Mindf*cked

The words blown away, astounded, flabbergasted, shocked, dumbfounded, furious, raging, and utterly pissed off didn't quite cover how Josephine felt when she was sentenced to half a year in jail, followed by another two and a half years of probation. There were no words in the English dictionary to describe the utter disbelief, anguish, and frustration she felt. To say she was sorry she didn't beat the shit out of her neighbors somehow, some way, when she had the chance to, was the understatement of the century. At least if she had actually done something, then she would deserve what she was getting. But even if she'd been the one to write those threatening, hateful words, how could one receive such a harsh sentence for words? Just words. Mean and hateful or not, what happened to the old adage about sticks and stones breaking our bones but names never hurting us? How had people become so sensitive and so obsessed with political correctness that one could get away with doing so much worse as long as the “proper” races and nationalities were involved and certain keywords weren’t? Josephine wasn't stupid, though. She knew that the first neighbor's connection to the police was part of her problem. Josephine had never felt so powerless and angry in her life. She hated God above, if there ever was one, for allowing this to happen to her. But this was the year 2000, not 1800. People tended to side with Black people even when there was nothing to side with in the first place. Things had changed, and they weren't going to unchange anytime soon. Playing the race card was in, and people were going to do just that if it got them what they wanted in life—and they would do it without a care in the world as to how it might affect others. And so, feeling helpless as ever and coming to believe that some people actually made their own haters, she suffered six months of cold showers and barely edible food, surrounded by what was mostly druggies and hookers. That wasn't to mention the depression that overcame her when she thought of her husband. Both of them were alone and without each other. She missed their pets and the everyday comforts that went with home sweet home. She couldn't wear her own clothes. She couldn't sleep in her own bed. Hell, she couldn't even use her own fucking toothbrush. The ordeal was beginning to make her see Black people in a different light. Where she once saw them as victims and knew that some still were just that, she was fast becoming the hater she'd been accused of being. Seriously, though, it didn't start out as a racial issue. They were the ones who had brought race into the picture and made it a racial matter. The judge, however, focused solely on the supposed threats in their little fictitious letter. That still hadn't scored him any points as far as Josephine was concerned. The bastard still imposed a ridiculous sentence upon her. The judge may not have made the laws or even the sentences. However, he could have gone easier on her if he was determined to make her pay for something she should never have had to pay for in the first place, guilty or not. During her time in county jail, she found the jail was everything and nothing she had imagined it to be. For the most part, it was nothing like on TV or in the movies. The girls weren’t beating the shit out of each other every other minute, and they weren't drop-dead gorgeous or engaged in wild orgies either. They definitely did hit on other inmates at times, though Josephine declined all advances. She was definitely attracted to a few of the detention officers and tried to focus on that, even having a little fun flirting so as to keep her mind off Burton and home. If she thought of how much she missed him, she would simply break down in tears and make her time much harder. The anger she felt toward those who put her there in the first place was difficult enough to deal with. Therefore, for the first four months or so, she found it best to try to push Burton out of her mind whenever possible and focus on other things. Like Officer J. M. Palma. The Hispanic officer came off as gruff, but there was still something about her that appealed to Josephine. Where Josephine was in her mid-thirties at the time, she estimated Palma to be around 30 years old. Palma was of average height and weight, with dark eyes fringed with thick lashes. Her black glossy hair was almost frizzy, suggesting she could be part Black. But Josephine didn't care. Again, she didn't have a problem with people's race, color, or nationality. She only had a problem with assholes. Palma, although very professional, seemed to have a soft spot for her. She was still very by the book, and even though Josephine suspected she would go easier on her if she caught her with contraband or doing anything else she shouldn't be doing, she respected the officer enough to behave when she was on duty. Most of the officers were actually quite friendly, but there were a few overly strict ones who never seemed to care for her. They probably bought into the media's slander, including that of the so-called victims, which had never been checked out and verified before printing. Josephine really came to like a few of the inmates, but there were only a few that she found physically attractive, whether she liked their personalities or not. Officer Palma was definitely the best-looking of the officers in her opinion, but it would be Officer Johnson who really came to like her. It surprised Josephine too, because she thought that sort of thing only happened in the movies. But it was true. Officer Johnson really had been attracted to her. She had suspected as much before confirming it. Johnson was absolutely nothing like Palma, though. While Johnson was no one to mess with, the five-foot-ten-inch, 200-pound redhead with eyes the color of weak tea was cool as hell. She was friendly, down-to-earth, and had a great sense of humor. Even though she was considered unattractive by most people's standards, her addictive personality made her seem attractive anyway. Officers like her and the few inmates she actually got along with made her time a little more bearable when she didn't have the luxury of visiting with Burton. She was only able to see him twice a week. Even though she didn't follow every single rule to a T, she managed not to do anything to jeopardize her visitation and commissary privileges. When it finally came time for her release, she was surprised to feel a sense of sadness along with joy and elation. She knew she would miss a few people. She and Johnson, however—who never revealed her first name even when Josephine would have fun trying to guess it—agreed to get together a year later. Johnson had claimed that this was the rule as far as inmates getting together with officers went. Josephine missed her quite a bit as the months went on, but she also came to realize something along the way. If Officer Johnson really wanted to see her that badly, even if only as a friend, then why bother waiting a year? Who would be checking up on them to know any better? That was when she came to the sad realization that Johnson had never been very serious. Maybe she had been at the time, but then something came up to change her mind along the way. Maybe she realized she didn't want to hang out with a married woman she could never have. Or maybe she had met someone. No matter the case, Josephine couldn't help but feel a bit hurt and a little angry. She could have at least had the courtesy to call and explain why she preferred not to get together. She and her husband eventually got on with their lives and finally walked away from the legal vendetta altogether. It left Josephine forever changed when it came to her views on Black people as well as law enforcement. Where laws used to favor whites, now they favored Black people.