Bottom Bitch

Jail makes you mean. You get really tired of people asking for your food as soon as you sit down to eat. People will borrow your shampoo and then give it to everyone else. They will take advantage of you every chance they get, except your friends. And I did make friends in jail. Some really good women who were there usually because of addiction. At first, you pay attention to every new woman who comes in. After awhile, so many people come and go you could care less whom is there. You have your peeps, they have your back and everyone else is gravy. I was an anomaly in jail: a middle-class, educated, Caucasian woman. Nearly every other woman there was a woman of color. And I certainly didn’t run into any women of means. But I suppose that’s another issue. I would like to tell you about some of the women who saved my sanity if not my life while in jail.

When I first was placed in jail, I was so emotionally distraught, I could not believe people could even smile or laugh while there. It took about two weeks and the spirit of a young woman named Kyla to make me laugh for the first time. She was my cellmate for only four days but she made the stay seem possible. Kyla was physically beautiful: dark red hair, fair skin, lovely smile. Very clever and funny. She had been arrested because her and her partner had gotten into a physical altercation with a young woman but had various other offenses. She was a heroin addict so was going through withdrawal but handled even that with grace and acceptance. We talked nearly the entire time we were locked in our cell together which is a lot of hours. She told me about how her partner was physically abusive and how they robbed tricks to make money for drugs. Her deepest sadness was her son, living with her mother, as she couldn’t take care of him. She so obviously loved him and was so proud of him when she overheard him ask for “two pieces of pepper”’. We laughed about the fact that we were so bored in our cell, we would simply try to pee to break up the monotony. We were in hysterics one night while talking about another woman there who had a prosthetic foot. The guards had refused to give her the foot. When Kyla asked her about it, the woman had said she didn’t understand why she couldn’t have it as she hadn’t “used it as a weapon since 1997”. The worst part was she was okayed to have a pair of street shoes while in jail. And they let her have both shoes and no foot.

I was transferred to RJC and left Kyla at the downtown jail. About three days later, Kyla was transferred to RJC along with two other women. Kyla introduced me to Maria, whom I was not sure about at first. She became my greatest friend, protector and all-around goofball. Kyla and Maria were connected in a terrible way. Kyla’s abusive partner had also beaten and raped Maria one night when Kyla was away. Maria was a heroin addict as well but was on methadone. Unfortunately, she was arrested on a Friday which meant she probably wouldn’t get her methadone until Monday. Maria had once jumped off the second tier of the downtown jail and broke her back as she was going through heroin withdrawals so badly. She was a force in itself.

 

Kyla was transferred out the following day but Maria and I ended up eating together and talking. She was tiny and goofy and clever. She would dance and laugh and make jokes about people. There was an annoying woman who constantly asked for food as well as pointed out how soon she would be leaving. I told her if she said it one more time, I would stab her. Maria said, “You’ve just made the nicest person in here mad.” and I knew I liked her. (Maria would also be the one to later say, when someone woke me up, “You’re really nice, until you’re not.”) Maria kept me sane and kept me calm. She also kept me laughing which is so helpful. She referred to me as her “Bottom Bitch” which I thought was an insult. Actually, it means you’re tops of all the bitches. Go figure.

Jennifer was another of my favorites. When she first arrived at RJC, she kept to herself. She would go outside to the courtyard and walk around and around in an endless loop. She didn’t speak to anyone. She was very pretty with a beautiful smile and a certain innocence to her. She had a tattoo on each earlobe that I later found out she had done herself. Maria began speaking to her and she soon joined our little group of misfit toys. She was a crack addict and had struggled for years with that demon. Her children lived with her mother as well. I believe she had a Bachelor’s Degree from WWU. 

Jennifer introduced us to Nykia, who was only at RJC for a week or so. Jennifer and Nykia had been at RJC together previously and had been in a relationship. Nykia knew what was up. She was funny, smart as a whip with street smarts to match. She knew the guards and took liberties with them I could not imagine. But, man, did I laugh while she was there. She also could talk to anyone as well as spot whoever came into the jail “holding” drugs. I don’t know how she did it, but she always knew. She had us laughing at one of the tables one evening and we got sent out to the courtyard for being too loud. (Truly, one of the only times I got into trouble and if that’s the worst thing I did in jail, so be it.) She stood at the window, looking at the guard, signaling. “Five minutes, Botay?” for the entire thirty minutes. We were hysterical, all of us.

There were a couple of times I lost my temper and each time my girls had my back. They may have teased me about it later but they were right there. The first time was when I kind of lost it on a woman I considered to be a bit of a sexual predator. I simply got tired of watching her take advantage of other women and brag about it. We were all in the courtyard; walking, talking, laughing, flirting. I don’t know what set me off but before I could stop myself, I was in the woman’s face, yelling at her. The girls told me later they all looked at each other, incredulous I was the one yelling. But then they were right there behind me. While I was never in any real danger, it honestly feels good to know you have back-up. They teased me incessantly afterwards about how they felt badly they had made me so mean and “street”. The only other time I lost my temper was when someone cut in front of us for the microwave. Yeah, we had a microwave, vending machines and, seriously, a (bad) cappuccino machine in jail.

Of anyone, Maria always had my back. She worked in the laundry and brought me back new items of clothing as well as the much-desired soft, V-neck uniform tops. She shared everything she had with me and me with her. If one of us ran out of conditioner, the other hustled some up. We pooled our commissary and made nachos and “dope fiend” cookies which are a combo of cookies, candy bar and the marshmallow from cream pies, all melted together in the microwave. I can still see her dancing in the courtyard. We pinky swore we wouldn’t use drugs again once we were out. We both failed that promise.

I heard recently from Maria, after much searching. I am very happy to be in touch with her and hope one day she can find some peace in this world. She’s a good soul, an old soul, a damaged soul. And while my day wasn’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination, I hope one day she can have a day like I had today: sober, happy to be sober, walking around in a city in high heels feeling just a little bit sassy and a little bit more like my authentic self. Bottom bitch indeed.