Third Time’s a Charm

What I remember most is the cold. The way it crept in and wrapped itself around me, leaching every ounce of warmth from my body. It would come in waves, crashing over me again just as I’d grown used to it, dragging me deeper into relentless, icy despair.

They know what they’re doing. No matter what they tell you, it isn’t for sanitation. It’s to break you down further, to demonstrate just how helpless you are. They strip away your freedoms bit by bit. Freedom of movement, freedom of action, freedom of choice, freedom of comfort. You belong to them now, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Not until the bail is posted.

I have no memory of how I got here the first time. I had to hear the story from friends. It took me years to put together the pieces of that night and none of it ever felt familiar, nor did it match the report I was given. The second time, I remember well. I was distraught, shocked, and disappointed in myself. I vowed to learn my lesson, and I did. Ten years passed without incident. A decade of retraining myself and atoning for my mistakes. I learned. I grew. I evolved. I became better.

The third time wasn’t like the others. It wasn’t anything I had done. It was what I wouldn’t do.

7 pm. I was hot and sweaty, cooling down from a workout. I felt good. I was in basic athletic gear, just leggings, and a tank top. I’d slipped off my shoes and socks to slide into a pair of sandals. I thought I’d go next door to ask my partner about our dinner plans.

I opened the outer gate to our apartment complex to see a strange man hiding in the hedge. As I stepped out, he put his hand on the door to push in. With a click I closed the door tight behind me, barring the intruder’s entry. Soundlessly three more men slid out from behind the hedge, barring my escape and blocking me from view. My mind raced and I could feel the anxiety blooming in my chest. I was afraid. A woman, trapped in an off-street alcove by four men. Unseen. I was in danger and I had no way out.

“Please let me pass,” I said, keeping my voice as even as possible. Don’t show fear.

“Open the door,” barked one of the uniformed men.

“I’m sorry, I can’t. It’s not allowed. Please let me by.” Remain polite.

“Open the door now, it’s an emergency.”

“What’s the emergency?” Bargain for time.

“That’s none of your business, open the door.”

“I can’t. We aren’t allowed. It’s in our lease. I can call the landlord and see if he’ll grant permission. Please let me pass.” Hold fast. Do not let them get you inside.

“No, just let us in.”

“I can’t. Please let me by.” Don’t panic.

“You know the code?”

“Yes.”

“Let us in.”

“I’m happy to call the landlord to get permission. If you’ll please just let me pass out onto the street, I would feel much more comfortable.”

“Enough of this,” he growled.

A gloved hand shot out and grabbed my arm, twisting it behind me painfully as one of the other men grabbed my shoulders and pushed me not the bush. I did the only thing I knew to do and began to scream, “HELLLPPP!!! HEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLPPP.” I felt the cuffs close around my wrists

Had anyone heard me? If there were witnesses, they would have to let me go. I had done nothing wrong. I followed the rules. One of the men dragged me across the street and threw me into the back of his car. He ripped the phone from my hands and slammed the door.

Shaking with fear, I watched as people began gathering outside the vehicle. My partner and his coworkers came from next door. They began demanding information that would never be given. My mind whirled as I waited, arms bound behind me. I hadn’t done anything wrong, surely I would be released as soon as they were done with their “emergency”. Surely. 15 minutes passed, then 20, then 30. The men finished their task in the complex, dragging out a young man who had been struggling to keep his sanity during the lockdown. They brought for him a jacket and his shoes, offering him comfort, before putting him gently into a waiting ambulance.

7:30 pm I waited for them to release me. They had done what they came for. There was no need to keep me, was there? One of the men got into the car's front seat, started the vehicle, and pulled away. I could hear my partner shouting behind us, “Where are you taking her?!” In disbelief, I tried to get more information about my situation. I asked, “Why have I been arrested?”

“I don’t know,” he responded. “I’m not your arresting officer.”

“Who is?”

Silence.

“What is your name? What’s your badge number?”

Silence.

He gave me nothing. It took only 10 minutes to reach the station. When we arrived, he pulled me out of the vehicle and gruffly passed me to another officer.

I tried again, “Why have I been arrested?”

“I’m not your arresting officer.”

“Then who is?”

“Can I get a phone call?”

“You’ll get a phone call once you’re transferred.”

“When will that be?”

Silence.

Something inside me wound tighter and tighter. How was it that none of the men involved in cuffing and transporting me were responsible for answering why? Why was I back here again? What had I done? When would I be released? The officer pulled me behind him as we entered the precinct. We went through two sets of security doors before arriving in the holding area. He removed one cuff so he could chain me to a bench. The cuffs forced me to hunch over. I still didn’t understand.

8 pm. The cold began to seep in through my bare feet and exposed shoulders. The shivering began again. The shift changed. Officers came in bundled in puffy coats to fight the chill. Still, I remained chained to the bench.

10 pm.

Midnight. My mind raced. What was going on?

2 am. “We’ve gotta get rid of this body before the next shift change,” said a male voice from a back room. I strained to hear more but couldn’t

3 am. I felt the panic coming on. My mind fragmented momentarily. I began to rock myself back and forth, shaking uncontrollably. I rattled the cuffs against the bench again and again until the clanging was all I could focus on.

4 am. “Let’s go.” A female voice this time. She came from the back room, removed the cuffs so I could stand, and then put them back on. “It’s time for your transfer.”

My voice rasped out in response, “Why have I been arrested?” She stared at me, unblinking. She glanced down at some paperwork. “Resisting without violence and Disorderly Conduct.” I was thunderstruck. The charges had nothing to do with what happened before they restrained me. They were for when I called for help when the cuffs were already on. They found their reasons after arresting me, not before. I bowed my head and followed her. We left the station and she loaded me into the back of a paddy wagon and chained me to the seat.

4:30 am. We arrived at TGK. The high walls were familiar to me from before. I was uncuffed, cuffed again, brought inside, photographed, strip-searched, and dressed in bright orange with the word INMATE splashed across my chest. Then they brought me into a room to wait for a bed. There were hundreds of us waiting in frigid plastic chairs that offered no solace.

5 am. I finally got my phone call. I waited while it rang. I heard the click as he picked up. “Babe, can you hear me?”

“My love, how are you? Are you okay? I’ve already posted bail. You’ll be out soon. It’s going to be alright. I love you.”

I held back a sob. I would be out soon. Home soon. Warm again, soon.

6 am. I tucked my knees under my shirt to try to conserve my warmth.

7 am. I began to rock myself again, fighting back tears.

8 am. They let some of us use the restroom.

9 am. They called my name and brought me out through processing. They gave me my clothes back then pressed a vacuum-sealed bag into my hands with my belongings. My phone, watch, and the remains of my bracelets which they had cut off of me. I was led out through halls that I knew too well and down a set of stairs. The officer opened a door and said, “You’re free to go.” I stepped out into the bright light of the day to find myself in a parking lot next to the highway. I sank to my knees and finally let myself cry.