seeing buddha.

i'm wearing those sandals today. there's still pieces of white paper stuck to the insole of the right sandal where i tried to rip off the sticker that identified the shoe to the person. no matter how hard i try to suppress the memories from those 36 hours, it's these little reminders that bring me right back to that day. 

for 36 hours, i wore gym socks pulled over my jeans. we all had the same socks, though the colour of the stripes varied. mine were yellow and matched the smiley face on my t-shirt, which i kept  hidden under the zipper of my hoodie. i remember thinking the shirt might be a tad inappropriate given the circumstances. i still have that shirt, and that hoodie, but i don't think i ever wore it as an ensemble again. i could've just thrown everything away, but i kinda like my clothes so i guess that's how i dealt with it. no one really gets up in the morning and dresses with the intent of staying in jail overnight, i'm sure...

the shroom girl and i are moved into another cell. i wouldn't go as far as calling her my friend, but i think we had a sense of connection, if only because we started the journey together in the previous cell. our new roomies had made themselves comfortable in the small space. food trays were stacked in the corner and the room had a slight stench of sweat. we took the two top bunks, she on top of the latina and me on top of the black girl. i think my total time in this space couldn't have been more than 10 hours, but the uncertainty made me neurotic, and time became my new enemy. at least on top, i could sit up straight and not hit my head on any bars. 

there's no more tears left at this point. whatever thoughts ran through my head are hard to recall. most of it was still confusion, persistent and lingering. it didn't help that the only conversations we had were centered around what happened and what was gonna happen. it kinda felt like a sad treehouse club full of delinquents. the latina was young, hardly 20 and overweight. she wore track pants, rolled twice at the waist like how the girls in junior high would roll their p.e. shorts. of us four, she and the black girl definitely had the louder personalities. she had been caught shoplifting baby formula and diapers at target or k-mart, a fact that became more pronounced when i found out she was a few months pregnant. the black girl was there after being pulled over for speeding on the freeway. not a big deal, except she used a fake name when the cop questioned her. her real name was tainted with an outstanding warrant for something ridiculous like not showing up for a court appearance. of course, i told them my story but tried to stay as brief as possible. mostly, i was worried i would have to stay another night. 

it's hard to describe what i felt. alone, i guess. deserted. physically, i was on an island up there. shroom girl was the only one who had a visitor the entire time. the stern overseer lady came by, keys jingling. i was awake and from my bed, i could see her drop some shoes in front of the door. not mine. i couldn't help but watch shroom girl put her own shoes back on and walk away, wishing it was me instead. she was gone for about 20 minutes. her brother visited, delivering news from her parents that they would not be bailing her out. black girl was pretty black, and said something like "don't worry, girl, you'll be aight". 

we retreat back into our head space. i stay on my island for the most part, climbing down once to pick up my tray of food, once more to stack the untouched tray of mystery meat, bread, and whole milk in the corner, and another time to use the stainless steel toilet in opposite corner. i decided to try and not dwell on the unknown and started playing games in my head. patterns appeared on the barred door. i imagined how the room would look, wallpapered in flower designs or corn curtains like the one marge simpson had in her kitchen. a few flicker laters, i saw a sitting buddha. it was as blurry image, but i could make out the golden accents; his hands were clearly in mudra formation. comfort in familiarity, i thought, but this can't be some divine signal no matter how spiritual i believed myself to be.

a few hours later, i hear keys jingle again. i'm not sitting up this time and don't bother to get up. the sounds of shoes dropping to the floor again and she calls someone's name. this time it's mine. a visitor? no--i was told my bail went through and i was to be processed and let go. shroom girl is sitting up, indian style. i glance at her silently as i climb down from the top. i don't remember saying goodbye to anyone. the whole thing happens pretty fast. my sandals fit over my socks and i shuffle out quickly. it's late afternoon or early evening, hard to tell during this time of year. some of my thing are returned, the rest were at the holding facility i was at initially. i exchanged my dollars for some coins to use the pay phone up front, dialing the only number i knew. he answered. 

so that was goodbye to lakewood. no more people watching or shit talking at malls. but also, no more jail. it's over.