137. Earning Freedom (10.3), by Michael Santos Prison Professors

Earning Freedom: Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term by Michael Santos
Reading Chapter 10.3
Months 180-190
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When I enter the visiting room on New Year’s morning, the large room feels empty. I appreciate the relative silence. Other than the whir of the vending machine, there’s nothing else to distract us. Carole and her daughter sit beside each other in the maroon plastic chairs.
Carole looks lovely in her heavy wool coat, long blonde hair contrasting beautifully against the navy blue. She stands to greet me as I walk toward her.
Nichole sits calmly, showing none of the distress I see in her mother. At 11 she resembles Carole, but with dark hair curling in natural waves around her heart-shaped face. A light sprinkle of freckles dot the bridge of her nose. Her hazel-blue eyes look directly into mine as I kneel in front of her chair and greet her. “You must be Nichole. I’m Michael, and I’m very happy to meet you.”
“Hi Michael. This place is huge.”
“Yes, and we’re lucky that it’s not filled with people already,” I say with a smile.
“Nichole, honey,” Carole says “we’re only going to be here for an hour. Why don’t you get a hot chocolate from the vending machine and then walk over and see what’s in the kids’ area. I need to talk with Michael.”
“But I want to talk with him too.”
“We’re going to visit again in a couple of days,” I tell her. “And if you want, you can sit with your mom and me the whole time. Is that okay?”
Nichole nods her head. Carole hands her several quarters from the clear plastic coin purse she brings for buying the vending machine food. As Nichole walks toward the kids’ area, sipping hot chocolate, I hold Carole’s hands in mine and squeeze them to reassure her. “Did you sleep okay?”
She breathes in deeply and slowly, exhales, and then says she slept fine.
“Honey, I should be comforting you, but we don’t have much time. Because it’s a holiday, every hour we spend in here today is costing us double against our monthly allotment of 30 hours. We have to act fast, and we need a plan, okay?”
“If we run out of time, I think Office Cruz will let me in.”
“Carole,” I caution her, “this is prison. He may have let you in last night because he was alone and he felt sorry for you. We can’t live on the edge like that. We have to budget our visits. The system controls everything and we have to succeed in spite of it.”
“What do you want me to do?” she asks, eyes filling with tears.
“Last night you said you wanted to stay here. Are you sure?”
“I’m absolutely sure.”
“Good, because I want you to stay with me. Every decision we make has to be consistent with our goal of bringing you stability, and it’s not going to be easy  But we have to make a 100 percent commitment to making it work, no matter how painful the decisions.”
“I’ve already got the newspaper and I’m looking for apartments.”
“Honey, think about that. You don’t know this area, the schools, the neighborhood, or where you’re going to work. How much do you think it will cost to rent an apartment?”
“I’m guessing about $1,000 a month, more or less,” she answers.
“To move in, then, you’ll need first, last, and security. Then you’ll need money for utilities and necessities. You’re going to drop $5,000 minimum to set yourself up. That doesn’t seem like a good plan to me, especially since you don’t know where you’ll work or how much you’ll earn. We need stability.”
“What do you think I should do?”
“Remember the story I wrote about Richard, a guy who arrived here a few months ago? You typed it for me and posted it on the Web.”
Carole pauses, trying to recall. “Vaguely. You’ve sent me so many stories.”
“Richard’s wife lives a few miles from here, in Mount Holly. She has a little boy and a four-bedroom house. I asked Richard last night if his wife would rent you a couple of rooms. You could