it.
I peeked out from under my sheet and looked at Kate, still awake but also trying desperately to sleep. I compared us to the other women we shared the room with. We did not fit. We were first time offenders apprehended for stealing lipgloss testers at Nordstrom. We would have been bailed out had our friends not been too drunk to figure out how to accept a collect call. Instead, we were forced to spend the night in Dade County Jail, one of the most notorious jail systems in the country. Infamous for its unsanitary conditions, overcrowding, abusive jail guards, and corruption, Kate and I were forced to discover that the reality was far worse than the rumors.
I was awoken by a man's voice over the loudspeaker announcing breakfast. A guard followed shortly after, the sound of the keys clinking together became a beacon of hope over the course of the night. Every time I heard the noise I thought maybe this time the guard would announce that someone posted bail for Kate and me. Or at the very least I would get to ask what time it was.
"Breakfast is milk and a piece of fruit. Who wants it?" The guard announced robotically. No one moved except for the monster under my bed. I waited patiently, excited to see the person who invoked so much curiosity within me.
She slowly pushed herself off the bed, grunting as she rose to her feet. Her appearance fit her voice, weathered and masculine. She wore a red gingham button down, mens black athletic shorts, and green foam ballet flats. I would not have known she was a woman had we not been segregated by gender. Her hair was cut close to her scalp. The skin on her face looked like leather. She shuffled out of the cell behind the guard, coming back a few minutes later with some sort of fruit and a carton of milk.
After what I presume to be about half an hour later, the guard came back, telling us we would be transported back to the main jail where we would wait to be seen by a judge. The woman under me sat on her bed, making it an even bigger obstacle for me to get down. Terrified of accidentally kicking her, I scooted myself off of the bunk, gently touching my toes down on her mattress and hopped onto the ground.
Kate and I embraced, giggling because we knew we would be released soon. As we exited the cell, we were offered a bar of soap to wash up. Again everyone rejected the offer except for the woman who slept under me. While she cleaned up in the adjacent bathroom, the guards called out our last names. Each of us responded with our first name and date of birth to confirm our identity.
"Jackson?"
"Barbara," the woman grunted from the bathroom followed by her birthdate. It caught me off-guard. Her name was so feminine and generic. It rang in my head. Barbara. It did not fit.
I watched her as she exited the bathroom. Her steps were slow and awkward like her joints were riddled with arthritis. Her body was breaking down from a combination of hardship and drug abuse. I looked at her eyes, expecting to see hostility or emptiness, but I was met with a gentle gaze, tired and harmless.
The guard pulled out several sets of handcuffs. She went down the row, cuffing every set of two people together. We left the facility and were led to a van. The back was divided into two sides, each was less than three feet wide and had a bench. The entire compartment was metal-- the walls, the bench, the floor, the ceiling. There was a quote written on the wall in black marker: "Pull the trigger and the nightmare stops."
After what felt like several hours in a dirty holding cell, a guard opened the door of our cage. She called out five names, mine, Kate, Barbara, and two other girl's. We were led to a court room which doubled as a chapel. We waited patiently for our turn in front of the judge as several men were given their bonds, each man there was charged with battery.
Barbara was called to the stand. Her charge was read, disorderly intoxication, and the judge granted her release. Another woman followed, her bond was set at $1,000. Next was Kate and then me. The court laughed as our charge of "petty theft" was read. Our release was immediately granted. Barbara, Kate, and I were then led to a desk to process our release.
Barbara led us out of the jail, a walk she seemed to have made several times before. We collected our belongings and headed to the train station. Every homeless person we passed seemed to know her, yelling her name with excitement. She'd smile and wave as if she was a celebrity. We approached the metro station, and I gave her $2, just enough for a train ticket. After we boarded the train, I lost her, but she never left my mind.
All my life, I was told that jail is for criminals, evil people who have no sense of morality. I was taught that the shocking conditions and psychological tricks played on inmates were justified punishment, that these people chose to violate the law and therefore gave up their right to be treated like humans. But meeting Barbara made me realize that for many, jail is a place of safety and stability for them. It guarantees them a bed to sleep on and regular meals. These people were not evil; they were not inhuman; they just had no where else to go. I think that we are taught to see criminals as less than human because it allows us to ignore the real problems plaguing society. If we believe these people are monsters then we do not have to ask ourselves why these people continuously violate the law. We do not feel compelled to fix the system to better help people like Barbara to stay out of jail because we ignorantly assume that repeat offenders end up in jail because they are bad people; not because they have no where else to go.
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