Upon Release From Prison

by Glenn Langohr

  I realized there wasn’t even a closet. Where I would have expected a closet there was a tiny bathroom. I went in to see if the water pressure in the shower was strong, a pet peeve of mine after so much time spent in prison. It wasn’t. We filled out a rental application and put my name down for the credit check. The rental agent told us to check with him on Friday to see if we were approved.

  CHAPTER—9

  The next four days were the same program that started with the library and then volunteering with the orphans. Annette and I spent our time with Danny and everything felt like God would take care of the rest. Friday came and after saying good-bye to Danny for the weekend we got on the bus to meet the rental agent at the studio. He wasn’t there. Annette checked her phone messages and I watched her face register bad news. She replayed the message on speakerphone. I’M SORRY TO INFORM YOU WE HAD TO DENY YOU BASED ON YOUR CREDIT

  We got to the shelter and the news got worse. The church hadn’t called and helped us. They were kicking me out and giving Annette the weekend before she also had to hit the streets. Annette and I had a quick discussion outside the shelter out of view and she handed me her $800 and told me “Go find us a car baby and get your ass back here and pick me up!”

  I walked around in a daze all night with my thoughts. Annette had left me with the tightest hug I’d ever had and our kisses were so intense I held that love and felt empowered to problem solve any matter necessary. I was going to have to sell the shit out of my novel and get a movie deal out of the script. This would solve our financial problems and get us off the streets. How can I do it fast? I walked faster and thought harder and ideas and plans took shape. I walked all night up and down what seemed like every street, hill and turn in Laguna. Eventually the sun came out.

  I laid down on my back in downtown on the boardwalk listening to the waves crash while writing until the library opened. Up to this point Amazon and other marketing services had schooled me in the art of writing press releases and building bridges with the gatekeepers in the media. It took a powerful first line grabber! Then it took a visual aid. I had a lot of pictures of myself, most of them a vain effort showing a muscular upper body in jeans or shorts. I did have one that fit the bill and added mystery to my first line. I packaged a press release that said, FORMER INMATE STRIVES FOR A DEEPER UNDERSTANDING OF WAR ON DRUGS…Further into the press release a prestigious review service under NIELSON related my novel to the drug war movie TRAFFIC and I was referred to as a master director who toggled the angle from multiple perspectives. The rest was about my insider’s perspective from serving time for drug charges… I still wasn’t getting my message out! That in California, the system is so worried about tough on crime platforms to get elected, that we are building bigger criminals by locking up low level offenders where in prison a drug addiction is being bred into an AFFLICTION much harder to escape where races are segregated and gangs become the answer; spitting tattooed down survivors back into the neighborhood without any job placement!

  The picture I uploaded showed me in a pin stripped fedora hat Al Capone would have been proud of from the neck up that was just fuzzy enough to add even more mystery. As I put some of my message into the body of the press release another thought hit me. Why don’t I rally a protest against the California Corrections Peace Officer Association? I knew that not all of the prison union represented peace from my time on level 3 and 4 yards where hazard pay equaled time and a half and hazard pay was given any time the yard was on lock down and we were getting cell fed. I had witnessed guards admitting we were going on lock down soon and then within a week drop an inmate or a group of inmates on the yard that kicked off a race riot. This happened more times than I could count and didn’t seem to represent peace the way I understood it. Shouldn’t I exercise my first amendment rights to assemble and protest the government at the beach this summer? I could picture a hundred people holding signs CALIFORNIA PRISON UNION USES TERROR TACTICS…CALIFORNIA PRISON UNION- THE NEW MAFIA…Then I wondered if I could pull this off being on parole.

  Once my creative juices were exhausted I moved to the next matter, finding a car. I wanted a low profile one that ran and found one on Craigslist. A ten-year-old Buick La Sabre, an old person’s car with a sturdy frame and plenty of room. I had just enough money, bought it and drove to the shelter as the sun went down.

  The shelter was just finishing up a meeting and I did my bird whistle to get Annette’s attention three stories above. I saw her react with her back to me and her beautiful brown hair flew in an arc revealing her exquisite neck and beautiful face as she turned. I saw her eyes open wide in a smile that made her face look angelic. She ran down the stairs against the protest of one of the shelter’s employees.

  Annette was wearing a black dress that came to her knees with black thigh highs and I was amazed by her deliciousness and wondered how she could run down the stairs so fast in heels. She was already a flight and a half further than the shelter employee also running after her. I stood at the bottom flight and Annette jumped into my waiting arms and wrapped her legs around me like a vise in a hug that consumed me. I twirled her around like a circus dancer and set her down right as the shelter employee made it down the last flight of stairs. She yelled, “Annette get back up those stairs and go to your room before you get kicked out!”

  Annette stood like royalty and said, “I’ll go back up those stairs to pack my stuff and leave with my fiancé.”

  For the next twenty minutes the shelter employee watched us pack my Buick to the roof with Annette’s belongings and softened as we got in the car.

  “Good luck you two. I’ll be praying for you.”

  I was still bitter that the church hadn’t called to explain we were volunteering until a job opened up and said, “We were working”, as I drove away.

  I drove south from Laguna into Dana Point, familiar territory. I maintained some sort of confidence with some chatter about my marketing efforts and parked at one of my favorite cliff views of the ocean at Strands Point where Oprah and George Klooney had recently purchased mansions. “Sweetheart, how can I organize a rally this summer against the California Prison Union?”

  Annette looked like she was deep in thought. I already had some ideas and shared them. “My plan is to send postcards into prisons with a hand written letter going something like this: Greetings brother, or sister, in faith this reaches you well. Just wanted to touch bases and let you know that novel I wrote for 10 years in a cell is now on Amazon! Also, I want to inspire you to do the same thing with your time on a shelf by visualizing that you can turn what you have been through into something positive for yourself and the community. I am currently living in a shelter but am contacting the L.A. Times and Orange County Register to get behind the idea that if we help incarcerated souls by assisting with job-living-and-church placement before you get out, you and the community will benefit. I also want to help you find a creative outlet; be it writing scripts or marketing art while you’re incarcerated. I want to send instructional writing material and add my mentor-ship as to how it is going with me upon release. Last but not least I am asking for any of your family members who have their first amendment rights intact to get in touch with me so I can gather flocks to stage a protest against this out of control Prison Union to bring more public awareness to some of the flaws tough on crime platforms have created. With that said, God bless and enjoy the rest of your day.”

  Annette said, “Do your thing baby. You have my support but can you do this while on parole?”

  “If I organize it from the shadows I don’t see why not.”

  We got out of the car and stood at the precipice of the cliff and watched the surf breaking underneath. It was high tide and the force of the ocean sent spray high into the air. The impact of our situation hit me. Where were we going to sleep tonight? I felt stress squeezing around my neck like a noose and knew as soon as we faced the issue the pressure would increase. I thought about the contacts I’d built up over the years. Unfortunate
ly, the ones I trusted were in prison. The ones I trusted that weren’t incarcerated were still involved in the hustle lifestyle I was trying to stay away from and weren’t to be trusted because I couldn’t trust myself to not hustle. I remembered that in my past when I was in the life, I’d kicked up too much dust trying to hold down rules and regulations to bring honor to a dirty business and all that did for me was cement my name on the walls of the sheriffs department and give them something to talk about during morning briefings. These troubling memories kept me from jumping back into the small pond. I imagined sleeping in the car. I tested the waters. “Annette, can you handle sleeping in the car tonight to give us a chance to come up with a plan tomorrow?”

  Annette looked at me. She didn't say anything. It felt like I was letting her down. How can I expect her to sleep in a car and wake up with the problem of having to find a bathroom, just to have some f-ing toilet paper and somewhere to brush the teeth? What about a shower? Then where would we go? Were we going to have to start living at the library to do press releases and look for jobs that actually pay a check?

  Annette looked at B.J and thought, I love him. He looks so innocent and worried about us. He is such a good boy. He doesn't want to make a mistake so bad he’s frozen with indecision. “Honey I'll sleep in a tree with you if you tell me to.”

  Annette stood on her passenger seat and folded herself over the seat to reach into the back seat. Her skirt climbed up her arched body and I watched her move her belongings far enough out of the way so our seat could extend into a bed. I couldn't help but stare at the back of her legs and she caught me. I saw her hair flash in a circle from the corner of my eye and was late in adjusting my vision to her face. Her smile was glowing and conveyed I was caught staring. She asked, “Honey is it illegal to sleep in the car?”

  I hesitated for what seemed like more then a minute. “I don't know..?”

  Annette smiled to herself knowing it was and thought, he doesn't know, he doesn’t know how to adjust to being free and every decision is like climbing Mount Everest for him. Maybe I should take some pressure of his shoulders and make suggestions in the morning.

  I remembered it was illegal to sleep in the car. “I think it is illegal baby but don't trip I got this.”

  I remembered how I used to find temporary solutions to my problems. I started the car and drove to Crown Valley to my favorite hill. At Del Avion I turned left and remembered riding my Ducati Speed Bike up the steep tight curves. I remembered how leaning into them and accelerating through turns seemed to process things until perspective was attained. At the penultimate point of the heaving cliff line we took in the breathtaking view of South Laguna all the way to San Clemente going south. I circled the edge and realized we'd be too obvious parking for the night at the penultimate perch. I found a more obscure spot to tuck into between two off duty tow trucks.

  We went to sleep after kissing into bliss. I woke up first to birds calling for their mates. Annette's face was nestled comfortably on my chest and my arms wrapped around her back perfectly. My left hand was able to brush her hair lightly behind her ear. I let her sleep with the same smile she carried from the night before and thought about how small she was. She only weighed 98 lbs and I laughed how the other day when we walked on the beach the urge hit me to twirl her body in the air. We were walking and I had my left arm around her waist so I reached down with my right arm as her right leg strode forward and timed my hand so it found the back of her thigh and lifted her off her feet and flung her body in an arc in a circle over my head. Annette landed comfortably down my body behind me and said, “Do it again!”

  We practiced for hours and found all of the angles to twirl her flexible body into clamping positions until I had her legs kicked open above my head leaving nothing to wonder or where my imagination was headed.

  Annette awakened and I kissed her forehead a bunch of times and her smile increased. She said, “I feel so good in your arms like I'm so protected.”

  -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Our day started at the library and I plugged in my laptop and avoided our living-survival problems by getting right to work. I started bragging about how good I was getting with press releases.

  Annette watched and thought, I wonder if I should tell him about my degrees in marketing and fashion design? I don't think so; I flushed those down the toilet partying to avoid pain. Why don't I help him find a publisher, or agent, or some more major contacts in the media?

  For the next couple of hours’ time disappeared in my latest polished press release. I was in hyper drive. My fingers flew all over the keyboard and as was my usual I was hitting send to all of my contacts in mass email touches.

  Annette watched and thought, how did he learn all of this? Did someone send him instructional material while he was in prison? I'm going to help him take this to the next level.

  My creative wad of juice was getting dry and I noticed Annette using the same key words I had used for internet search engines, for google searches. She was finding people and organizations in line with my messages in “Roll Call”. “Honey have you contacted the F.A.C.T.S Organization?”

  “Who are they?”

  “They are the Families to Amend the California Three Strike law. Their message is in line with one of yours. I think you should contact their president.”

  Twenty minutes later... “Honey I found another powerful looking contact. He writes for the Orange County Register and works for a research organization called the California Watch Dog. He has published books. One of which has content with anti-sentiment about the California Prison Union. Maybe he can help you get a publisher.”

  We stayed busy until the library closed, hungry for food, hungry for a peaceful warm place to sleep and got in the Buick. I said, “Annette can you handle one more night in the car? We'll figure something out tomorrow.”

  “I know a place we might be able to stay.”

  “Where?”

  “Shane's house. He is storing some of my clothes in his attic.”

  I didn't like the sound of it and stayed on silent mode for what seemed like more than a minute. “Can we check it out in the morning?”

  “Sure baby.”

  The next morning I woke up and my neck and back hurt from pinched nerves. The pain was great and far reaching from too much dare-devil living. My teeth felt dirty, I felt dirty. I popped the trunk and put on a different pair of socks and changed into another set of clothes and added the other ones to a disorganized growing pile.

  Annette stood next to me somehow looking beautiful rinsing her mouth out with hydrogen peroxide and brushing her teeth. I looked at her with a confused look and she said, “The peroxide kills all of the germs and makes your teeth white.”

  I tried it and swallowed some and spit it out less gracefully than Annette had with another confused look on my face.

  “You’re not supposed to swallow it honey.”

  We drove to Shane's house and I didn't like the way the house looked with the garage door half way opened and what looked like disorganized half started projects in piles that led to the side of the house so I circled it to check the entire perimeter for angles to view the house. After one flat circle, I parked on the next street where we could see the back of Shane's house.

  Annette asked, “Why are we parking a street away?”

  I pointed to his back gate and the trail that led down to us. “That's our exit route if necessary.”

  I put my pin stripped fedora hat low over my eyes as we got to the front door. The man who answered fit Annette's description. He was 6'5, around 250 lbs. of lanky-flab. At fifty years old and it showing, he was out of shape. He looked Nordic or maybe German with wavy long blond hair and blue eyes, but those eyes didn't look like they were capable of discerning, like he viewed everyone the same, underneath himself.

  I watched Annette take over. She'd put on white thigh highs and some make-up minutes earlier and Shane's at
tention was in her hands.

  She hugged him in a bouncy way to reach his height and I was already pissed. She introduced me as Bugsy from L.A like planned.

  We walked inside and he immediately asked, “Do you want to get high?”

  I pulled Annette to me and whispered in her ear while watching the tension increase around Shane's eyes. “Is he one of the dealers you text messaged not to give you any dope?”

  Annette let me know he was with a nod and said, “Follow my lead.”

  We walked into his bedroom and there were already three other people in it getting high. One had a big speed pipe twirling with a blow torch underneath it and the other two stared at us all bug eyed. I looked right at the desk. There was a computer station, a Tanita digital scale to weigh up dope, a pile of speed on a mirror and a bag of speed somewhat stashed underneath some clutter. Annette was looking in the same direction. Shane was staring at me.

  I felt all of the urges from the past surge through my consciousness like waves increasing with the tide. I wanted that dope. I wanted to snort it and take over. I thought about how easy it would be to do it but ran into my conscience first. It told me whose leash would be around my neck, the devils. My pride would be my own worst enemy and people like Shane would get in my way again and again until they were so pseudo-respecting I'd loose any for them and start getting paranoid. With my conscience glaring at me, I looked around the room for more hints to Shane's character. There was a 57'' inch T.V with all kinds of porn spread out. Shane's taste disgusted me. The first video had 5 black guys and one white girl who looked on the edge of being too young. The next video was titled, “Teen” something. The dark side of my being from ingrained behaviors from times past flashed through my mind with strength. He's in violation! Why don't I just snatch that dope? It's enough for a hotel and plenty of extra benefits for at least a week! Shane was still staring at me. Was he feeling my conflicted energy growing? Annette felt it and intervened while I took a seat on the edge of the bed at an angle to observe everything necessary without appearing to.