Long Blue Line: Based on a True Story (15 page)

“Pill call! Everyone up for pill call!” said a stern sounding officer over the intercom. When I opened my eyes and comprehended that I really was in jail, my heart sank. Again. I was so incredibly exhausted, and I just wanted to block everything out of my mind. I quickly fell back asleep. After what felt like three minutes, the same voice was back to announce breakfast. I was supposed to get up.

As fast as I could, I rose off the padded concrete bed and made sure my hair wasn’t frizzy or sticking up. I peeked out of the tiny 4”x2’ window built into the door to see nothing but a guard rail. I guessed that I should walk out when I saw whoever was in the cell to my right walk past me. I heard the echoing clicks of the doors unlocking all at once, then loud chaos. I did not think that this H pod would be so full of inmates. When my neighbor left her cell, I opened my heavy door and walked down the upstairs walkway. Almost instantly, a woman on the first floor yelled at me to go back into my cell and put my orange shirt on. I ran in and did as she instructed. I really didn’t think that it would be a big deal to not wear the ugly thing, but I guess it was part of the rules. Making a second attempt to walk down to the first floor was also a failure. Another inmate informed me that I had to go back into my cell and put my shoes on. Still half asleep, I walked back to my cell and followed her advice.

I finally made it to the first floor and picked up a tray full of mush and burnt sausage links that resembled cat poop. I timidly stepped over to one of the metal tables where three other tired and miserable looking women were sitting. I noticed that they had forgotten to put a fork on my tray, and I was fed up. I asked the woman sitting across from me if she knew where the forks were. She laughed and said that we don’t get forks. “The only eating utensil allowed is a plastic spoon. And make sure not to throw it away either, or they will make the whole pod dig through the trash and you’ll have a bunch of people pissed off at you.” “Good to know,” I replied, without looking up. I swirled the mushy hot cereal around the tray with my spoon. “Do you know if we are allowed to have pillows? And where are the light switches in the cells?” I just had to know what was going on. The woman laughed again. “We don’t get to have pillows in jail, and they never completely turn the lights off. They have to do count in the middle of the night and need to be able to see that you are in your cell.” “Oh...” I replied with a blank stare on my face. Clearly, I was a rookie. This is probably why the other inmates were extra patient with me - and my ridiculous questions.

I suddenly became aware of how thirsty I was. Breakfast came with a carton of milk, but I never drink straight milk. It was a cereal thing, and that was about it. I looked around and asked where I could find water. A woman pointed over to a big metal sink. I asked her where the cups were. “You have to use the plastic cup that your hygiene stuff came in. It’s going to smell like soap for a few weeks too.” Once again, I just couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Jail wasn’t how I imagined it to be. It was worse!

After eating breakfast and before falling asleep again, I was pondering the irony of my situation compared to Merri’s. I thought how it was odd that, at that very moment, both twins were going through hell only in very different ways. Merri had joined the Air Force. She had been training and planning for basic training for about six months before our eighteenth birthday. She had left for Texas only a few weeks earlier. My mom brought her to my apartment so she could say goodbye to me, Chloe and Zoe. Josh was working so she didn’t get to say goodbye to him. I remember how she seemed a bit nervous. After all the trips she had made to the gym every day, this was finally it. She gave Chloe and Zoe hugs and kisses, and I gave her a long hug and told her she would be okay. That was the last time Merri would see her nieces. None of us could have known that at the time.

I was stripped of everything, from my clothing to my dignity and basic necessities that we take advantage of on a daily basis. I now had a new view and appreciation for freedom, forks, and pillows. After each meal, I slept. Sleeping was the only escape out of that place. I hardly ate. I was too upset with my actions and the actions of my soon to be ex-husband. I was hurting for my babies and thinking about what was going to happen next. I wondered if Derrick would still want me after ignoring his warning. Thoughts of the time we had spent together brought a smile to my face, even sitting in a jail cell. It was only Saturday, and I would have to wait until Monday to see a Judge and ask about being released. That flat out sucked.

What was to be a couple of days felt like eternity. I called my mom as much as I could. The conversation on Monday morning, right before I was called to my Court Hearing, delivered another shock that I was unprepared for. The police had left my daughters with my mom when I was arrested. Her home was clean and she clearly loved them and was more than capable of caring for them. In fact, she was the only person I trusted to take care of them.

“It’s just unbelievable!” she told me over the phone. “I had child protective services knocking on my door wanting to know what happened between you and Josh. I guess the police must have called them. The guy that showed up said they’re opening a case, and I have to go do a fingerprint check to keep Chloe and Zoe with me. It’s a total nightmare, Liz!” she tiredly explained. “Ugh. I am so sorry they’re hassling you,” I told her. “We have to keep the girls away from Josh and his mom. They would not be taken care of, and they know you the best out of the family,” I worried. She agreed and wished me luck as we said our goodbyes before I walked down the hallway to meet my fate.

Over the intercom an officer loudly announced “Jeter! It’s time for Court!” I made sure that my new fabulous orange wardrobe was tucked and pressed where it should be and eagerly walked to the exit door. It magically unlocked again. I was surprised to hear other women wishing me luck as I walked out. “Follow the yellow line down the hall, Jeter!” the same voice echoed. I followed the line as best I could, wondering to what extent they meant. If I were to walk perfectly along the line, it would look like I was doing a sobriety test. I awkwardly limped and shuffled, trying not to veer too far from the line.

As I came to the entrance of the hall where the holding cell was that had greeted me into the world of jail life a few days earlier, I saw a few other inmates also getting ready for Court. By “getting ready” I mean they were being shackled. “Stand on the blue tape and face the wall!” a female officer demanded. “Lift your arms up and out to your side!” she said. She thoroughly patted me down again to search for contraband. She wasn’t gentle about it either. She wrapped a long chain around my waist. The two ends met in front of me and locked around my wrists. It hurt, because my wrists were small and bony. She then had me face the wall again and lift each leg, one at a time, to secure more cuffs around my ankles. Everything about this place was awkward and humiliating. All shackled and ready for Court, I was curious as to why they thought it necessary to go to such extremes. I can understand being handcuffed, but was cuffing my legs necessary? I wondered if it was more for the humiliation factor or for true security reasons.

I sat in another holding cell for about five minutes until a bailiff opened the door and instructed me to follow another line down a hallway I hadn’t yet seen. I overestimated my ability to casually walk at a steady pace and tripped, almost hitting the ground on my third step. “Be careful Miss! Those things will get ya!” he kindly said. He was older - maybe in his sixties. He had a kindness about him that felt compassionate and non-judgmental. He treated me like I was a real person. I needed to feel that treatment to bring my sanity to a reasonable level.

I walked ahead, as instructed, and arrived at a regular looking door. The bailiff held the door open for me and instructed me to walk ahead not looking at anyone sitting in the Courtroom, especially the other offenders. I didn’t want to look at anyone anyway. I had too much of a sense of embarrassment and shame. I was especially embarrassed when I sat in a row of chairs and, out of the corner of my eye, realized that the Courtroom was full of free people. They were locals in my community. The size of my town made it very possible that someone in the audience was a person I personally knew. Some of these people were offenders themselves out on bail or on Probation, and others seemed to be possible Social Workers, family members and who knows whom else.

A short, professional looking woman walked toward my row of chairs holding a stack of files and introduced herself as my Public Defender. When she announced her name, I was relieved and pleased to know that I had luckily been assigned one of the best Attorneys in town. Laura Lamour was her name. She was actually Neil’s Attorney at one time. I remember Megan saying something about how her father gave Laura a free tune-up because she was able to get a Judge to remove a restraining order against him. Neil was notorious for having restraining orders against him. He had a hot head. Women initially loved Neil, but once they saw his moody side they got revenge with restraining orders. At least that’s the story I was told.

“I’m assuming you know what your charges are?” she asked in a matter-of-fact tone. “Yes, I do,” I replied. “So how do you want to plead? I’ll need to talk to you in my office later, but usually, unless you want to admit that you’re flat-out guilty, I enter a plea of not guilty until I can go over your case with you in private.” “That is totally fine,” I said. The Judge called my name and case number about five minutes later.

I stood up and was terrified to walk from my seat to the desk where the Attorneys represented their clients. It was only fifteen feet away, but I could hardly walk with the shackles. I looked at the floor and steadily did my best without tripping this time. The Judge was an old man who looked to be in his seventies. I was afraid of him. Once he began to speak, though, I sensed that he wasn’t as scary as I thought he might be. He read some laws and my rights to me, and as he asked me if I understood what he was saying, I made eye contact with him and politely replied that I did. I wanted him to see that I was taking this matter very seriously. I wanted him to know that I had respect for authority.

“Ms. Lamour, how does your client want to plea?” I was getting nervous because I had a feeling that in only a minute or so my fate as an inmate would either stay the same or dissolve. “Not guilty, Your Honor” Laura stated. I liked her. She had confidence and a no-nonsense approach. She was the kind of person that could see through the bullshit, and I had every intention of telling her the truth about what happened. That is, of course, if what I told her was private and wouldn’t get me into even more trouble. I had a feeling that she dealt with some class-A idiots on a regular basis. I wanted to show her that I wasn’t like that - maybe a class C or D idiot but definitely not an A.

As I was silently praying to God in my head and asking for forgiveness, as well as admitting my sins and begging for mercy, Laura was explaining to the Judge that I was a first-time offender, and I had never been in trouble before this. She explained that it would not happen again if I were to be released on my own recognizance and that I was in the middle of college courses that I needed to complete. I thought that she was doing pretty good defending me, considering she only knew the very basics. The Judge was silent for a few seconds before looking up at me. “Ms. Jeter, do you understand that if I were to release you on your own recognizance, you would be expected to appear at every Court Hearing, follow all the rules on your minute order and not have any contact with your husband?” He paused, but I could tell that he wasn’t finished. “You are also not permitted to leave the state or country without the written permission of the Court. You must completely refrain from drugs and alcohol, including marijuana, and you must surrender your person to the El Dorado County Jail at any given notice. You are subject to search and seizure at all times and must comply and obey all law enforcement, including peace officers. Do you understand this, Ms. Jeter?” He looked directly at me. I almost wanted to shout “I DO!” with fireworks going off in my head, and butterflies flapping around my stomach. I sweetly replied with the happiest “Yes” that ever came out of my mouth. I was finally getting out of there, and I was so happy.

I scheduled a meeting with my Attorney for a few days later. She handed me some paperwork and, poorly containing my excitement, I limped toward the door as instructed. After being unshackled, sent back to H pod to gather my green tub of crap, and mop out my cell for the next poor soul, an officer opened the door and called my name. An older inmate hugged me and gave me congratulations. She wished me well. In her eyes I saw that she was sad that it wasn’t her getting to go home. I felt bad for her.

I practically skipped through the blue metal door and down the hallway, annoyed that I still had to follow the yellow line. I called my mom from a payphone in another holding cell while I waited for my normal clothing to be given back to me. I was so excited to get dressed in my own clothes! My mom had the girls so Lilah was going to pick me up outside the visitor entrance. The officer at the front desk returned my earrings and belly-button ring in a plastic bag, along with a form I had to sign to confirm receiving them. I scribbled away…and that was it. “Okay, good luck. Just walk through that door over there,” she said, pointing toward my freedom. The door unlocked as I approached, and I stepped outside for the first time in four days. It was so sunny that I had to shade my eyes. The air smelled like fresh pine - a smell that I usually only noticed after leaving town for extended periods of time and then returning. It was the best breath of fresh air that I had ever inhaled. The grass was so green and everything was so beautiful. Lilah pulled up screeching her breaks and driving like a mad woman, as usual. I got into the passenger seat of her truck to hear her say “Oh my God! You look so hot for just getting out of jail!” I shook my head and had to laugh. I felt like I was seeing the world for the first time ever. It was amazing.