I guess I’m back.
The ugly brick apartment building, formerly a brick budget hotel, was tall for the location, and in an awkward position; it stood too close to the squat liquor store on one side and loomed over the Salvation Army shelter on the other. The parking lot was littered with candy wrappers, cigarette butts, flyers, and a few empty cups. To the building’s credit, there were a few immature trees with sparse foliage, all of which seemed to have been randomly thrust into the sad, dry lawn, but at least were alive. Not faring as well, a few flower beds were overrun by weeds stubborn enough to stake a claim where everything else had died of neglect a long time ago.
Doesn’t look much different than prison, Run Rivera thought, the place calling to mind the medical and educational building where he’d lined up for dental checks, yearly physicals, therapy three times a week, a six-week GED class, an assortment of writing classes that had never quite seemed to transform his ideas into anything he wanted to read again, and finally classes on how to be some sort of tax paying citizen again. This class was called Out in the World: Don’t Come Back! and the information presented was far too old to be useful. In fact the reintegration intern that ran the classes, a boisterous, friendly, baby-faced guy named Carlos, passed out printouts he’d made on his own time. In a neat, functional table there were websites, phone numbers, and notes on each telling them how to sign up for insurance, food stamps, community college, work, and so on. A lot of the others in the class just left the sheet behind, but Run had folded it carefully into quarters and taken it with him.
Carlos was a decent guy who really wanted to help. He was the only reason Run knew about any of the current programs he was supposed to sign up for. Carlos had also called in a favor with Lena about helping him find a place to live. That he couldn’t really understand. It’s not like they had talked much and unlike others, Run could go back to his moms’ place, stay on the couch. He just didn’t want to, which seemed too small a reason for someone to offer the favor.
He’d slipped Run his number too, the week of his release. “Call me anytime, or you know text, actually. Whatever you like better, I’m easy.”
Run wasn’t totally sure if Carlos was just that friendly or if he was flirting. He didn’t really mind either way, but it would help him know what was expected if he did reach out.
“Run Rivera?” A younger woman in jeans and a Sauner Community College sweatshirt asked, holding her hand out as if she already knew.
“That’s me,” Run said and took her hand, shook it quickly, then let her take the lead.
Lena, Run’s high energy Reintegration Liaison–formerly known as a parole officer before some half-assed attempt at making the justice system more humane, but in language only–chattered from the smoky entryway all the way to the heavy-duty door of his new home. Some of the people smoking outside nodded, and one person said, “oh shit, someone’s PO is here!” but otherwise Run didn’t expect much interaction. He wondered if most of the people who lived here would be formerly incarcerated like him.
Beyond the lobby, long, low hallways held the musty smell of old flooding, smoke, and overpowering carpet powder. Most of the overhead lights flickered and some had simply given up or been forgotten. In addition to the smell, the carpet was the same hue of never-been-cleaned-beige as the walls while the elevator seemed understandably exhausted, taking a long time to reach the eighth and final floor.
“Be sure to register your employment as soon as you have a start date. You’re going to work for your moms, right?” Run would never ask how Lena was, but he couldn’t help but think she looked too casual for how he pictured a parole officer. Did parole officers wear jeans and oversized sweatshirts and snapback caps? Surely they didn’t wear high top Nike’s instead of uncomfortable shoes, right? Reintegration Liaison, not parole officer.
“Huh?” Lena gave him a puzzled smile. “Reintegration Liaison not what?”
“Ah, sorry, didn’t realize I said that. What were you saying?”
“Sure.” She studied him for a brief moment and then continued. “You’ll be working at your moms’ store, right?”
“I am. I start next week.”
“Be sure to also register your phone, once you have one, too. You’ll need to do your location check-ins from it. Do you have any questions about that? It’ll be up to you to be somewhere with signal and gps.”
Lena had covered it twice, so Run gathered that missing a check-in was pretty serious. For the next six months he also wouldn’t be able to leave the city without permission from Lena. “Mhm, I got it – check in at 7am and 7pm everyday.”
“Okay then. If you need anything or have any questions check your paperwork or give me a call. Memorize my ID, there’s very little leniency for missing a check in. Also, make sure you get your new therapist to send the attendance report. You’ve got to schedule an appointment with them in the next two weeks.”
“Will do.” Run walked slightly behind Lena as they turned down one hallway and then another, black backpack slung over one shoulder and slapping against him with every other step until they stopped at the second to last door in that hallway. Compared to the others it appeared to have been scrubbed clean sometime in the last decade.
“Alright, this is you, I’ll see you in person on Friday, and your first check in is tomorrow night so again, get your phone squared away, yeah?”
“Understood. I’ll take care of it right away.”
Run didn’t really care where he landed all that much. Being picky wasn’t really an option, he was just ready to sleep in a room by himself. In a bed, not a metal bunk. He was relieved to have a furnished room behind this door, not that he knew what state it would be in.
Lena handed him the keys to #808 with a flourish, like she was taking a little brother to college, and Run took them with a small smile. “Thanks,” he said. “Is there anything else I need to do today?”
“Not really. You’ve got my number if you need anything. I think there’s actually a pay phone that takes coins at the Salvation Army if you need it, but again I really suggest you take care of your phone as soon as your card has money on it, unless maybe your moms are going to help out?” Run shrugged, but he knew it was likely they had already taken care of the phone, even though he’d said not to worry about it on their last visit before release.
“Speaking of,” Lena continued, still standing in front of the door, “ I just want to remind you again that this is your grant card, don’t lose it, it’s damn near impossible to get another one and then you’ll be SOL. Read the note on the back so you can set your PIN up. You’ll get enough for rent and some cheap groceries for the next 90 days and then you’ll need to manage that yourself or apply for more benefits, which bluntly speaking are difficult to get so don’t count on it. All of this is in your paperwork, too. Any questions?”
The money on that card was thanks to another program Carlos had put on the sheet and would definitely help, but a few hundred wouldn’t stretch too far. “I think I’m good for now.Thank you for your help.”
“Okay, that’s great. Your roommate, Neko, has been here a long time and they’re really familiar with all of this so you’ll be in good hands. And reminder, they and them pronouns, don’t fuck that up.”
“I won’t,” Run promised. “Are they a friend of yours?”
“Something like that, so behave.” Lena patted his shoulder. “Go check your new place out, yeah?”
Inside was much better than outside. Still, he found himself walking lightly, as if trying not to make any noise. It was a habit, it seemed, one born in close quarters where it made for a much more pleasant experience if no one bothered anyone. His first bunkie was older, in his sixties, and had been in for a long time with a long time to go. He had a lot of advice to give, most of it around getting along with people who were not interested in getting along with anyone.
How would this situation go? This bunk–nope, roommate appeared to be neat, which was always nice. The counters were clean, the sink was empty, and there were vacuum lines visible in the carpet. There was a faint lemon smell in the kitchen, bleach in the bathroom. Even if they didn’t turn out to be regularly tidy they had at least cared enough to clean before his arrival.
“Hello,” Run said. It was an afterthought. It didn’t feel like anyone else was in the apartment. No one answered.
As well as clean, the apartment was also a little charming. It seemed Neko had used the faded, orange floral wallpaper and a collection of aging wood-framed furniture to good effect. Against the longest wall ran a davenport with olive green cushions. Tucked on each end were two mustard-tweed chairs, and across from this sitting area, separated by a narrow coffee table, was a long credenza with a TV hung over it, the shelves filled with more books than games and more games than movies. So much for tenants shall not hang anything from the walls or ceilings in the apartment. In further open defiance of the tenant agreement he’d read through with Lena, green plants hung from hooks in every corner and sat on every open surface, ranging from long and leafy to small and new. He only recognized the spider plants and aloe, since they were ones his moms managed to keep alive. Any other plant had lived a brief over-watered, under-lit life before rotting roots up in terra cotta pots.
A bookshelf rested against every wall, each one a different style and finish as well as at capacity. Run’s cursory glance showed no real system of categorization. Alphabetized? No. Genre? Definitely not. Color? Mmm, maybe but probably not.
With affection, he tapped the spines of a couple old friends: A Murder in Every Way, number two in a popular mystery series, and The Ragheart Gang, a childrens’ novel about a gang of foster kids who solved mysteries and managed to stick together despite all odds. The author had been through the system too and managed to write a book that wasn’t slick with the sort of damp pity he was used to finding in conversation with people who had never had the experience.
Moving on, still quietly, the bathroom was close to the entry door, with a side closet next to it and another door between that small section and the main living area. The kitchenette was placed along a wall as an afterthought and the cupboards over the small stove seemed out of place. The bedrooms were on either side of the living room, making it feel a bit like a somewhat wider than normal hallway, but someone, possibly Neko, had made good use of shelving, plants, and books so it felt warm instead of cramped. There were no windows in the living room, but the sliding glass door let in a good amount of light and the tiny balcony offered two folding chairs and one large plant.
There was a folded note taped to the open door of one of the bedrooms. It was addressed to Run, which meant someone, likely Lena, had given Neko a heads up about him. He paused for a second to consider what Neko had been told and then pulled the note down.
Smiling, Run went the rest of the way into his room. Neko had done considerably more than just throw some things on the bed, rather they had neatly made the bed up with soft grey sheets and a heavy patchwork quilt tucked in along all the edges. The dresser and desk surfaces had been cleaned and a small potted plant sat on each. When Run opened the drawers of the squat, slightly weathered dresser he found another note that simply said ‘Just in case!’ on top of a pair of pajama pants and a grey t-shirt.
His backpack held a ziplock back with an unopened bar of soap, sample-size 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner, worn out socks and underwear, his court paperwork, a copy of the tenant agreement now, and a stack of letters. He’d had to leave any other clothing behind since it belonged to the Department of Corrections and would be repurposed. Anything else he had given away to newer folks–pens, pencils, paper, books, headphones and radio, none of it needed to come with him. The only exception was Deciduous Trees of the Midwest, a thin, illustrated paperback book about different kinds of trees that he had carried with him from one place to the next for a decade. It also had names, addresses, even emails belonging to former bunk and cellmates, written on the blank pages. He didn’t think he would contact many, if any, of them, but he still didn’t want to leave it behind.
He put his few belongings away and then took a plastic bag with a bar of soap, a toothbrush, toothpaste, plastic razor, and comb out of the backpack pocket and went to take his first shower as a free man. Unsurprisingly, there was already a towel laid out, this time with another small note.
Note: I don’t know how frequently I will get these chapters up — looking at a couple a week, but maybe more, maybe less. I’m really pissing around with the setting here – thinking not too far future, still this planet.
UPDATED 3/4/22 – +1000 words
Please introduce yourselves!
Run: *mic screeches awkwardly* Hello. I’m Run.
Neko: Hello! Hi! =^.^= *dance music* =^.^= =^.^= *dance music* =^.^= You can’t see me yet!