Chapter 1: The Visit to the Big House
2008
“Welcome to Pittsburgh, where the local time is 5:23 am. It is cloudy and hazy, and it is going to be a hot one. On behalf of United Airlines, I’d like to thank you for flying with us from Los Angeles,” said the captain over the intercom.
I waited impatiently for the seatbelt sign to come off and for the plane to halt. I quickly grabbed my bag. I looked down at my chewed-up nails and realized that my anxiety was now external as well. It had been six months since I’d seen my family and so much had changed during that time.
As I approached the outside, I could see the morning dew collecting on the front windshield of my mom’s 2001 Chrysler Cirrus as she and my sister waved. I picked up my gait, already sweating from the Pittsburgh humidity.
As I got into the car, the cold air from the air conditioner hit me and it knocked me back into reality. My anxiety was acting up as my head caught up with my body’s cross-country journey, but my mom’s embrace was there to quiet it.
“Maria, I missed you so much!” She hugged me in only the way a mom can.
“Hi Riri, was sup?” my sister retorted from the back, barely looking up from her headphones.
“Thanks for picking me up. It is good to see you two, and it is good to be back.”
“How’s L.A.?”
“It’s good.”
“How’s work?”
“Also, good.”
“How about Joe?”
“Good.”
“Buckle up, it’s a 45-minute drive to Morgantown,” said mom.
“That’s if she doesn’t get lost,” Kelly retorted back.
Smiles and laughter quickly turned into silence. Small talk was something that I wasn’t good at nowadays. The smooth highway helped to relax me, and I dozed off.
I awoke with the jarring of the car stopping and shifting into park.
“Here already?”
“I guess 45 minutes is a piece of cake after a six-hour red eye, eh?”
“You can say that again.”
As I got out of the car and stretched in the morning heat, I realized our destination was nothing like I expected. We parked in front of a short building surrounded by unassuming chain link fencing with a simple sign that read “Morgantown Federal Correctional Institute.” Behind the fence were other buildings spread out over a sprawling campus, reminding me of a small college. Men in brown-pressed uniforms stood around, looking like maintenance men on their break. The mood was light as they talked with ease. Some laughed, others kept their heads down. Some were working. Some were working out.
“Ok, Maria. Ready to see Dad?”
I took a deep breath convincing myself all would be okay. Muttering, “I’m okay, Dad’s okay, it will be a good day.”
“Did you say something?”
“No.”
I repeated my mantra, under my breath this time.
Inside the visiting room, the clock above the check-in desk read seven am. Although it was well before the limited visiting hours, there was already a short line snaking back from a security checkpoint. Compared to the long lines and aggressive security at LAX, this would be a cakewalk.
We aimed to get there early to maximize our time together. What felt like an eternity waiting was only twenty minutes. When we finally made it to the front of the security line, one of the guards stepped in front of me and declared, “You!”
I stepped back. “Me?”
He glared at my mom and sister but directed his voice towards me. “I’m talking to all of you. You are not dressed appropriately.”
I looked down at my cropped pants and t-shirt and started to ask how else we were supposed to dress. Always polite and compliant, my mom interrupted me. “I’m sorry. I thought we were dressed modestly, sir.”
The guard seemed to notice our confusion and innocence. “You can return if you change into appropriate clothing.”
“I understand, sir, but we came from Pittsburgh this morning after I just flew cross country from L.A., and we don’t have other clothing with us.”
We went too far. “Then we’ll see you next time.” The guard dismissed us with a wave of his hand. “Next!”
We walked past a now endless line of visitors in a walk of shame. Some seemed to pity us, and some seemed to be excited that our drop out of the line would give them a better placement.
Driving down the road, I spotted a gas station. “Mom, stop here.” I rolled down the window and waved to the attendant. “Excuse me, sir, where is the closest place to buy clothing?”
“Super K- about eight miles away.”
The attendant started pointing and gesturing as if that would help us understand his local West Virginian twang, “Go dahn there about two or so miles and you will see an old Dairy Queen, take a left. Then go through two lights, hang a right go for another few miles, and take a slight left. Go past Sam’s Deli and then look to the left, and you will see the Super K.”
With no pen in sight and nothing to write with anyway, we listened intently, and when he was done, we tried repeating it back. He interrupted and started again. After the second time through, we stopped trying, thanked the attendant, and pulled away, hoping that somehow our lost ship would find its destination. Costanzo women have a terrible sense of direction, so none of us were surprised when we ended up in a residential neighborhood instead of a Super K. We flagged down a man getting into his car to go to work.
“Excuse me, do you know where the Super K is?”
Luckily, our detour was not that far off. We hurried into the store like a scene from the popular 90’s show Super Market Sweep and quickly decided on sweatshirts and sweatpants—cheap, useful around the house, and not revealing. At this point, the fact that it was registering 97 outside was a negligible consequence at most. We came here to see my dad and that we were determined to do.
By the time we returned to the security line, there was little visiting time left. A tiny fan pushed hot air towards the guards, and we sweated profusely in the waiting room, having hurriedly put the sweat suits on over our clothing. After a stiff look from the captain-friendly cop, we were ushered into a large room with cafeteria-style folding tables. There was a speaker high up in the cinder block wall that we had to assume could work both ways.
As we walked in, there was an order to the loud room otherwise filled with chaos. It seemed a lot of the visitors were repeat customers, and they knew the drill. Although I was clueless, I also somehow ended up ahead of my mom and sister. I took a seat at the first open table I found, right next to the vending machines. Across the room, my mom whispered “No!” with a gasp, and before I could stand up again a woman with short hair and a commanding, but quiet voice stepped in front of me. “You can’t sit here.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a guard start a slow walk towards us, his hand on his still-belted billy club. I stood up, and as I quickly scanned for another table, the woman gestured. “Come this way.”
I followed the woman as she walked along the exterior walls to an unoccupied section on the far side of the room. “There is a woman that is in the processing room now, and she has been visiting for the past thirteen years. That was her table.” There was a hierarchy of visiting that I wasn’t privy to.
The stranger patted a table bathed in scorching sunlight, and as I sat down, she sat at the table next to me. The guard slowly walked past, his hand still on the billy club. I stared at the top of the table. Eventually, he walked back across the room, nearer to the fan.
The woman turned to me and whispered, “It’s a little hot over here, but no one bothers you and it is out of earshot.”
My mom and sister finally caught up. As they sat down, my mom smiled at the strange woman at the table next to us.
“How are you, Margie? How’s Jim?”
“You know. At least he has Joe.”
“I’m sorry. I’m glad they can be there for one another. Margie, this is our Maria. She just arrived from California.”
“Yes, we’ve met.”
An older man in a prison uniform approached, and Mom waved. He nodded a greeting as he sat down across from Margie. My mom whispered, “Have a good visit.”
Across the room, I saw a familiar face. My dad. He was in a prison uniform and looked thinner and healthier than I remember. I stood up to help him to our table, but my mom grabbed my hand and pulled me down. “Maria, we are not allowed to hug or have any physical contact. Anything that gives attention to Dad in here is bad. Don’t do anything that gets him noticed.”
As Dad walked past Margie and Jim, he gave a slight nod. This was bizarre. Nothing my dad ever did was nonchalant. He had a presence that lit up the room and a volume to follow. But here, it seemed he was just trying his best to blend in with everyone else.
When he sat down at our table, he just smiled with a tear in his eye. “Maria, it is good to see you. Thanks for coming.”
Chapter 2: Am-a-du It
BEEP, BEEP, BEEP. I hit the snooze button for the second time.
“Maria, stop hitting snooze. The only person who is getting more rest is you,” Joe rolled away from me covering his head with a pillow.
“Just five more minutes, I promise.”
“Forget it, I’m up,” Joe moved the cat to my side.
“Joe, I’m sorry, I’m just tired. This weekend was a lot for me.”
He looked at me with a small amount of empathy, but his lack of being a morning person overtook any pity. “It’s fine, I had to get up anyways.” I fell asleep again as he stumbled into the shower.
The snooze alarm blared again, and I quickly disabled it rustling out of the covers myself. Joe kissed me on the cheek on his way out the door.
“What time do you work today?”
“10-6.”
“Are you home for dinner?”
“Yes, Joe. I’ll cook. Are you?”
“I’ll try…I’m late!” And he was gone.
I grabbed the first business suit I could see and threw it on. I put my hair up in a bun and sprinkled on a little blush and lipstick so I didn’t look completely pale. I never understood why I needed to wear a business suit while working at a university. To me, college was not a corporate affair. But what did I know?
L.A. traffic was light, so I stopped for a breakfast sandwich at the mini-mart across the street from my office. As I walked into work, a voice behind me called out, “The top seller still needs to get to work on time!” I turned around to see my longtime friend Dave grinning.
“Late on your first day, and you’re calling me out?”
“Second day. Where have you been?!”
“In all the years I’ve known you, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this dressed up.”
“I clean up well, don’t I?”
“Not bad.”
“But really, where have you been?”
We both fell silent as we entered the Admissions Office. The office was empty, except for a short man in a much more expensive suit leaning against my desk. He looked at his watch, looked at us, and said, “Amadu. Conference room.” I looked at the calendar next to my desk, and sure enough, “Corporate Visit” was written in my handwriting on today’s date.
We filed into the mostly-full conference room, the large screen in front projecting “YOUR FUTURE IS HERE.” As we took two seats near the back, my boss stepped to the front.
“You all know Amadu, he is visiting from London to spend the week here with us.”
A dapper man in his 30s in a three-piece designer suit and shiny, pointy Italian shoes interrupted in a thick Nigerian accent. “Amadu thanks you. Today Amadu is going to graciously teach you all that you need to know to work for the job of your dreams.”
Both Dave and I tried to hold in our laughter, but I was not as successful. I quickly grabbed a tissue from my pocket and turned my cackle into a big sneeze. Unfortunately, that did not cut it.
“Excuse me Ms. What-is-Your-Name?” He looked over in my direction.
I tried to look past him thinking he was referring to someone else.
Amadu now addressed his official sidekicks, “Who is this?” Pointing to me.
My boss was quick to throw me under the bus. “Her. That’s Maria Costanzo, she’s one of my speakers.”
“Maria Costanzo, Admissions Department, stand up.”
“Yes?”
“I’m going to tell you what A-ma-du.”
With that, I heard a faint giggle from Dave, and it was over. My small cackle turned into roaring laughter and Dave followed suit.
“You two think this is funny, now, don’t you?”
I tried holding my giggles in as I stammered, “I’m sorry.” Dave cut me off, and said with a straight face, “Ama-not-du that again. Am-a sorry. Mr. Amadu.”
Amadu stepped back and paused in front of the mirror next to the lectern. After considering his reflection, he turned back to us. “Both of you separate, do not let this happen again or Am-a-du what Am-a-have-to-du.” I bit my lip and we both walked robotically to opposite corners, never making eye contact again during the meeting.
As soon as Amadu signed off saying, “Am-a make it a great day and that’s what Am-a-du today,” Dave and I broke for the door. I looked at the clock. It was around 11 a.m.
“You want to grab lunch?”
“Sure.”
My boss intercepted us as we veered towards the exit. “Maria. Anaheim, Econ. First class starts in an hour. Jacqueline called out sick.”
“But that’s at least an hour in traffic!”
He handed me a file, with a post-it on top with hand-written directions. “That’s exactly how much time you have.” And he disappeared down the hall.
The 405 was okay for midday, and I pulled into the parking lot with ten minutes to spare. I grabbed my presentation from the trunk and walked towards a large concrete building with bars over the windows and barbed wire fences surrounding the property. A sign at the entrance read, “Enter at your own risk.” I turned and pressed the Lock button on my car remote, hearing the reassuring “Beep.”
The entrance was a large gate that properly held the outside world out. After searching for a way in, I found a buzzer and pushed it.
A voice came over the intercom, “Are you here from probation?”
“No, I’m here as a guest speaker.”
“Are you sure you are in the right place?”
I was actually thinking the same thing. “Is this Anaheim Alternative High School?”
“Yeah, this is it. Which teacher are you here to see?”
“Mr. Jiminez.”
“Okay, do you have any weapons, hair extensions, or metal of any kind on your person?”
“No.”
“Okay, I’m buzzing you in. Check-in at the office.”
With that, I entered the campus of what appeared to be much more like a prison than a high school. On the other side of the door was a metal detector, with an armed security guard on the far side. I placed my things on the belt and walked through. I was surprised to see that no students were walking to classrooms. The interior was essentially bare. I tried to break the ice by saying, “Where is everyone?”
The guard stared at me.
“Where are the students?”
“They are all locked in their classes. Please report directly to the office.” He pointed to a door down the hall.
The door was locked, so I pressed another buzzer. “Hi, It’s Maria. I’m here for Mr. Jiminez’s class.”
A buzz opened the door. As I tried to figure out something to say to break the ice, the lady behind the desk stopped me. “Have a seat there ma’am. Wait for your escort.”
“Thank you.”
As I sat down, an armed guard dragged a kid in handcuffs. The kid had a swollen eye and blood on his ear. The guard glanced at me, and called out to the secretary, “Would someone please put this lady in a secure office?”
I got up quickly and the woman led me into a conference area where a Catholic nun full habit sat staring out the bulletproof window clutching her rosary. “I’m going to shut this door and it will automatically lock both ways. Don’t worry, I’ll be back for you when this is all over.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t worry, this happens all the time. Protocol.”
The steel door shut with a clang, and all of a sudden, I was in solitary confinement with a nun, who was deep in prayer and did not want to be interrupted.
My anxiety piqued [JP1] taking me right back to Morgantown as through the walls, I heard the cop say to the young perpetrator, “Shut your fucking mouth Elonzo. If you knew what was good for you, you would have settled this shit on the street instead of at school.”
I sat quietly staring at the wall waiting and hoping for this to be all over. The nun never flinched, she just kept on praying.
In a matter of what felt like a small eternity, I heard sirens. Then footsteps and lots of them. Muffled voices came through the wall, and then the footsteps retreated.
The steel door unlocked. The nun was still staring and praying so I pushed it open to find an empty room, with just the woman at her desk and a different guard by the door. The guard turned to me and asked, “Mr. Jimenez’s class?”
“Is that boy, okay?”
“Oh, that was just protocol. You were perfectly safe. You’re here for Mr. Jimenez, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Follow me.”
As we walked down an empty hallway, the guard questioned me. “What’s the purpose of your visit?”
“I’m here on behalf of AIU, I have a presentation about credit card debt and financial fraud.”
Laughing, “These kids could teach you a thing or two.”
“Oh really, why’s that?”
“You’ll see. Most of these kids are following their parents’ footsteps.”
As we approached Mr. Jimenez’s classroom, the cop looked at me and said, “Be careful in there. If you need me for any reason, holler. Good luck with these monsters.”
I walked into the classroom and Mr. Jiminez didn’t even look up.
“Hi, I’m Ms. Costanzo.”
“You’re late.”
“I’m sorry Mr. Jiminez, but there was an incident downstairs.”
“Alright, well, this class is yours. Good luck.” Mr. Jimenez picked up a book from his desk and sat in a chair in the corner.
I guess this served as my introduction. Kids sleeping, throwing spitballs at one another, and passing notes. This was going to be fun.
“Good morning class.”
No reaction.
“I said, ‘Good morning class.’”
At this point, a couple of kids gave me a half-ass good morning and I took the win.
“Who likes money?”
This was a winning question in the ghetto because half the kids turned towards me and raised their hands.
“Who likes free money?”
The rest of the class turned towards me. As everyone agreed, I launched into my presentation about credit cards, the dangers of debt, and why it is important to establish credit. For fifteen minutes, I felt like Michelle Pfeiffer in Dangerous Minds, holding their undivided attention. Then I asked if anyone had any questions.
“Miss, how do you get a credit card?”
Before I could answer, I heard another kid say, “Look these people don’t give out cards to kids of cons, ain’t that right Miss?”
The class laughed and then quickly silenced to hear my answer. “Credit card companies try their best to limit the risk of who they are granting cards to. They want honest people who will be good with their word in paying them back.”
“Oh snap, dawg. She put you in your place.”
The class roared with laughter as I shuttered with guilt and shame.
