Olive’s Victory

December 21. Winter Solstice.

The winter solstice, hiemal solstice or hibernal solstice, also known as midwinter, occurs when one of the Earth's poles has its maximum tilt away from the Sun.

I don’t know why this comes to mind because I’m locked in a cell the size of a closet. Maybe it is because I’m a sucker for science or maybe it is because Christmas used to be my favorite time of the year.

Christmas, Easter, Valentine’s Day. None of that crap mean anything anymore. In here I’m just a number.

There are days I wake up in a mist of confusion. I think I am at home. Mac is cooking eggs and bacon, Starsky and Hutch or M.A.S.H are blazing from our new color TV. 

The beautiful Christmas tree with the perfect wrapped presents are as clear as a crystal in my mind. The smell of roasted root vegetables as a side dish, mashed potatoes, gravy, and a ham cooked to perfection burns my nostrils.

After all this time, the memories, they feel good and they hurt all at the same time. 

Imagine opening your eyes to a sparse cell, with a few frayed photos tacked to the wall and a stainless steel toilet and sink in the corner instead of a tree.

Imagine Christmas day away from your loved ones, but surrounded by hundreds of other inmates dreaming of home.

Christmas dinner, in here, usually consists of  an anaemic chicken, watery gravy and roast spuds you can smash a window with.

***

I wake up at 10, thanks to all the hooting and hollering outside my cell. I take a few minutes to center myself and climb from my top bunk.

 I then head down to the communal bathroom I share with 50 other inmates. I handle my morning business, shower and brush my teeth. 

I head back to my cell. The TV is cranked up and the day-room has gone quiet. A Charlie Brown Christmas - Depressed at the commercialism he sees around him, Charlie Brown tries to find a deeper meaning to Christmas.

 I smile. Commercialism used to be what I was all about. Expensive clothes, food, a high standard of living.

 People still discuss the Soviet Nuclear reactor that exploded in Chernobyl back in April, causing a release of radioactive material across much of Europe. The world is still in shock.

Yeah, you guessed it. I’m a convict, an offender, a prisoner, criminal, felon, lawbreaker. 

***

10 years ago, in 1976, a bank robbery went to hell. A crime that went horribly wrong and snowballed into an epic shootout and car chase.

From late 1974 to 1976 to 2017, my crew and I conducted research from the untidy basement in Mac and my residence.

The Bank of Prosperity was located in Sunnydale. Sunnydale was home to some 300,000 people and was also one of the most dangerous cities. The city has appeared at or near the top of the FBI’s Uniform Crime Reports for high crime rates. The police department was hit particularly hard by cutbacks. Large numbers of veteran officers left the department, leaving it understaffed and with a vast number of younger, inexperienced members. As often happens when cutbacks come, training suffered at large.

It was the perfect place to strike.

On an early summer summer morning of 1976 the beige and brown houses blended into its bland surroundings as we drove our Buick into Sunnydale.

We pulled up on the bank parking lot and all dressed in black, Kennedy, Mac and myself got out of the car leaving JJ and Monk in the vehicle.

We wore hoodies over our baseball hats and carried backpacks over our shoulders. We wore gloves that had been duct taped to their sleeves. Clown masks covered our faces. Ammunition

had been taped to our clothing.

Kennedy intercepted a customer on her way to the bank, hauling her inside the bank where Mac and I encountered the security officer and took control of him.

We were screaming for everyone to get down on the ground and stay calm. “‘Don’t worry. No one is going to get hurt. Just do as you’re told.”

Kennedy leaped over the counter and screamed for the employees to open the vault while Mac and I kept our weapons aimed at the terrified people at the bank.

Kennedy filled a backpack with cash and then returned to us and the main lobby.

“Let’s move” he screamed. We have to hurry.”

What we had not taken into consideration was that someone outside had witnessed us heading into the bank and had flagged down a police car. Before long cops were loading their cars with their gear, as reports of the bank robbery crackled out from their radios.

We headed out of the bank when we spotted a police officer in the parking lot.

“Grab some hostages” Kennedy yelled. Mac and I each grabbed the person closest to us, pointing our guns to the back of their heads.

We pushed the hostages into the Buick and sped off.

Over the next 90 minutes, we drove with no regard for our own lives, let alone anyone we came into contact with—and we led our pursuers on a violent, terrifying  chase over both winding residential streets and wide-open freeways, sometimes hitting 120 miles per hour,in and out of Sunnydale.

For much of the time, Kennedy sprayed 7.62-mm rounds from his AK-47 out the back window of the Buick, disabling police vehicles.

I could hear the caliber crack like a bullwhip and feel the boom in my chest.

To cut a long story short, officers eventually filled the Explorer’s tires with bullets, causing it to fishtail down the road. As the Buick careened to a stop the rest and Mac and I pulled out our weapons, and alongside Kennedy we kept the gunfire coming.

Multiple police vehicles pulled up and officers fanned out. Panic, blood and mayhem was now the key words.

JJ. was dead in the driver’s seat, Monk was breathing heavily and didn’t look like he would make it to the hospital. One of the hostages escaped the Buick and ran screaming toward the cops.

As I reloaded my weapon I saw to my horror Mac go down with a bullet to the head. The blood in my veins froze to ice and I started to cry and scream out in pain.

What happened next is a blur, I heard Kennedy yell something but all I could focus on was Mac’s lifeless body. I was kicking and screaming as I was pulled away from the remains of my loved one. I stopped caring after that even when the judge sentenced me to 25 years in prison

Somehow, Kennedy without managed to escape without being shot,most likely because he used a hostage as a shield.

He later found himself in jail and facing murder charges. The hostage he used as a shield died.

So here I am in a prison which is old and freezing.

***

A lot of inmates, like me, don’t care about Christmas. It is just another day on the calendar to us. Many are more interested in gangs and drugs and politics and climbing the hierarchy. The same with staff – some correctional officers and administrative officials couldn't care less. They are there to do a job and Christmas doesn’t even cross their minds.

Substance abuse and drug dealing remain rife in prison as well as assaults on staff, fellow inmates and other disruptive behaviors. These things don’t stop just because it’s Christmas.

I understand why people sympathize with the elderly, the lonely and the homeless and why people in prison aren’t typically considered. This is mainly because our situation is believed to be our own fault, our own making. But prisoners do not cease to be people once the prison gates slam shut. 

Regardless, people can change. My choices of the past do not define me today. Although I wear a ‘scarlet letter’ I am so much more. 

I wasn’t brought up in a dysfunctional home or suffered domestic violence, I bonded with cocaine the fashionable new drug for entertainers and business-people.  It provided energy and helped me stay up.

I chose the wrong lifestyle. Fast money. Comfortable living. Not giving a damn about anything else. Now I pay the price.

Back in my cell, I crawl under my woolen blanket but I’m jarred awake in my by an officer wielding the brightest flashlight. “Miller, you got a visitor.”

At first glance I think he’s pulling my leg, I’m long forgotten by the world, but he’s dead serious.

***

You have to go through three sets of doors and you’re searched properly from head to toe.

I strip down for a thorough search and begin my way into the visitation area. I’ve never been in this section of the prison before and I’ve been here for 10 years. 

There are no Christmas ornaments except for a small Christmas on the counter of the supervisor.

I rub my hands for a minute, the cold within these concrete walls symbolized this place perfectly; joyless, and it has lost its soul a long time ago.

The wooden benches which serves as the meet and greet” spots are all crowded with people chattering loudly with their inmates. Some are laughing. Other inmates have a grave expression on their face as they know that they have to stay after their loved ones leave.

“Miller! You are at number 22.” the voice cuts through me like a bullet and have me dancing on the spot. This place, visitation room, is getting to me. For some people this is a place of hope.

The supervisor looks at me with his eyebrow cocked. “You, alright, Miller?”

“I’m fine” I answer looking at a spot behind him.

Nr. 22. I gaze around for a second.

My heart stops for a second as I glance over at my visitor. The long dark hair, green eyes staring around the room. Damn. I don’t wanna step any further.

 Jess. What the hell is she doing here? The last time I saw her she had pigtails and watched The Muppet Show. The little girl I used to know has disappeared. The excessive makeup on her face makes her look cheap.

She looks so much like Mac that I have to look away. 

“You are holding up the line, Miller!Move!” The supervisor taps a pencil on the counter.

I feel a sweat breaking out and my breath feels restrained as I approach nr. 22. My limbs are heavy and I have to work extra hard to make my way to the table.

“Olivia” Jess is all smiles as she stands up to greet me. As I get a look at her my mind swiftly thinks of the Joker from Batman. I push the thought away.

I clear my throat. “Jess what are you doing here?”

She has a strange look on her face. “Olivia, you were my father’s wife. I care about you. You were always nice to me.”

Something is wrong. The look on her face is conservative. Plus Jess’ mother hated me, so my relationship with Jess’ was always on a leash.

People in the room is walking back and forth getting food from the vending machines. It is stressing me out.

My prison- suit feels clammy against my body. I don’t know how to keep the conversation going.

“Mom died.” Jess looks down at the table while rubbing her hands together.

She looks so small. I feel bad. “I’m sorry is all I can muster. I’m so bad with words. I always manage to say the wrong thing.

“Yeah.” she looks at me. “I’m in a bit of a financial pickle. Mom had a lot of debt so I didn’t get anything. I don’t have a job.”

She is pale white and I know this is not a social visit. I’d wish she’d just cut to the chase. I’m uneasy.

“And there is him.” She pushes a picture across the table. A small boy, maybe one year old with big blue eyes is looking right at me.

I pick up the picture. “Who’s this?” I ask already knowing the answer.

A small smile forms on her face. “That’s my son, Victor.”

“Where is he now?” I run my finger over the picture.

“He’s with a friend. The same friend we’re currently living with, but I can’t stay there. My friend is in a pickle too.”

Her face turns to stone. “Dad, didn’t leave much either.”

I can’t keep my gaze of that little boy. Something inside of me is crackling. The armor I have spent so long building up is crackling.

Jess starts to cry. “You are all we have, Olivia.”

I grab her arms and I lean over the table. “Listen, Jess. I lower my gaze and speak down into the table. “I got money. If our house is still standing, there is a key to a deposit box in a train station.”

I explain to her where to find the key and the box. “The house, the money, everything is yours now. Yours and Victor.”

Jess dries her eyes. I recognize the little girl in her again. “Thank you, Olivia. You are a lifesaver.” She squeezes my hands. 

Yeah, I know she could be scamming me, but I don’t care. We sit for a while without talking.

When it’s time to say goodbye, Jess says something which makes the rest of my armor fall.

“Victor is lucky. You know why?”

I shrug.

“He has a grandma like you.” then she walks out.

The way back to my cell is like walking in a dream. “Grandma.” The strip search doesn't bother me. As I get to my cell I just smile. I can’t stop smiling.

A few days later mail arrives. I receive my first piece of mail in 9 years. It’s a Christmas card.

There is a small greeting from Jess. “Thank you, Olivia.”

There is a picture of Victor. There is something written on the back. “I love you, Grandma.”

Can you love someone you’d never met before? The answer is yes.

For the first time in 10 years I laugh. A grandson. Mac and I have a grandson. 

Sources:

Policefoundation.org

https://apnews.com