Walking the Dog by Elizabeth Swados Page B

brought me back rice, beans, pork intestines—whatever she’d been eating when she went home. Her hair fell in long curls, and she had dark eyes. We stayed up nights exchanging prison stories, though hers were very different than mine since she had been a member of her version of the Royals at a prison on the border of Pennsylvania. She talked to me about the boyfriends she was accumulating in her transformative, straight life. Most beat her, and she’d scratch back with her long, squared purple fingernails. (She had a job as a cleaning lady at a beauty salon and got discounted manicures.) This was freedom.
    I had a 10:00 p.m. curfew and orders to check in with Ramone or Francine, the guards, anytime I went anywhere, even if it was just to work. I went to my parole officer once a week, Joe Kasakowski. He was a police officer and a “counselor.” I don’t know how he got the job since he didn’t seemlike the social-work type to me. In fact, that’s why I liked him. Maybe next to Tina and the dogs, he’s what you might call a friend. He looked like a retired cop with a red-and-gray crew cut, strong upper body, and beer belly, but he wore Kmart blue jeans with old sneakers and his shirt collar always stayed open despite his tie. At first he was uncomfortable with me, but last visit he offered me an orange Tic Tac.
    â€œBad news about the kid,” he said.
    â€œYeah, well, I expected it.”
    â€œBut Harry said it got pretty rough.”
    â€œRough? What’s rough at this point?”
    â€œListen, big shot. Moms want their kids. It’s biological, right? But you can’t go near yours. Don’t be thinking about revenge or popping something to ease the pain. You going to meetings?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œIt’s a condition under your parole. Don’t fuck with me, Carleen.”
    â€œI hardly have time, Joe, and I’m not the ‘Hi group, I’m Carleen and I’m a narcotic ax murderer’ type.”
    â€œWho’d you kill with an ax?” Joe smiled. His teeth were small and surprisingly white.
    â€œNo one yet,” I shrugged. I was down, no doubt about it.
    â€œYeah, well, go to the meetings. They’re not the worst things in the world. And I got those weekly forms with the boxes I gotta check. It looks better.”
    â€œAt least I don’t lie,” I offered.
    â€œThat’s the truth about you,” Joe said. “How’s the job?”
    â€œSaving my sanity.”
    â€œI wish Doreen didn’t have that fucking cat. It gives me hives and I want a chow chow.”
    â€œWhy a chow?” I asked.
    â€œThey look like lions and have black tongues,” Joe explained.
    â€œThey can be vicious if not trained right,” I said.
    â€œSame as you,” Joe nodded at me.
    â€œI’m mellowing,” I said. “Life’s not much to fight for these days.”
    â€œYou taking your meds?” Joe asked.
    â€œLike a trooper.”
    Joe put on his cop voice. “That’s a no-compromise issue.”
    â€œI know that, Joe. I’m not deluded. I’m aware of what could happen without them.”
    â€œYou’re a good girl, Carleen,” Joe said. “As crazy as they come, but good. Me and Harry think you got a raw deal—you know that. Every step along the way. But neither of us can help you if you screw up.”
    â€œMy boss is a junkie,” I said. “That’s hard.”
    â€œI’m aware of that,” Joe said. “But if we bust him, there’s a whole thing behind the scenes that’s gonna go down. They’ll blame you. Anyways, it’s a job.”
    â€œDrugs are around me all the time,” I reminded him.
    â€œLife is around you all the time, kid.”
    â€œHow profound.”
    â€œFuck you.” Joe smiled.
    I got up and shook hands. Joe blushed.
    â€œYou know, Carleen. I’ve wanted to ask you this from the get-go . . .