Is There Life And Love After Prison

A big thank you to my friend Randi for the invitation. Writing for one of her events is an honour and privilege. While thanking her I must also add another thank you, for her talented editing.

Thanks also to my friends Nicole and Melissa who read and offered suggestions. It is great to have wonderful people in your corner. I feel blessed.

*****

Why... Sleep was impossible. Why was I here in this dark desolate place? Stupid cow...

Every night it seemed I woke in the middle of the same recurring nightmare. Cold and shivering, fear gripping and squeezing viciously, I lay back waiting for my heart to slow down, and my brain to stop screaming.

I was here because I got caught. The police I knew weren't looking for me, weren't even interested in me. I was nothing more than collateral damage. Why did I get such a long unforgiving sentence? Because I staunchly refused to give up names or information. They thought I'd fold, give them what they wanted: the gang leader's names... addresses, anything that'd take them down

I was insignificant, nothing but a tiny side-role character.

The cops offered to cut me a deal and I'd probably have never served any time at all, just probation. I'd still be on the outside, with a life to live. Sounds easy, but I knew... God yeah, I knew the consequences. I might not have been the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I knew how and when to keep my mouth shut. That was definitely one of those moments.

If I did rat them out, it wouldn't be much of a life. I'd not last long, I knew the gang would track me down. I'd pay, and it wouldn't be just bruises either. If the cops found my body they'd be lucky. Serving time was the safe option, I could sleep at night. Well, I could if the bitch in the bunk below would shut the fuck up...

Bugger that bloody guidance officer. Why did she think I was here? Couldn't run fast enough to get away? Damn her. She probably thought she was being clever. Ask a question like that, feeling smug because I couldn't answer.

Life's easy for people like her: came from a wealthy family, went to good schools, university, no student loans, no scraping to pay rent, driving a twenty-year-old car because it's all you can afford. Driving... Yeah right, pushing more like.

Yeah, easy for her. She could afford to take a job that made her feel all tingly inside cos she was doing something wonderful for humanity. Helping stupid bitches who got locked up.

Rolling onto my side, I tried to calm down, to forget her stupid question. The more important question was why did I feel so unnerved, so irritated? It was more than her plastic smile and her feigned interest. I was actually trying to answer the question... Why?

*****

"Good morning Kushla, how have you been since we last met?"

"Fine." I snapped curtly, trying to impress my disinterest.

With a slight pause, and a little frown creasing her brow, she replied. "Did you give any thought to our discussion at our last session?"

Trying for glib, I muttered, "Sorry, I must have missed something. What were we talking about again?"

She leaned back in her chair, rolled her eyes a little taking in a deep sigh. "We were talking about your future. What you were going to do once you got out."

"Oh, right. Yeah, nah... Sorry, but there's no rush, aye? I still got five years left. I got plenty of time."

"Kushla, you are a clever bright young woman. If you set your mind to it, you could use your time in here to work towards getting something useful: an online degree, or a skill. There are workshops; there are options."

"Yeah, nah. I'm not much of a student, aye? Why bother? Nobody hires ex cons."

That brought her back into the conversation. She leaned forward, her eyes fixed on mine. "That is so untrue. There are employers who are more than happy to give people a chance."

"Yeah, but I don't wanna flip burgers at Macca's, aye? Like I may as well just go back to my old life."

"Oh, like that was so successful for you," she snapped back sarcastically. "Kushla, is that what you want? To spend the rest of your life in institutions like this one? Each time it gets harder to get out. That is a slippery slope. Your next stay in here might be ten years. How would that be?"

"Nah, I'm not coming back," I snarled loudly. "I fucking hate this place."

"Good, I am so glad to hear you say that." She said with a steely conviction.

What the fuck did she expect me to say. "Nobody likes it in here. We all hate it."

"If that is the case, why do so many keep going back?"

"Cos it's bloody hard on the outside. We walk out these frigging gates and it's not like a fairy tale. There's no prince waiting to save us. Nobody'll give us a go. You got it easy, Mummy and Daddy'll look after yah. You don't have to worry about how you gonna pay your rent. Buy your fucking food. Yah just don't fucking understand..."

"Oh my god. You judgemental idiot," she gasped. "I do not have wealthy parents. I borrowed my money. I have a student loan that will take me thirty years to pay back. If I ever do. I will probably die before it's repaid. You think just because I am different to you, I had an easy road."

Her admission stunned me. I had her pegged by the clothes she wore, she came from money.

"Look, miss goody two fucking shoes. So your parents ain't loaded. Doesn't change fuck, all does it? You got your own home, drive a new car. Don't have ta worry about where your next dollar's coming from."

Throwing her arms in the air and reclining in the uncomfortable plastic chair, she shook her head. "You have no idea. This job pays sixty five thousand dollars a year. My rent sucks half of that. My car is eight years old with like sixty thousand kilometres on the clock. Plus, it's on hire purchase. I still owe two grand or so on it."

"Then why are you here? Surely you could earn more than that if you got a real job."

"This is a real job. It is the job I wanted, Kushla. I love my job, I always wanted to try and help people. The money might be terrible, but I sleep well. I am trying to make a difference."

"Fair enough." I mumbled. As I stared across the table at her, for the first time noticing the sadness in her eyes. She was an attractive woman, maybe four years older than me, but very attractive. She wasn't ever going to be a super model, but she had something that made me twitch. She had... something that made me want to reach across the tiny table and grab her.

"Kushla, you can play the victim for the rest of your life. Blame everybody else for why you are back in prison. Blame your mother, your father, the world... Everybody. Or you could grab it by the shoulders and shake it. Create a different future. One where you are in control."

"Yeah right. And how the fuck would I do that?" I sneered.

"Study hard, think about it. Make a decision on what you want from life and then set some goals and make it happen."

"Jesus, you make it all sound so fucking easy. I never even got fucking school cert."

Looking stunned, she leaned forward across the table. "Then that makes it is easy. That is your first goal. School certificate. I can set that up. There are computers here, you can do all your study online."

"Why do you fucking care? Do you get a bonus or some shit?"

She shrugged with a casual indifference. Her frustration clear and obvious. "I get nothing from it. My only repayment is hoping that I help you in never ever coming back to this godawful place."

I snickered. "You think it's awful?"

"Oh, heavens yes. This is a soul-destroying place. I hate it every bit as much as you. Seeing peoples lives stolen by these concrete walls? It breaks my heart. I am trying to assure as many women as I can convince. Life can be better."

"Yeah, well, you should try living in here. It's a fucking battle every day."

"I cannot say I understand, but I do empathise. It is why I wonder why you so adamantly refuse to at least try doing something positive while you are in here?"

"It's easy for you to say, but it's a different world in here. You don't understand and never will. You walk out of here, go home to your husband or whatever. Pat your dog, watch TV or some shit. We're stuck in here fighting to stay alive and not get the shit beaten out of us or worse... shanked. You don't fucking know."

I got up and pounded on the door until the guard let me out. I was sick of listening to her. What the fuck did she know about me... Nothing, that's what.

That night I had to muffle the tears as I lay in my bunk. The one thing I didn't want anybody else to hear or see were the tears.

It was a month before I was pushed back into a room with her. Part of the ritual of living in prison is having no alternatives. We had to talk to the bitch whether we wanted to or not.

She glanced up casually as I sat across from her. "Good morning Kushla, how have you been?"

"Fine." Give the bitch nothing. I said to myself. Don't buy into her smug little game.

"Have you given any more thought to what we talked about at our last meeting?"

"No."

"Why is that?" Her sigh said more than her words. She was frustrated, and that made me feel good.

"Because I'm not interested."

"You have no interest in starting a new life when you get out?"

"Course I fucking have."

"Excellent, then let me help you."

"Choice, what I want is to start a multinational conglomerate where I rake of millions every single day. That's my plan. Whatcha gonna do to help?"

She winced, sighed deeply and shook her head. "I only want to help Kushla. There is no need for sarcasm."

"Look Mrs high all mighty lah- de- fucking dah. You don't fucking know me. You know nothing about me. What I lived through."

With a scowl she said. "I know you were an orphan for most of you life. I know you were fostered out at least twice, but it never worked for whatever reason. I know you had a rough start to life."

"Fucking typical." That made me madder than ever. "Do you know why the foster family thing never worked? Well do you... No you fucking don't. I was raped You probably don't even know what it means. I do, because I fucking lived it. Raped by the shitty fucking men who were supposed to want to be my father. They were supposed to love me. All they fucking wanted was sex."

The tears were impossible to hold back. I didn't want to show my pain. Smarmy bitch. It was none of her business. Letting my head sink into my hands to hide my shame. I sobbed painfully.

Feeling her arms around me as she held me tight in a crushing embrace took me completely by surprise. "I am so sorry, Kushla. I should have known." She said nothing else, just held me as the sobs ripped apart my tense muscles.

I felt a dampness on my shoulder and it was then I realised she was crying as well. Her head tight against the side of my neck.

After drying my eyes, I was able to sit back and when I looked up she was back in her chair. Her eyes red and puffy. Her mascara had run, her face dark with the stains.

"I am sorry, Kushla. God I hate this world myself sometimes. Were the men punished?"

"What? God no. I never told anybody. I just ran away."

"Then what happened?"

"They caught me, went back into care."

"Those men went unpunished?"

"It wasn't just the men. Their fucking shrew wives knew what was going on. I fucking fought and screamed trying to get them off me. They didn't care. So long as their floors were mopped and hoovered. Their dishes done. They didn't give a fuck."

She stared back at me mouth hanging open in total shock. Her words slow and hesitant. "That is horrible. Why did you not report it?"

"Waste of bloody time. Nobody would've believed me."

"You are so wrong, Kushla. People care. I care, I want to help you. It is not to late. You could lay a complaint even now."

"Nah, fuck that shit. It's gone, it's in the past where I want it to remain."

We sat silently, her only movement was to wipe away an occasional tear. The noisy clock on the wall ticked by slowly, every tick getting louder and louder.

"Kushla." She said softly, breaking the deathly silence. "Let me help you, please I am begging you. Let me in and I promise we can make changes that will give you a life outside."

"You don't understand. I get by in here by keeping my head down and staying low. If I do something like that, it means I gotta stick my head up and everybody will see. You do know what happens to girls who stick their heads up, aye?"

She shook her head, a sad expression clouding her face. "No."

"It gets fucking chopped off, that's what. The place is full of chicks with gang affiliations. They're hard bitches who don't care if they get an extra couple of years added to their sentence. They've lived most of their lives in here anyway."

"Don't you see, that is why it is so important that you do something to create a life for yourself. To make sure you do not come back."

"Do you know what I did when I ran away the last time?"

She again shook her head, but I could see the pain creeping in, settling on her pretty features.

"I lived on the streets. Met some kids who did the same and they took me in. We lived in cardboard boxes under bridges, in run down old buildings. I learned to shoplift; stealing became a way of life. Then I met a girl who took me in. She introduced me to a better way. Running drugs. Fuck, it was better than selling my body."

"It's what I'm trying to stop, Kushla. I do not want you to have to do that."

"You think by studying I could change that?" I sneered derisively.

"Yes, definitely. All I am asking is that you think about it."

"The only reason I get by in here is I kept my mouth shut. I never ratted anybody out. Because of that, they sorta organised for some girls in here to try and help me. The problem is they're just as bad. The moment I do something different I'm gonna get smashed."

"What... For studying?"

"Yeah, they'd see it as me wanting to be better than them. They'd see it as me changing codes and they'd be worried that I'd narc on them."

"Good lord. We are only talking about passing your school certificate exams. Surely they would see that as a positive?"

"You see every inmate just like this. What do they all say to you?"

"I am afraid that is personal, but yes. I see the same arguments time and again. At some point, Kushla. If you want a better life for yourself, you will have to take a chance."

"Maybe, but I'm not sure now's the time. Give me some shit to read and I'll consider it."

The smile appeared from nowhere, and her cheeks swelled with satisfaction. "Excellent, give me a moment." She rushed over to the large filing cabinet in the corner and dragged out a raft of documents.

"Take these and read them through. All the information is in there. We would enrol you in a course and you would be allotted four hours every day for study. That would take place in the library."

"How much'll it cost?"

"For you... nothing. We pick up all the costs."

"Right, four hours a day. That'd be sweet."

"There are already ten or so students doing exactly the same thing. You would not be alone."

Strangely, we shared a hug as she knocked lightly on the door waiting for the guard to open it. "See you in a month, Kushla."

"Right, thanks," I muttered. My arms full of brochures and information, I trudged back to my cell. Placing it all on my bunk, I sank down on Lynn's bunk.

"What's all that shit?" Mikaere snapped.

"Oh, some shit from the counsellor."

"Oh yeah, and what is it?"

"She suggested I finish my school cert."

"Fucking bitches. They all say the same shit. Why the fuck did yah take it?"

"Cos I'd get four hours a day to study. Four fucking hours where I don't have to work in this shithole. Sounds like a fucking winner to me."

She snickered evilly. "You're not as dumb as you look, aye girl?" She moved closer, pushing apart my knees. Her head ducking under my bunk. "I like you, maybe we could get together later and we could see where it goes?"

"Mikaere, I'm not looking for anything in here. I told yah. I just wanna get my time done and get out."

"Nothing stopping us from having a little fun along the way. We all get urges, girl. I know you and Talea were tight before yah got locked up, but she ain't gonna find out."

"Phht, she don't care. She's already moved on."

"Then come on, girl. I can make everything a little easier for yah. I can get ice, hash. It don't have tah be hell. A little loving, where's the harm?" Her hand rested on my shoulder. Her fingers moving slowly, kneading and massaging. "I'll get yah off, babe. You'd like it just as much as me."

"Mikaere..." I was about to say no, when the back of her hand slapped against my face, sending me reeling back on the bunk.

"Don't make it hard, Kush. We're gonna get it on. It can be fun or nasty. Your call."

She walked out of my cell leaving me rubbing my stinging cheek. I'd been trying to stay out of her way. She'd made it abundantly clear she wanted me, and now I'd stuck my head up outta the sand. I'd have to decide.

The material on passing my school cert made me think. My whole life I'd swum against the tide. Rebelled against everything, fought everybody who tried to help me. Only two people had ever managed to break down my smart arsed rebel streak, seen through my snarky front.

They were both nun's, teachers from the orphanage. Sister Grace, my first crush. She was gorgeous and so clever. She taught me to love books. At first I read to please her, so we had something to talk about. All I wanted was to impress her. Then slowly, the books took on a different life. I enjoyed them. My reading became my saviour of sorts. I read everything I could get my hands on. Books were what got me through the darkest days. A book would open up a new world for me, somewhere I could go to escape reality.

I could sink into somebody else's life, their world.

Sister Grace, god, my mind filled with images. She'd been the one, I was putty in her hands. Such a warm loving kind soul. A hug from her was like getting a gift from god. She tried to help, to guide me, but I always struggled so much at school. I always felt like a dummy.

My defence grew quickly. I learned to make the kids laugh, and comedy became my defensive shield. I played the class clown. Acted out, made fun of everything. All to cover the fact I never really understood. Even in Sister Grace's classes. I made jokes, maybe I was even worse in her classes because I didn't want anybody to see the crazy crush I had on her.

Now here I was, barely eighteen and still no school cert. My only mark on the world a string of petty crime convictions.

*****

"All right, Kushla, you have had a chance to read all of the information I gave you. Have you made a decision?"

"Look Mr's Simpson. I'm not sure."

"Maggie, please call me Maggie. There's no need for formalities. And it is Miss, not Mr's."

"Yeah, okay Maggie. I dunno whether I could even pass. It's probably just a waste of time."

"Never." She gasped. "You are a very clever young woman, Kushla. There's plenty of time. You study at your own pace. I believe in you."

"Why?" I said, not understanding what it was she saw that I didn't.

"You said yourself. You ran away as a child. Lived for several years on the streets. You survived, found a way to get through what was clearly a terrible time for you. If you can survive that. You can do anything."

The feel of her hug as we waited for the guard gave me a feeling of hope... How, or why, remained unexplained, but I walked back to my cell feeling lighter.

Mikaere appeared without warning. It seemed the harder I tried to avoid her, the more I saw of her. That evening in the mess hall, she waved for me to sit with her and her friends. There was no escaping it. In the prison, the outside world was mirrored, except the gang influence was everywhere.