I’ve pretty much been living at the prison since the last day of school. My sleep cycle adjusted; routines have developed. While on duty, I read, watch TV, play word games on my playbook, walk around the small station, chat with the constables on duty, and munch on carrots and crackers.
Within the prison system, I’ve also noted patterns. It can be raucous, on payday and quiet Sunday mornings. Weather, the arrival of “shipments” from the south, all contribute to the climate at jail.
Sunday morning was characteristically quiet. A couple of drunken detainees have sobered up and were released. I’ve had some pleasant chats, between a thick pane of glass with detainees about beluga hunting, alcohol and family.
By Monday afternoon, one detainee remained. He was scheduled to be transferred south that afternoon. He had obvious mental health issues. The constables brought him out and wanted to handcuff him, but his pants kept falling down, as he was very thin. His belt and boots had been confiscated for safety purposes and taken home by a relative. We scrambled to find a rope or something that would keep his pants up. Finally, the constables decided to give him a standard issue police belt.
“Oh, can I keep this as a souvenir,” he beamed.
He slipped on the belt, tucked in his t-shirt, and buckled up.
The constables lead him to the police car and the last I saw of him was his bent head looking down at his shiny new belt.
I hope he gets the treatment and care he needs down south.