Chapter 1
A blissful, yet dreamless, sleep was interrupted by the shrill scream of an alarm. An arm shot out from under a pile of blankets, blindly flailing in an attempt to silence the piercing sound that woke Jessie from her slumber. She let out an annoyed groan.
“Alright, alright, I’m up,” she grumbled, as if the inanimate object could hear her.
She sat up in her bed and removed the layers of blankets, stretching as she let out another drawn out noise. Nearly silent footsteps padded over to the small bathroom of the young woman’s one bedroom apartment. She’d glanced at the clock as she rolled out of bed, and she knew that she didn’t have time to shower this morning, so splashing her face with water would have to do for now.
She raked through her slightly disheveled hair with her fingers, in an attempt to throw herself together a bit. She followed up with a quick smudge of eyeliner and a lip tint. She beelined for her closet, throwing together a simple outfit consisting of a t-shirt and comfy jeans before returning to the bathroom to quickly brush her teeth, promising herself a to-go coffee and bagel from the cute little coffee shop near today’s excursion.
She was excited for today. She got to do something she’d wanted to accomplish for a long time: art therapy for inmates.
Her friends had tried to talk her out of it and listed off a few dangers of the job, but being a recent art history graduate, she wanted to do more with her degree. Sure, she could sit in an office all day and collect dust as new generations of art students came to learn about the creative world, but she felt another calling to her. Art therapy was something that most people would only hear of in movies, and she wanted to make it a reality.
Jessie familiarized herself with the short route to the Metropolitan Corrections Facility, as it was only a few blocks from her New York City apartment. Conveniently, the coffee shop she’d been hyping herself up about was on the way, so she swung in for a cup of liquid caffeine and a toasted bagel. She passed by the now-familiar small businesses and family-owned shops as she strode down the sidewalk, watching the sunrise cast a morning glow across the city.
Finally turning the corner, she let her gaze fall onto the large building that housed over 200 incarcerated people. Her heart broke as she thought of the possibilities of a broken system punishing people that had no business being locked up. She shook the thoughts out of her head. There wasn’t much to be done about it today, but she could certainly hope for reform in the future. Her goal for today, and hopefully the foreseeable future, was to change lives with art therapy.
She entered the building, checking in with the guards at the front of the building and leaving any personal belongings with them. The guards seemed less than interested in her arrival and were probably awaiting a shift change.
“Hi, uh, I’m Jessie Alexander. I had a scheduled thing with, um, the therapist here… I’m a-another therapist, an art therapist-,” she stuttered, ultimately being cut off by one of the guards.
“That’s enough,” his mundane voice spoke.
He flipped through a few sheets of paper that were stacked not-so-neatly on the desk and after finding what he was looking for, he curtly nodded. He fiddled with something under the desk, triggering a buzzing sound. A heavy door produced a clinking noise, which she assumed was some sort of lock undoing itself. The guard pushed the door open from his side, allowing her to walk through. He guided her down a series of hallways, each looking more drab and bleak than the last. Forty million thoughts were going through her head as she knew she’d never be able to recognize a way out of here.
Finally, they approached a large doorway, which led to a bigger room with a few tables, chairs, and boxes of supplies. An older man with slicked back hair, donned in the stereotypical therapist get-up (complete with a sweater vest and nicer slacks), turned to greet them at the sound of the guard’s boots scuffing against the floor. He wasn’t terribly older than her, but he certainly had a few more gray hairs than she did, and his kind eyes were surrounded by soft wrinkles.
“What’s the problem?” The man asked.
By the looks of it, he hadn’t even spotted the shorter woman as the guiding guard nearly towered over her and blocked Jessie from his sight. The guard stepped to the side, revealing the awkward artist that stood behind him.
“Mrs. Alexander, sir.” The guard provided.
“Uh, that’s Ms. Alexander,” she corrected, huffing out a small laugh.
The man’s posture immediately changed as he recognized the name. He clapped his hands together in delight as he spoke.
“Ah! Ms. Alexander, what a pleasure to have you in our facility. I’m Dr. Anderson, we spoke on the phone.”
The psychiatrist stepped closer to the pair, extending a welcoming hand for Jessie to shake. She returned his greeting with a friendly smile. Dr. Anderson turned to the guard, muttering something of a dismissal to the man. He turned back to her and began explaining that this is where she would set up shop, and how the boxes were full of paints, pencils, paper, and other various sorts of art supplies.
“Dr. Anderson, thank you so much for this opportunity. I’m excited to begin working with the people in this facility,” she stated.
“Ah, please, call me Charlie. We’re an informal bunch around here, as you’ll learn soon.”
“How soon is that?” She asked.
The doctor raised an eyebrow at her question, but didn’t say anything further. She huffed out a small sigh.
“I mean, when will I get to meet them? I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks!” She nearly cheered.
Charlie let out a chuckle at her enthusiasm. He turned around to grab a stack of papers that had been sitting on a table, which she clearly hadn’t noticed. He rifled through them for a moment before stacking them neatly back together again.
“Well, I suppose we could start with a small group today. Now, no one that I bring in here will be particularly dangerous, but a guard will be present just to be safe. Is that alright?”
It was then that it had kind of hit Jessie that she would be working with patients that most people would consider to be unworthy. The list of words that she’d heard from people who didn’t understand circled through her head.
Prisoners. Felons. Convicts. Criminals.
She shook the thoughts from her head and agreed to Dr. Anderson’s terms. He confirmed it with a soft-spoken ‘alright then’ and mentioned that he’d be right back. Her nerves were starting to get to her as she was left alone in the large craft room. She wasn’t sure if that’s what the room’s original intent was, (hell, she highly doubted that), but that’s what it was going to be for her. The small-statured brunette was excited, but nervous at the same time. Meeting new people always came with some expectations, but this was very much new territory for her.
As she slowly came out of her little thought bubble, Dr. Anderson waltzed back into the room, followed by a half dozen men and another armed guard. The inmates were clad in generic, beige clothes sets and each had different distinguishing features. One man was taller than everyone in the room. He was bald and had pale white skin that was decorated with a few tattoos. She wondered if he was taller than the guard that had originally directed her here. Another man had thick, dark hair that was pulled back into a messy bun. He had darker skin, but he didn’t appear to be of African origins, as far as she could tell. With her limited studies of cultures and ethnicity, she assumed that he might be of some sort of middle eastern descent.
A lanky African-American man with neat, uniform braids in his hair followed after them. She continued to make mental notes of each man’s appearance as they filed into the room before getting to the last man in the group: a muscular white man with shoulder-length, chestnut-colored hair. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, revealing a star-shaped tattoo on his left bicep. As she was looking him over, piercing blue eyes met hers, nearly eliciting a gasp from her lips. Every other pair of eyes in the room had some look of confusion to them, for those that would actually look at her. Two of the men weren’t actually bothered to acknowledge Jessie, but these blue eyes held something new in them. It almost seemed like… genuine curiosity? The inmates had gathered in a half circle a few feet away from her, per their line leader's orders. She noticed that the guard stayed by the doorway of the room.
Dr. Anderson interrupted her train of thought as he spoke.
“Alright, gentlemen, this here is Dr. Jessie Alexander. She’ll be visiting with us on a regular basis to show us how helpful a creative outlet can be. Why don’t you all go ahead and introduce yourselves.” He prompted.
The title of Dr. Jessie Alexander was still so foreign to her. She’d received her Doctorate in Creative Studies from Barnard College just over 4 months ago, but this was the first time that she’d be using it in a professional setting.
“Oh good, so we get to talk about our feelings during arts and crafts time?” The bald man spoke.
His deep voice boomed in the practically empty room. This earned a few snickers from a couple of the other inmates, a shorter hispanic man and another white man who couldn’t have been much older than her. The poor thing looked as if he was one cigarette away from keeling over. The yellow nicotine stains on his teeth that showed when he laughed practically confirmed her assumption. The psychiatrist let out an unamused sigh.
“You lot are children most days, I swear,” Charlie started. “I guess I’ll introduce my kids on their behalf.”
He stepped out of line and pointed towards each man as he recited their names and attempted to give a fun fact about them. He started with the bald man, who had already made a first impression of himself.
“This is John, but those of us in the facility lovingly refer to him as Chief. It makes him feel like he has a bit of power,” Charlie joked.
The quick remark made Jessie nervous, she obviously wasn’t used to their antics and wasn’t sure how the large man would respond. Yet, he remained silent and rolled his eyes at the doctor’s comment. That made her feel slightly better. The doctor continued to introduce the men in the line: Abraham, Dominic, Santiago, and Nicholas. Finally, Dr. Anderson got to the end of the line where Blue Eyes was.
“And this young man is James. He doesn’t talk much, but he grows on you like a tumor.”
James didn’t give much of a reaction towards Charlie’s joke, so much as a stare. Jessie nodded at their introductions and finally spoke.
“Okay! Well, it’s nice to meet you all. I’m Dr. Jessie Alexander, but you guys can just call me Jessie or Jess, I’m not picky. I’m gonna do my best to remember all of your names, so bear with me on that.”
The art therapist went on a tangent about art studies and where she had gone to school, just to give a bit of information about herself to the group. As she spoke, about half of the inmates were actually listening, but the blue-eyed man looked at the small woman before him in wonder. Prior to being incarcerated, he wasn’t very good at art, but he did love to hear about it. He had a friend in his hometown who was very artistic, and he’d never shut up about it. Before he’d met Steve, he never would’ve known who Jackson Pollock or Claude Monet were. Now, he felt that he could spot resemblances of their works in everyday life.
Steve would probably call him a dork for that. He cracked a smile at the thought.
The group of inmates watched as Jessie set up the tables for their first “assignment.” She used that word while making quotation marks with her fingers. Her reasoning for this was that nothing that they would do here is a requirement, but just a way for them to express themselves. She set out good quality drawing paper and dull charcoal pencils at a few of the tables. The Chief, Santiago, and Nicholas gathered at one table, Abraham and Dominic at another. This left James to wander by himself to an empty table.
He sat down and grabbed a charcoal pencil and a piece of paper, and started sketching. Jessie was intrigued by his behavior, but tried not to make it so obvious. Dr. Anderson stayed close to the group, but sat off to the side of the room, muttering something to Jessie about finishing up some paperwork at a nearby desk. This gave Jessie the opportunity to ramble a bit about charcoal drawings and the origins of this particular medium. After a while, she began wandering around to the three tables that the inmates had divided themselves into. She made comments here and there, recognizing that some of the men had a bit of talent in their hands.
“That’s good work, Santiago. The overall vibe of your drawing is reminding me of Da Vinci’s sketchbook,” she praised.
The hispanic man lifted his head, stopping the continuous scribbling on the page.
“Which one was Da Vinci?” He asked, as curious as a child learning about a new topic for the first time.
She chuckled, letting him know that they’d go over different kinds of art and their artists next time. He was satisfied with this answer and went back to drawing. Jessie found her way over to James’ table, where he was making light strokes with the charcoal, occasionally lifting his hand to smudge the drawing with the tip of his finger. This brought a small smile to her face. She pulled out a chair at the table and sat down. He acted as if she was invisible.
“James, you’ve been holding out on me. You didn’t tell me you had any previous experience as an artist,” she spoke quietly.
His behavior alone explained that he wasn’t one to be in the spotlight, and probably wouldn’t take too kindly to the extra attention it may bring to have her loudly announcing his familiarity with blending techniques. James was silent as he continued working. She sat there for a moment longer before muttering something to him about keeping up the good work. She knew it felt very teacher-esque to say, but she wasn’t sure what else to say to him at that moment. He wasn’t exactly one for conversation, but she felt that this is what drew her to him.