The seven weeks I spent in jail should have been a full year, but I was placed, under court order, in a special program for "violent and criminal women" for the last 10 months of my sentence. And so I moved into the Shelly P. Horton Memorial Rehabilitation Home.
It basically was a halfway house- a communal living situation with 8 or 9 other women. Not only did we live together, we ate most of our meals together, we did chores together, and we had to participate in regular meetings. Everything was supervised, they helped us all get jobs, and we each contributed a little to the financial needs of the group. Rent was free but we bought our own food. We did all our cleaning and we lived two to a room. You couldn't spend a night outside of the house, you couldn't bring people into the house- you get the idea. Newcomers were closely monitored until they proved themselves trustworthy.
It had almost no security- I could have run away at any point, but I knew that would mean more legal troubles. I had only been charged with a misdemeanor, and I had no intention of adding anything else to my record. I still cherished the dream of becoming a lawyer- perhaps even more strongly now that I felt myself a true victim of a rotten patriarchal system. But first I had to finish my time at the Horton House.
The Horton House was run mostly by long-term, highly-trained volunteers, most of whom were a part of a nearby church. They were older and middle-aged women, some of them with a background in nursing or social work. A lot of the classes and meetings we had to take part in were simple life skills- how to balance a checkbook, how to eat healthy, etc. There were also classes on managing anger, avoiding harmful behaviors and all that. I really didn't learn anything. Maybe a few self-defense classes would have been more appropriate.
I was the only one of the group who had finished high school, let alone started college. And aside from taking a lamp to Jimmy's face right in front of the cops, I had no other criminal or violent history, which was also unique. But rumors of what I'd done to my ex-husband's face had gotten around, and I had a reputation as a bad-ass. I let the rumors go- hoping maybe they'd keep trouble away from me.
The official head of the Horton House was the pastor of the church- Pastor Glen. He didn't spend a lot of time at the house (which might have come off as creepy, since it was all younger women), but he did all of the administrative leadership. He coordinated the volunteers, had dinner with us every Sunday, and he led a weekly Bible study that we were strongly encouraged to attend (they couldn't require it, I guess). Glen was young- in his early 30's I estimated- and he didn't have the formal look and feel I had always associated with a pastor. He had a light, fuzzy beard and wore John Lennon-style glasses. He was medium height and build and his short haircut hid that, even at a young age, he was beginning to bald. He always spoke with a gentle voice and liked to make jokes.
Glen had the files on each woman and had to approve their admittance into the Horton House. He met with each of us on our first day- introducing himself and running over some of the basic philosophy of the place. When I sat down across from him in the kitchen of the house, he was skimming my paperwork. We were on opposite ends of a large table, and a pleasant looking silver-haired woman sat a few seats down from me.
"Dorothy?" he asked, not looking up.
"Dottie," I said.
"Dottie with an 'i'?" he asked, picking up a pen, still looking at the folder.
"Yes."
"Yes...you do like the eyes, don't you," he mumbled, punning to himself as he flipped through the pages of my file.
Looking up at me for the first time, he cocked his head and paused with his mouth open. He looked at my eyes for almost a minute, until I shifted in my seat from awkwardness.
"Well," he said abruptly, "Betty will fill you in on all the rules and procedures around here. It's pretty simple. I'm guessing you're not going to have a problem with anything. No history...just...just
one
very violent assault."
I looked down and to the side, biting the inside of my cheek.
"I would guess he had it coming," he said thoughtfully, still looking at me. I looked up sharply, surprised that a pastor would say such a thing. After giving me a few seconds to respond, he abandoned that path and changed topics.
"Dottie, do you plan to go back to school?"
"As soon as I can," I said so quickly that I surprised even myself.
"And your plan is to..."
"Eventually study law."
He leaned forward and laughed, looking over at Betty. "Law? Well I didn't see that coming. Guess you've got an insider view of the criminal justice system now, don't you?"
I said nothing in response.
"Hmm. Let me make some calls. I wonder if I can't get you back into some classes while you're here. Would you like that?"
I widened my eyes in surprise, nodding my head.
"No guarantees. But I think there's some grant money available for women in your situation who want to study. It could cover some of the costs, but you'd still need to work."
"That's no problem. I've been working and studying. It's no problem at all," I didn't like how eager I sounded, but this seemed like a great chance.
Standing up, he said, "I'll let you know what I find. We've got a few months until fall semester starts, so hang tight and get settled. Make some friends." He paused after he said that, then turned back towards me and leaned in. " I mean that, Dottie. Make some friends here. It'll be good for your heart and..." he squinted at me, "and I'm guessing you've got a lot to offer these girls, too."
Breaking his gaze, he straightened up and headed towards the door. "Thanks Betty- I'll be in touch. And Dottie...try to leave the lamps where they are." I rolled my eyes.
*******
I didn't mind the Horton House- it was better than prison, anyway. It was a few hours further west of my school, so it was a good long drive from home. Daddy and Mama visited about once a month, but after a few long talks with Pastor Glen, they felt OK with me being under the care of his staff. The volunteers were nice, even if some of them were just too saccharine sweet for me- like they hadn't really had any trouble in life, so everything was rosy and happy for them. Glen seemed that way at first- often joking and teasing, enjoying game nights and meals. But whenever he spoke at the Bible study or sometimes during serious dinner conversations, I could tell he wasn't all fluff. I kept a close eye on him- no man could work around so many young women and not be looking for a way to take advantage of them.
I'm not sure how I did at making friends, but I soon had a few younger girls (which was funny, because I was only 21 at the time) who followed me around and asked a lot of questions. Sometimes it was about Jimmy- Had I really used a broken light bulb to dig out his eye? Was I going to get the other eye if they hadn't stopped me? How did I fight off all four police officers?
But then it became different. I was showing them how to use the washing machine and fold their clothes. I taught them a few of the recipes that they liked. I pulled classic novels from the bookshelf and read to them, explaining some of the harder language. As girls came and went, I found newcomers had a way of ending up in my little circle, so that I usually had about 4 girls that I spent time with each day. I listened to their stories and helped them understand how their problems weren't their fault- the men in their life had forced them into a system that was against them. I told them about the unfair wages and inequities in the law. I didn't realize what a reputation I was getting until one evening when Betty came from the kitchen and saw me studying in the living room (Glen
had
been able to get me into a few classes that fall).
"Mother Hen...can you make sure all your little chicks know that dinner is going to be a little late tonight?"
Shayna, folding laundry across the room burst out laughing and said, "She ain't no Mother Hen! Don't you know she hates cock?" Then she howled at her own pun. Betty, too proper to let on that she understood the joke, looked at me and held in a laugh.
"I've got a lamp right next to me, Shayna..." I threatened.
She stopped laughing, "Aw, come on Dottie. You know it's true. And that was
funny
!" She giggled again, then tried to suppress it. I left her alone, then went upstairs to pass along the message. While I walked up the steps, I thought about Shayna's comment. Did I hate men? No. I didn't. I loved Daddy. I wished there were more men like him. I suspected men. I hated what they did to women- what most of them did, anyway. But I couldn't let these girls go on naïvely believing there was something wrong with them when some of them weren't really guilty of anything except being female. I realized that, what I most wanted to do was just...help them. Help them make a better life for themselves and stop waiting around to find the right guy who will fix everything.
A few days later, we sat around the table for Sunday dinner. Glen was there, as usual, and conversation was light and informal. A bowl of apples was next to Glen and I asked him to pass me one. We were carefully trained on table manners- asking politely, passing things, not talking with your mouth full, all that fun stuff. Glen smiled and picked an apple from the side of the bowl, taking care to find a particular one. I thought that strange, and when I bit into it, I found it was rotten on the inside. I spit out the bite, earning a disapproving gaze from Clara, our manners expert.
"It's rotten!" I said.
Glen stood up, taking the bowl. "Oh, then I'll just throw them all away."
A few girls protested, including me. "No, just give me another- they can't all be bad."
"What? Didn't you just get a rotten one?"
"Yeah, but there are good ones, too."
"I don't know- you got a bad taste in your mouth from that bite. Best to assume all the apples are bad."
I narrowed my eyes, starting to suspect he was up to something. Most of the girls seemed to be ignoring us, but one or two of my little gang stared in wide-eyed curiosity.
I spoke slowly, trying to piece it together. "I'd still like to try another. I'm sure they're not all bad."
Glen tilted his head and smiled, squinting one eye, urging me to think about what I'd just said. He rolled another apple across the table to me and said, "And yet for the sake of a few assholes, you're ready to write off all mankind...interesting."
So
that
was his game. I left the apple- and the rest of my dinner- on my plate. I stood up, tossing my napkin onto the table, and said, "You know, on second thought, I'm just not hungry." I walked briskly out of the room, which wasn't allowed during dinner. Clara started to say something, but I heard Glen say, "It's OK, Miss Clara, let her be." As I reached the front door, I could hear Shayna at the table say, "Cluck, cluck!" and then laugh loudly to herself. I slammed the door and sat on the porch. I wished Daddy would come walk me around the block and help things make sense.
*******
After I'd been sitting out there for a while, and thankfully once my tears had dried, Glen slipped out onto the porch and asked if he could sit next to me.
"It's your house," I mumbled.
He sat down a few feet away, handing me a blanket he had brought out. I wrapped it around my shoulders and we both watched the late evening commuters driving home through our neighborhood. I envied them their easy lives- many of them had everything I had once hoped to have. That world seemed far away from me now. Marriage, family, career- it all seemed too unreal and trivial.
After a few minutes, Glen spoke. "How are your classes going?"
