what you really want, but you have to sort of prove yourself, Wanda. Prove that you’re not just someone who gets wasted off of hooch and makes scenes.”
I flushed. I would never, never escape this. “I’m um, going to a meeting with Marlee,” I offered. Anything to keep him from mentioning my transgression again.
“That’s wonderful,” Pitt said, sounding genuinely pleased. “That’s a good first step, Wanda. Just get yourself there. You’ll see. AA has changed lives. It changed my life.”
“You, too?”
Pitt nodded. “It’s a pretty stressful job being a corrections officer,” he said. “Maybe not as stressful as being an inmate, but pretty close. I was relying on alcohol too much to relax, and my family was suffering.”
My eyes fell to the photograph of the happy, smiling family on Pitt’s desk. Every family had its problems, it seemed.
“Admitting there’s a problem is the first step,” he said. “I’m glad you’ve made it.”
I held my hands up. “I’m just going to a meeting to see what it’s all about,” I said. “I’m not sure that there’s a problem at this point.”
“That’s fine,” Pitt said, the beginnings of a smile curving the corners of his mouth upward. “You just get yourself to a meeting. See what you think.”
“All right,” I said, trying to tamp down the squirming feeling inside of me. I’d do anything for some more hooch. There had to be someone else brewing it somewhere. It was a big prison.
Most of all, it made me uncomfortable that both Marlee and Pitt had taken part in AA. It was like a strange, secret club. I didn’t want to belong to it. I didn’t have a problem. I really didn’t. I just liked drinking, that was all. Was that a crime, or a disease? Surely not.
“Work at the commissary starts Monday after breakfast, at nine,” Pitt said. “And you’ll start going to GED classes in the afternoon, after lunch, at 2. You’re about ot get pretty busy, Wanda.”
“It’s good to be busy,” I said. “Better than sitting around all day, like I have been doing.”
“That’s the spirit,” Pitt said. “You could check out the library, too.”
“Reading’s not really my thing, either,” I said. “I’m a numbers woman.”
“It takes all types,” he said, ushering me out of the office.
“How’d it go?” Marlee asked once I returned to the cell. “You in the kitchen?”
“No,” I said. “Commissary.”
“Hey,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “That’s pretty damn impressive, Wanda. How in the hell did you swing that? The commissary’s a good job. Girls would kill to get that. A lot better than cleanup crew, at least.”
“I’m good with numbers,” I said. “That’s all. As soon as he heard that, he wanted me in the commissary. I’ll start that Monday, along with GED classes.”
“Very nice,” Marlee said. “And Tuesday you’ll go to a meeting. You’re getting involved. That’s good.”
I tried not to cringe at the mention of the meeting. “Yeah, really good, sugar.”
“Aw, don’t worry,” Marlee said, misinterpreting my discomfort. “If you don’t like it at the commissary, I’ll see what I can do about pulling strings to get you into the kitchen.”
“What would I have to do in return?” I asked suspiciously.
“Help me with my food budgets,” she said cheerfully, as if I should always expect a caveat with whatever she offered me. “They’re hell. I always get the numbers mixed up and the prison administration pissed off at me. If I wasn’t so good at cooking, they’d fire my ass.”
“Sounds like a deal,” I said.
Work at the commissary started off just fine. Marlee walked me there after breakfast to show me where it was. I’d never had any reason to go there with my lack of funds.
Another inmate was there—an older woman with a shock of white hair and a pleasant face, her eyes magnified behind thick glasses.
“You must be Wanda,” she said pleasantly. “I’m glad
I flushed. I would never, never escape this. “I’m um, going to a meeting with Marlee,” I offered. Anything to keep him from mentioning my transgression again.
“That’s wonderful,” Pitt said, sounding genuinely pleased. “That’s a good first step, Wanda. Just get yourself there. You’ll see. AA has changed lives. It changed my life.”
“You, too?”
Pitt nodded. “It’s a pretty stressful job being a corrections officer,” he said. “Maybe not as stressful as being an inmate, but pretty close. I was relying on alcohol too much to relax, and my family was suffering.”
My eyes fell to the photograph of the happy, smiling family on Pitt’s desk. Every family had its problems, it seemed.
“Admitting there’s a problem is the first step,” he said. “I’m glad you’ve made it.”
I held my hands up. “I’m just going to a meeting to see what it’s all about,” I said. “I’m not sure that there’s a problem at this point.”
“That’s fine,” Pitt said, the beginnings of a smile curving the corners of his mouth upward. “You just get yourself to a meeting. See what you think.”
“All right,” I said, trying to tamp down the squirming feeling inside of me. I’d do anything for some more hooch. There had to be someone else brewing it somewhere. It was a big prison.
Most of all, it made me uncomfortable that both Marlee and Pitt had taken part in AA. It was like a strange, secret club. I didn’t want to belong to it. I didn’t have a problem. I really didn’t. I just liked drinking, that was all. Was that a crime, or a disease? Surely not.
“Work at the commissary starts Monday after breakfast, at nine,” Pitt said. “And you’ll start going to GED classes in the afternoon, after lunch, at 2. You’re about ot get pretty busy, Wanda.”
“It’s good to be busy,” I said. “Better than sitting around all day, like I have been doing.”
“That’s the spirit,” Pitt said. “You could check out the library, too.”
“Reading’s not really my thing, either,” I said. “I’m a numbers woman.”
“It takes all types,” he said, ushering me out of the office.
“How’d it go?” Marlee asked once I returned to the cell. “You in the kitchen?”
“No,” I said. “Commissary.”
“Hey,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “That’s pretty damn impressive, Wanda. How in the hell did you swing that? The commissary’s a good job. Girls would kill to get that. A lot better than cleanup crew, at least.”
“I’m good with numbers,” I said. “That’s all. As soon as he heard that, he wanted me in the commissary. I’ll start that Monday, along with GED classes.”
“Very nice,” Marlee said. “And Tuesday you’ll go to a meeting. You’re getting involved. That’s good.”
I tried not to cringe at the mention of the meeting. “Yeah, really good, sugar.”
“Aw, don’t worry,” Marlee said, misinterpreting my discomfort. “If you don’t like it at the commissary, I’ll see what I can do about pulling strings to get you into the kitchen.”
“What would I have to do in return?” I asked suspiciously.
“Help me with my food budgets,” she said cheerfully, as if I should always expect a caveat with whatever she offered me. “They’re hell. I always get the numbers mixed up and the prison administration pissed off at me. If I wasn’t so good at cooking, they’d fire my ass.”
“Sounds like a deal,” I said.
Work at the commissary started off just fine. Marlee walked me there after breakfast to show me where it was. I’d never had any reason to go there with my lack of funds.
Another inmate was there—an older woman with a shock of white hair and a pleasant face, her eyes magnified behind thick glasses.
“You must be Wanda,” she said pleasantly. “I’m glad
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