Tuesday, April 27, 2004

Coincidence of April 24 As I drove toward the valley to attend my son's wedding, I chose a different route from my usual straight shots west and south. I wanted winding, and forests, so I turned south to follow the more circuitous path. Near Susanville, I turned off onto a little byway, a shortcut I know about, that cuts over to town on a little lane and avoids the big traffic. Signs warned that I was approaching High Desert State Prison. I succumbed to a sudden impulse and turned at the main entrance and wended my way past mystery buildings and guard towers and unattended checkpoints to a filled parking lot. I got out and began wandering around, curious, a little scared. I learned recently that my cousin is serving time here, for what I don't know. He and I grew up together. As children, mostly all we had was each other, and we were as close as any two siblings. But I ran off to start a family and go to school and make a life as unlike that of my childhood as I could, and he ran off to make his own very different stories. He would be 48 or 49 now, and prison, I think, is not an unfamiliar place for him to be. I want to know how to find him, how to visit, because everyone else in my family lives hundreds of miles from there. I spotted a crowd gathered before a small building and walked over. It was 12:28 p.m., and these were the Saturday visitors awaiting admittance. All heads turned to gape at me in horror: I'd parked in a forbidden area; I'd left someone (my brother) sitting in the car (forbidden); I wore denim clothing (forbidden); I carried a purse (forbidden); worst of all, I'd arrived uninvited by any inmate (absolutely forbidden). As I approached, several people asked whether this was my first time, and then they recited, rapidly and with fearful expressions, all my transgressions. And the doors to the facility opened, and everyone surged forward. I didn't know it, but I'd walked up at a critical moment. Two minutes later and the doors would have been locked again for the day. (That is the "magic" portion of this story.) I approached the officers standing behind the desk. "I know I'm not dressed appropriately," I said--a female guard nodded sternly--"but I only wanted to get information about how to set up visits with an inmate." I was handed a bright pink sheet of paper covered front and back with rules and restrictions and ushered rapidly out the door. CoIncidence of April 23 I've been informed by everyone that rooms around Chico are impossible to get for the weekend of the wedding. Midspring weekend events have brought thousands of people to the area and every motel is full. The day before I plan to depart for Chico, I call the motel where I usually stay. The gentleman who answers says, "Oh yes, we have one room, 39." I reserve it. When I arrive there the next evening, a woman at the desk tells me I'd done the impossible: there were three people ahead of me on a waiting list. There'd been a cancellation. She'd stepped into the bathroom for a minute and her husband had answered the phone when I called and in his ignorance had given me the room. Tiny magics. 11:20:33 AM    comment []