Nasty nuns.
I have never been what one would call a model citizen, nor have I been the best son, brother, uncle or any other noun that you might think of. Instead I made a poor life choice and decided that I would do better following the path of booze, drugs and petty crime.
The good things that I have done in my life are few and far between, while the bad things that I have grossly outweigh almost anything else. In retrospect the person that I hurt the most, besides my parents, was me. My parents were not loving, nurturing people that always provided for me and my two sisters. They looked out for themselves first. We did live a modest life, in a modest home and we learned early on in our lives, what the true value of hard work and money was all about. My sisters learned, I didn't. Overall what should have been a perfect foundation to set yourself up with a good life, wasn't. So, after graduation, I choose not to attend college and went down the road of laziness and fun. This lasted for about 18 months, until my parents finally tired of my hijinks and sent me packing.
So, as of that moment there I sat, jobless, homeless and hungry, all at the ripe old age of 22 years old.
When you feel like you've hit the lowest of the low, you will resort to almost anything to get by. By far the easiest method of quick moneymaking is to beg. Usually, the humiliation of recognizing a face in the crowd while you're begging for money, would be enough for anyone to clean-up and go straight. Not for me, it only made me want it more, so that you can buy a pint of whatever the cheapest bottle of booze might be. I had no problem calling out to the passersby and calling them by name, pointing out that I was down on my luck and in need of a few bucks. Some would oblige, others ran away, terrified.
Begging as we see it on the streets is an art form, some of us have the ability to look pathetic enough to earn what it takes to get by, others lose the knack and turn to crime. I fell into that category. I had lost the knack. The problem with turning to crime when you are a down and out, is that you are not using common sense. You're either too stoned or too drunk to rationalize a good plan and that was my downfall.
Early on in my homelessness, I was hungry and semi-sober, so I came up with good ideas on how to make money by stealing the things that I knew I could pawn or sell. As I fell deeper into my hole, good plans eluded me and drunk me just wanted to be drunker.
When I awoke from my drunken stupor, I was surrounded by the smell of urine and vomit, but I was indoors which was good. That indoors, was jail, and that as always, was bad.
When the bailiff called my name, I walked to the front of the holding cell and met Mr. Evans, my state appointed attorney. My suit filled me in on the details as to why I had been incarcerated. Apparently, drunk me came up with the brilliant plan to run past an old lady ringing a bell for the Salvation Army and steal her little plastic ball full of cash. While that might not seem like a bad idea, doing it while wearing three layers of clothes to stay warm and trying to run was. I got caught less than 50 yards from the scene of the crime and took a beating from a couple of over-zealous goons.
My good buddy Mr. Evans asked me how I intended to plea. Really? I don't even remember a committing a crime, so I told him that he could plead to whatever the fuck he wanted. So, in a court room full of losers just like myself, I found myself standing up in front of the judge, covered in dried blood, stinking like piss and just stinking in general, my state appointed attorney said, "We would like to enter a plea of guilty, your honor." I had officially hit rock fucking bottom.
After spending 30 days in one of Detroit's finer general lock up's, I was released to a half-way house. This particular half-way house was in the backroom portion of a church that also doubled as a soup kitchen. It wasn't much, but it would be home for the next 60 days or I'd end up back it lock-up for the remainder of my 120 days sentence.
When I showed up at St Michael's with my escort of 2 state correctional officers, it was almost like being transferred from one cage to another. The whole back of the church was locked down with bars over the windows and a secondary entry cage around the door. The clanging of the metal bars and eeriness of the church sent a shiver down my spine.
When we entered, a big old iron maiden, Sister Mary Margaret introduced herself to the officers and asked, "Does this one have a name?" "Yeah Sister, this fine upstanding young gentleman is Peter Miller, he will be a guest at St Mike's for the next 60 days or less. If he causes you any trouble what-so-ever, you just call, and we'll pick this bag of bones up. Here's his folder and paperwork. Hopefully you can clean him up."
Clean me up? Good fucking luck with that. I could only imagine what I looked like, a rubby that been in detox for the last thirty days without a shower or a shave. Dirty, smelly and dying for a drink or an oxy. My clothes could probably stand up and walk on their own.
The officers unshackled my wrists and ankles and departed, leaving me behind with my new guardian. One of the younger nuns had me follow her into the sleeping area, "Pick a cot Brother Miller, it will be yours for the next little while. There is no sleeping during the day, understood." I just nodded and picked a cot that smelled just slightly better than I did.
After a supper of bread and stew, three of us newbies were taken into the library area and given full instructions of the do's and don'ts of St Mike's. Hell, they had as many rules here as they had in state lock-up. But from what I gathered from all of it was that I would be going to school during the day, and working around the church during the evening, on what was called "special projects".
At 9:00pm sharp one of the nuns yelled lights out and the room fell into darkness. "Psst, buddy. You got any smokes?" I assumed some idiot was talking to me.
I listened to hear where it was coming from, but really couldn't pinpoint it. "You got any pills?"
What the fuck? It had to be the dude in the cot next to me. "No man. I don't got shit. I just did thirty and they transferred me straight here."
"Fuck. Bad luck. Careful, sleep with an eye open. These bitches don't work for god, if you know what I mean."
"What, what are you saying?"
"Sleep gentlemen. No talking." Said a big burly nun with a metal flashlight.
I'm not sure how much time had passed until my neighbor spoke again. "All I'm saying is if you're young and virile, these cunt's will try to steal your soul."
"What? Come on man, what's that even mean?" I asked the question, but the answer never came. The big nun turned on her flashlight and was moving across the floor, with speed that surprised me. When she got to the cot next to mine, she kicked it. "One more word out of your mouth and I swear to Christ, your teeth will be tasting metal, understood?"
"Yes sister."
"That goes for all of you dirty mongrels, not another goddamn word."
Understood. Shit, what a great first night. Every so often during the night, I would notice the flashlight shining on one cot or another. The person sleeping in the cot would be woken and taken away and after being gone for sixty minutes or so, they would silently return. It was very strange, very strange indeed.
The next morning, the cot next to me was empty. I didn't ask any questions. Breakfast was scrambled eggs and toast. No coffee, no tea, no juice. "We live on the basics here." was their motto, and you could tell by the landscape that they weren't lying. The walls were a drab grey with little or no decoration. The only thing hanging from them was one sort of religious artifact or another. Our environment was not be mistaken for a luxury hotel.
School, if that's what we should decide to call it, was different. No one in class made eye contact, no one spoke, and no one asked any questions. The nun teaching the class, was the only voice allowed to be heard. This was learning in the most old-fashion way. I knew better than be question any of it, so I just followed the lead of those around me.
Before retiring to my luxurious bed for the evening, the nun wielding the flashlight called me over, handed me a small paper cup with two pills in it and a glass of water. "Take 'em." Was the only instruction or explanation I was given, so I put them in my mouth, drank some water and swallowed. I prayed to god that they were narcotic. When I walked over to my cot, all eyes were on me like I was about to be feed to the lions.
Just like the night before, it was lights out at 9:00pm. At 9:01pm my neighbor was back, "Psst, good luck man." He never said another word, or least one that I remembered. My dreams were crazy, I was being pushed down a hall on medical gurney, taken into a brightly lit room full of nuns. My clothes were cut away from my body and discarded. A series of nuns stood over me, each focused on a different part of my body. One washed and cut my hair, my face was shaved smooth, while another nun scrubbed and cleaned my teeth. My fingernails and toenails were cut and filed. An electric razor did some much needed manscaping and to finish it off, five pairs of hands used luffa sponges and washcloths to scrub me from head to toe. It wasn't a bad dream at all. I was a new man.
But dreams can be turned into nightmares very quickly. In and out of a state of semi-consciousness, I envisioned Sister Mary Margaret removing her habit and walking to the table naked. She was furry in all the wrong places and didn't look she should be naked in public. I heard muffled voices and echoes, but nothing that I could comprehend. The five pairs of hands lifted me off the gurney and lowered me onto a small mattress covered by a white sheet. Squinting through partially closed eyes, I thought that I saw Sister Mary Margaret raising her leg over my face and lowering her overly hairy vagina down to me mouth.
I was overtaken by the smell of wet wool, mothballs and piss. I closed my mouth and held my breath until I was slapped in the side of my head. "Eat it or I'll fucking smother you with it." In my dream, I reluctantly moved my tongue, until I blacked out.
When I came to, I was thrashing about screaming "Noooooo." Four pair of hands firmly held my arms and legs, while Sister Mary Margaret impaled herself on my cock, riding me, saying, "Yes, I think this cock will do nicely ladies. We'll give him a couple more nights and then he be ready to go."
In the morning I awoke startled. I was laying on my side on my cot. Holy fuck what a dream. My neighbor was still in his cot today. He just looked at me and smiled a sad smile. I had no idea how to interpret it until I swung back my covers. I was naked.
A pair of khaki pants and a plain white t-shirt were neatly folded on the end of my bed. As I dressed, I couldn't help but noticed that my pubic area had been shaved and when I felt my face, it was also cleanly shaved, and my hair had also been cut. "What the hell, it wasn't a dream." I said aloud.
There must have been a look of concern on my face, because my neighbor gave me a signal that said someone was coming and whispered, "Don't make a scene man, it's for the best."
