The Cops Just Laughed When they Took Me to Jail! (Pt. 2)

If you’re just tuning in to this story, let me suggest you go check out the first part, by reading: The Cops Just Laughed at Me When they Took Me to Jail!

When you do, you’ll learn:

• Why I decided to disobey a subpoena
• What role my ex-boyfriend plays in all this
• Why I was subpoenaed in the first place

For the sake of this story, I’ll sum up everything in a nutshell:

My ex was mostly a decent guy, but an idiot when he drank. Somehow, he gets charged with a murder wrap, and drags me into the picture, so I get subpoenaed to go to court and testify.

I decide I’m not going, and they decide to pick me up and take me to jail, which is where this story starts. I’ve been processed in, and I’m lying in a lower bunk, with a senior citizen for a cell mate.

That about brings us up to speed.

Doing the Time

At some point, I crept out of my bunk so I could finally urinate. I’d been holding it forever, determined not to use the toilet in that place.

I knew it was ridiculous, especially since it didn’t look like I was going anywhere anytime soon. I’d have to pee at some point; and heaven help me if I needed to do more.

I fought back the tears and wondered just how long they could keep me there. I knew I defied the subpoena, but it wasn’t like it was a real crime.

Apparently, not according to Part 2 of California’s code on Criminal Procedures — CHAPTER 3. Compelling the Attendance of Witnesses:

“Any failure to appear pursuant to such agreement may be punished as a contempt, and a subpoena shall so state.”

I was in contempt of court. I had done the crime, now I was doing the time. I only cried internally, though a few tears may have still fallen from my eyes.

I manged to get a little sleep, but was awaken around 4am and told to get dressed for court. The bathroom, the mess hall, and traveling back to the courthouse was all a crazy blur of events.

The court had a full calendar, being as it was the Friday before the Memorial Day weekend (or Labor Day — one of the two). Either way, the courthouse would be closed on Monday, so attorneys were scrambling to keep their clients out of jail for the three-day period.

I wasn’t so lucky with my Public Defender. In fact, I didn’t even get in front of the judge until after 4 pm that afternoon. The judge ordered me to be held over so I could have my butt in court the following Tuesday.

Since I had no money and no plans for bail, I was headed back to jail. I couldn’t believe it. The whole thing was unreal.

Because I was the very last female to see the judge, the other women had been taken back to the jail already.

They couldn’t keep me in the holding tank with all the remaining men. So while I waited after my court appearance, to be taken back to jail, I had to sit outside in the hall, handcuffed to a railing.

I don’t need to tell you how heart broken I was when it came time for me to go back through the gates of that place again.

It’s funny, how some things about the experience I can barely remember, while other things are still vivid in my mind.

FOR INSTANCE:

I distinctly remember riding in the jail bus wanting to cry so bad, but fighting back the tears. The next thing I remember is being back in the cell with the old lady later that evening. But I don’t remember getting there, getting processed back in, or even speaking to anyone along the way.

Once again, I had missed dinner, but I wasn’t really hungry anyway. I had a box lunch earlier, before I finally made it into court, so I‘d eaten a sandwich and apple. But that was because it was still early. I had an appetite then, because I just knew they were letting me out of there. Or so I thought!

I guess the old lady could tell how upset I was when I came back to the cell. She seemed a bit more talkative, or at least when it came to trying to get answers out of me about my court business.

I don’t remember her volunteering any information about herself. I don’t even recall her name — if she ever told me — and I certainly never got around to asking her what she was in for.

That night when I went to bed, I didn’t bother about trying to hold back my tears. I didn’t care if the old bag heard me or not. I was terrified, because there would be no more court dates or chances to get out over the weekend, or even on Monday.

I was devastated and couldn’t hold back my tears if I wanted to; which I didn’t. I don’t know if the old lady heard me or not, though I can’t see how she could have avoided it, but it felt good to cry and let it all out.

By the time I finally stopped, I was numb. Between all the worrying, the court hearing, and being handcuffed in the hallway, not to mention the lack of eating and sleeping, my body and mind were exhausted.

I drifted off to sleep without even realizing it. The thing that woke me up was hearing my name being blasted over a loud speaker, telling me to “roll it up.”

I sat up in my bunk, not understanding what was going on until the old lady leaned over the side of the bed and told me I was getting out.

I still couldn’t believe it until if actually happened, which wasn’t until about three hours later, after processing.

The whole time, I don’t think I even knew how I was getting out, nor did I care. When I stepped outside the gates, so eager to regain my freedom, the person that you might expect to be out there was waiting for me with a big smile. My mother.

Of course, I had never been so happy to see that woman before in my entire life, and the way I hugged and squeezed her for let her know it.

I can honestly say, although my mother did a lot of crappy stuff when I was growing up, and caused me a lot of trauma over it, she was there for me that night, and I was overjoyed to see her.

But a few minutes later, when her and her friend drove me home, we were arguing. My mother’s solution to the problem at hand was to break the law further. She was ready to put me on an airplane and fly me to Chicago to stay with my father (actually my stepfather).

I found out she had gotten the money from him to bail me out, and he was standing by, prepared to buy me a ticket. I spent the duration of the ride home, listening to her try and convince me to go to the house and pack.

But I wasn’t trying to hear it. The judge had told me earlier that day, in no uncertain terms, that I was to have my ass in court come Tuesday morning

That was exactly what I planned to do, no matter what my mother or anyone else had to say.

On Tuesday, I was going straight downtown, to the courthouse and this time, I didn’t need a subpoena to make me be there!

Thanks for Reading

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