High Achiever Read online

  I spun around and stared wide-eyed at the guard, wondering why he was yelling. “Get away from that window, RIGHT NOW. The hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked, stepping into our cell. I looked at my cellmate for backup, but she apparently got a sudden urge to make her bed and she now had her back to us.

  “Oh, I was…Um…I just, I was just checking out the view…I guess…because it’s nice outside— I’m sorry, is that bad? Should I not look out the window? I thought that’s what windows were for—”

  “Enough!” he said. “Do not look out the windows. You are new here, so I’ll give you a warning, but only one. Stay away from the windows,” he said angrily, turning to exit the room.

  When the door slammed shut I turned to look at this traitor in my cell. “Um…first of all, thanks for leaving me hanging. Second of all, why the fuck are there windows if we can’t look out of them?”

  She turned and sat on her bed, letting out a heavy sigh. “Look, my bad. I’m doing eleven-twenty-nine as it is, I can’t risk no more time. My man and I got locked up together, and that’s the only time I get to see him, when he get back from work. He’s in the work pod. So we talk through sign language. You ain’t allowed to do it, though, so you gotta be careful.”

  “What is eleven-twenty-nine?” I asked.

  “Eleven-twenty-nine, it’s eleven months, twenty-nine days. If you get sentenced to a year or more, you go to prison; sometimes they will give you one day less than a year, so you gotta serve your time in county,” she said.

  What the hell. A year? I began to wonder what this woman had done when our cell door opened again.

  “Put your mat on the floor until we can get you a cot,” the guard said, ushering another inmate into our already cramped cell.

  “Don’t bother getting me a damn cot, pig. I’ll be outta here in ten fucking minutes!” the woman yelled over her shoulder at the closed door, obviously drunk. I noticed she had crutches, and as I looked down to her legs to see if she had a broken bone, I noticed something was missing. Her jumpsuit was dangling in the wind where her leg was supposed to be, and she caught me staring.

  “The fuck are you starin’ at, four-eyes?” She leaned up against the wall, attempting to regain her balance. “I have fucking diabetes, okay?”

  “Hey! ’Scuse me, girl. Not you, four-eyes, the other one.” She was pointing at my cellmate.

  “My name is Rochelle, what do you want?” my cellmate replied.

  “Can I tell you a secret?” Irene asked. (We will call her Irene, I don’t know her name.)

  “What?” Rochelle snapped.

  “Well, I’m asking you, because I know that nerdy girl with the glasses will probably snitch, but you look like you can keep a secret, come here.” She waved Rochelle toward her. Rochelle stood up and walked to Irene, who motioned for her to lean down and then whispered something in her ear.

  “Are you serious?” Rochelle said, looking surprised.

  “As a heart attack, I just need some help.”

  “If you fuck me over, I will cut off your other leg—do you understand me?”

  “Loud and clear,” Irene said as a smile crept across her face. They both looked at me and my heart started pounding. I’m going to die. This is it. They have just planned my murder.

  “Hey, Johnson, we need you to keep a lookout. If you see someone coming we need you to cough, okay?” Rochelle said.

  “A lookout? For what? I don’t want to get in trouble,” I replied, sounding like a little bitch.

  “I know, man, that’s why we aren’t involving you—if you don’t see nothin’ you don’t know nothin’. Just face the door and don’t turn around until we say. If you see someone coming, let us know—a’ight?”

  “I…guess,” I said, getting up to stand and face the door like a five-year-old in time-out.

  I heard Rochelle say, “Ready?”

  Irene said, “Go.” Irene let out a groan, and the curiosity of what the hell was going on behind me was overwhelming. I had to look.

  I slowly turned my head until my eyes reached the women. What I saw next will haunt me for a lifetime.

  I jerked my head forward in shock and stared out into the hallway to process what I’d just witnessed. Life didn’t make sense anymore. This had to be a joke. A test. I was on a hidden camera show; it was the only explanation that made any sense. Rochelle had her entire fist shoved into this one-legged woman’s ass.

  I have seen a lot of messed up things in my life, but for some reason, witnessing two complete strangers, who had met less than five minutes before, fishing around in one another’s bowels was on the top of my “Things I Want Permanently Erased from My Memory” list.

  “Got it,” Rochelle whispered excitedly as Irene began laughing.

  “Hell, yeah. Good girl. Hurry up and rinse it.”

  “Can I turn around now, please?” I asked. I was asking permission to turn around; what the hell had my life come to?

  “Yes, but if you say anything to anyone, I will beat the brakes off you. You hear me?” Rochelle said, sounding scary again.

  “Got it,” I said, on the verge of vomiting.

  I sat down on my bed and tried to catch a glimpse of what was going on. The two women were sitting across from each other on the bed, hurriedly spreading into two lines whatever the hell just came out of that woman’s asshole. They each took turns sniffing whatever it was, and I was suddenly overcome with jealousy. “What is that?” I asked. Rochelle looked over at me as she sniffed whatever remnants were left in her nose deep into her nasal cavity.

  “It’s meth,” she replied. “You want some?”

  3

  I had only tried meth once. One little puff—and I hated it. However, as an addict, if someone offers you drugs—regardless of the brand—you do them. Before I could open my mouth to say Hell yes, pain-in-the-ass (pun intended) Irene threw a fit.

  She snarled, “These ain’t your drugs to offer to anyone. I only gave you some because you went in and got ’em. I don’t have enough to keep sharing—sorry, four-eyes.”

  To say I was disappointed would be an understatement. There is nothing worse than anticipating a high, then that promise being taken away—especially if you are on day three of detoxing. I was consumed with rage. I contemplated murdering both of them and taking the drugs for myself, but there were no weapons available, so I had to come up with another plan. I had a few ideas, all equally absurd. One involved rappelling down from the ceiling while they napped and grabbing them out of her pocket. However, I was not Tom Cruise and this was not Mission Impossible, so I scrapped that one. Suddenly a voice over the intercom interrupted my scheming. “Johnson—roll it up, you are going to gen pop.”

  I glanced over at my cellmates, perplexed. “So, was that English or…? What the hell did she say?” Rochelle laughed at my ignorance and let me know that the woman basically said to gather my belongings, because they were moving me to the general population—another word for “one big room filled with a shit ton of criminals.”

  I tried to act cool, like it was no big deal that I was about to enter a den of ravenous animals in various stages of drug withdrawal, many suffering from undiagnosed mental problems and rage issues. Inside, I was freaking out.

  I gathered my mat and sheet and stood by the gate, waiting to be let out. When the guard slid the door open, I turned around and smiled at my roommates. “It was nice meeting you guys!” I said cheerfully, but they were too busy trying to avoid eye contact with the guard to even look up to bid me farewell. They should really teach etiquette classes here. I think I’m going to write someone a letter about that.

  The guard led me down a long corridor with my hands and ankles shackled. The metal was digging into my Achilles tendon and it was incredibly painful. “Um, excuse me, Officer?” I whispered.

  “Quiet in the hallways,” he grumbl
ed.

  “Okay, it’s just that—”

  “NO TALKING IN THE HALLWAYS!”

  “ ’Kay,” I replied sharply. I was immediately brought back to my elementary school days. Walking quietly in a straight line and following orders. I felt like a fucking child. Last week I was managing a restaurant, and today I’m getting screamed at for speaking.

  “All right, I’m going to undo these shackles and send you in with Miss Davis,” the guard said. Aww, Miss Davis, she sounds nice. After he unlocked my chains, my ankles immediately felt better. He nudged me into the dark room, where I was met by a female deputy, staring at me with her hand on her gun. “Take your clothes off, please,” Miss Davis demanded.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. We just met, it’s a little soon, don’t—”

  She interrupted before I could finish my joke. “Jesus Christ, you are literally the millionth person to say that shit to me. Take your damn clothes off and put your hands on the wall. Now!” Apparently, Miss Davis wasn’t the joking kind. Noted.

  First she had me take a shower using the showerhead on the wall. I felt very uncomfortable showering in front of a complete stranger, but after the shower when she told me to “bend over and spread,” I reached a whole new level of humiliation.

  “Put these on,” she said sternly, tossing me a new outfit. She then handed me a roll of toilet paper and a toothbrush. “We are out of soap, tell the night guards, they will bring you some.”

  “No problem,” I said, not realizing it would be four more days until my soap would arrive. Turned out my comfort wasn’t their main priority. I came to learn this—and many other fun facts about the guards—as time went on.

  She led me to a large door and said “Ready” into her walkie-talkie to the person in charge of opening the doors remotely.

  I wanted to grab her walkie and yell, “Wait! I’m not ready!” but I figured it would probably get me tased.

  As the door clicked she pulled it open and said, “You’re in five,” shutting it behind me. I could hear the loud roar of wild women.

  The roar suddenly stopped short. There was complete silence as hundreds of women suddenly were eyeing me. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I awkwardly smiled. Some women laughed, some started yelling inappropriate comments, and one person yelled, “Police-ass ho!”

  I didn’t know what that meant, but later I found out that if you look like you don’t belong in jail, they think you are an undercover cop. So that’s good.

  I found cell number five and hesitantly stepped in. There were four mats occupying six of the metal bunk beds, so I headed toward one of the empty spots. “Hello, I’m Tiffany. Would it be okay if I put my mat here?” I asked the toothless woman picking her toenails on the bunk above.

  “I don’t give a flying fuck,” she said, never taking her eyes off her foot. Well, she seems nice, I thought as I slapped my mat down and began making my bed.

  I remained in bed for most of the day. My body was in so much pain from the withdrawal that I was finding it hard to breathe. I watched through the bars of my cell as women were running around, laughing and having a good time. How the fuck could they laugh at a time like this? Did they not realize they were in jail? A lot of them seemed happy. I didn’t think I’d ever be happy again.

  Depression and despair weighed down on me so heavily that I felt paralyzed. I realized that I was going to spend a very long time in jail, and even when I did get out, I was going to spend the rest of my life being despised by everyone, and I would certainly never be respected again. Dark thoughts of what my future would look like came crashing into my mind. I would be homeless. No one would ever want to love a horrible person like me, especially after they found out what I did to my last boyfriend.

  Living with the choices I had made became impossible to imagine. I didn’t have it in me to keep going. I suddenly wanted out. The anticipation of the unexpected, the waiting and worrying—I just couldn’t do it. I had already been locked up for what seemed like a lifetime, and I hadn’t even learned what my charges were. I wasn’t cut out to be an adult; I wasn’t meant to live a full life. I am a junkie loser, I thought, and that’s all I’m ever going to be. I have no choice, there is no other way. Tonight, after everyone falls asleep…I’m going to kill myself.

  4

  I was staring out the window of my cell as everyone else was eating dinner in the mess hall. I didn’t have much of an appetite; I didn’t see any point in eating either, as I knew I was only a few hours away from the end of my time here on earth.

  I had spent some time deliberating how I was going to carry out my plan—which was difficult, seeing as how I didn’t have many options. They didn’t make it easy for anyone contemplating suicide here, I assume because the number of people who would take advantage of it would be astronomical. Detoxing from drugs alone is enough to make any civilized person contemplate jumping off a building. But when you add the destruction I’d left in my wake, death was my only option.

  Drops of rain began peppering the window as my mind started to drift. I thought about my family, and how heartbroken they would be when they got the news tomorrow. I immediately forced those thoughts out of my mind, because my will to die was much stronger than any concern I had for anyone else’s emotions. I was afraid that giving my family too much thought would change that. I thought about how unfortunate it was that I wasn’t going to experience having children, or being married. I would make a shitty wife and mom anyway, so I was doing the world a service, really.

  I was hoping to somehow see my mom. If for some crazy reason heaven did end up being real (which, to me, was preposterous), then I knew that was where she was. But if that was in fact the case, we would most likely never cross paths again. They say suicide is a sin, and chances are you are going to hell, but if hell was real, I had already purchased a one-way ticket there, anyway, regardless of my exit strategy. So fuck it.

  I stayed in the same position for the next few hours until lights-out. My cellmates hadn’t bothered me because they could tell I was severely withdrawing. And I had glared angrily at anyone who attempted to make eye contact or approach me.

  I waited patiently, quietly, anxiously, for each of them to drift off, each making a different sound as she breathed in the night air. Some women snored, some breathed quietly, but I waited until I was sure that every one of them was asleep. When the last woman quit her tossing and turning to finally settle into the perfect position, I knew it was time.

  I sat up in my bunk and delicately set my feet on the cold concrete floor. As I stood up, I glanced around to make sure that no one had stirred. My hands found their way to the corner of my sheet and I gently began removing it from my mat. Sheet in hand, my fingers began moving automatically, almost as if they were programmed to tie this knot. There was no thought, just mindless twisting and pulling. I wasn’t thinking of anything other than how desperate I was for this to be over. I didn’t want to spend another moment here on this earth, I needed to go, and I needed to go now.

  I nervously glanced around the room one last time, making sure everyone was still fast asleep, and I carefully tied one end of the sheet to the corner of the bunk above me. I braced for the girl above me to wake up, as I had tied the knot about two inches from her foot, but she didn’t budge. I took one last, deep breath in as I wrapped the other end of the sheet around my neck and pulled it as tight as I possibly could. There were no tears and no second thoughts as I took in one last breath, and pushed myself off the bed.

  The bunk wasn’t high enough to completely hang from, so I let my legs go limp and allowed my body weight and gravity to do the work. I was hanging from my neck, my legs outstretched in front of me. The pressure around my throat was overwhelming. It felt as though my spine were separating from my skull. I could feel my face getting hot; it felt like it was swelling with blood. I had to fight my natural survival instincts. My physical body was achin
g to stand up and breathe, but my mind was stronger. There was no going back now.

  The sounds of the world around me began to grow faint and my peripheral vision started to darken; it was as if I were looking down the length of a tunnel. The walls of darkness were closing in and the world had gone silent. The pressure was causing the blood vessels inside my eyes to burst and at any moment I was certain that my eyes were going to pop free of their sockets completely. Everything had gone black and I knew this was it. It was almost over. For the first time, in a very long time, I felt…free.

  I was startled by a bright light beaming down on me, and I realized I was passing through another dimension. I smiled, eager to be free of my damaged earthly body, now a part of the universe. The light continued to grow brighter—almost blinding—and I gasped as air suddenly filled my lungs with a whoosh. What the hell? I was choking; I couldn’t catch my breath. I began to see flashes of light and hear intermittent yelling as my hearing slowly returned. I blinked a few times, and a blurry image began taking shape above me. It was a face. But not the face of God—or the devil—it was Officer Cache. “Johnson! Can you hear me? Tiffany! Wake up.”

  Anger began coursing through every vein in my body once I realized what was happening. I began violently throwing my arms and kicking, desperate to get everyone the hell away from me.

  “Why?!” I screamed. “Why the fuck did you wake me up? Why? Why didn’t you let me go?!”

  I began sobbing uncontrollably out of anger and frustration. I had been so close. Close to being home, with my mother and grandparents—and now, I was right back in hell. Right back into the reality from which I had so desperately tried to escape.

  5

  I glanced around the room at my cellmates, who looked shocked and horrified. I wanted to scream at them for being so dramatic. I wanted to find out who the hell had foiled my plan, ruining any hope of me being free from this shitty planet. Before I could say another word to anyone, a deputy pulled my wrists behind my back and handcuffed me. She said, “Come on, we gotta take you to Medical.”