Pushing away any uneasiness in an attempt to sound confident and authoritative, as much as my tiny, 5'3" frame can, I announce, "Dr. Jane Reisler to see warden Albert Norman." An armed officer wearing a black and gray uniform looks up from the seat behind his desk. He seems fairly annoyed at the rude interruption of his more important crossword puzzle. Trying to make a good first impression, I smooth the long, windswept auburn hair from my face, pondering if perhaps putting my hair into a ponytail or a bun would've been a better choice for this place and it's blustery weather.
A deep, baritone voice saves me from the quandary of hairstyles and second-guessing any other choices.
"Dr. Reiser? I'm Captain Thompson, I will escort you to your office."
Captain Thompson turns out to be a hulking man who extends a full foot above my tiny frame. Through an institutional green iron gate, I see his shaven head atop a body that easily tips the scale at over 300 pounds. A porcine looking female guard gives me a brisk but thorough pat down, pausing for a long second as her latex gloves touch bare legs, in what feels like a sensual caress.
The peroxide blonde dispenses instructions at a rapid pace while taking time to fasten a small, white box with a red button to my skirts waistband. "This is your PPD (personal protection device). If for any reason you feel afraid, intimidated or at risk of harm, simply push the red button and staff will find you. Keep in mind though, if you do push it, the guards will react forcefully with the person you're with. So be sure when you use it, it's not an overreaction." With a clucking sound of reproach, she adds, "you might want to wear something more appropriate tomorrow, like pants! And skip the perfume!" Feeling like a rebuked five year old child I follow the captain and chastise myself for spraying pure seduction on before I left this morning.
It's not until we pass through the last gate that the captain speaks again, "if I were you I'd listen to Officer Morgan's advice on your wardrobe. Most of these men have been in confinement for years. Your appearance as a woman alone will excite them, but bare legs, the perfume you wear, no matter how subtle you believe the scent , will turn them into savages. In my opinion, this position should've gone to a man. No offense, but a maximum security prison isn't the safest environment for such one on one sessions to be overseen by a woman – not with these assholes."
The warden isn't here today, so I'll take you to F Block, also known as the hole. Let me warn you now, the sounds inside are deafening, with a fair amount of shit, piss, and other disgusting smells, so I hope you have a strong stomach," Captain Thompson advises, trying to prepare me for who and what I will face as I struggle to keep up with those long gait.
The blinding sun dazes me as we leave the darker lighting of the control center and walk outside into Marquette Prison proper. To my dismay and surprise, dozens of prisoners mill about freely in their blue uniforms with orange piping. It's certainly unnerving to have them so close. I feel their lecherous eyes devour me like a wounded gazelle being stalked by a lion. At least for now, I'm grateful the enormous captain hovers nearby. Above, an old, rusty water tower glares down at me, making me feel like a blundering , unwanted intruder.
In a quiet voice I ask, "Are they always out and about like this?" My inner fears move me closer to him as mindless, bloodthirsty zombies stroll about the yard in search of their next meal.
"Each half of the block receives an hour out each day. The other blocks come out for various medical and work details, but for the men in F Block, an hour limits their time out. Never forget, Dr., what these men are."
"What are they?" I ask, watching every prisoner closely each time they near me.
The captain stops so suddenly I find myself running into him, smashing my face into his muscular back as he turns to look at me, "these men are fucking animals! Convicted of the most heinous crimes you can imagine, or become so unmanageable due to violent actions at other prisons they have earned themselves a spot here at the 'castle.'" Not waiting for a response he walks up to a building with F Block posted on its fading, red brick exterior.
YOU ARE READING
The Music Box
Storie breviA psychologist enters the dark world of prisons and faces her own troubled past. Her life as she knows it will be challenged and changed forever before she's done.
