![]() "It wasn't fun calling my department and telling my boss what a fool you'd made of me." Finally, her voice crept out into the quiet, rusty and muffled by her tear-thickened throat. I noticed that her yellow detention shirt was spotted with moisture, presumably from unseen tears, but still she didn't speak. I can wait a long time, sitting in silence too loud for most kids to stand. The silence stretched out like a yoyo spring, and I waited for the eventual rebound when she would be forced to open her mouth and speak. She stared at the floor, avoiding my eyes. Flaca took a seat on the concrete slab across from my own and looked down, apparently paying particular attention to the drain. Doors slam in different sections of the building, echoing against the concrete and metal, and are the only sounds you hear for the long minutes spent waiting for your client to arrive.Ī youth corrections worker delivered Flaca to the visitation cell. Like the walls, the floors are concrete, with a drain in the middle of the cell so they can be cleaned more easily, with a hose. They are used by defense attorneys, parents, and case workers, to visit directly with incarcerated clients, review cases, and share brief moments of family interaction. These cells have plexiglass and concrete walls, the better to see you with, and heavy metal doors that slam shut with a sound like a tomb. When you've been cleared, the correction worker escorts you to a visitation cell. She went to prison for her smuggling effort, he racked up a longer stay in a secure juvenile facility. The packets had been passed from her body to his via the shimmying activity. A later search of the client revealed small packets of cocaine hidden in his underpants. One gang member in our city was observed doing a strange kind of dance with his mother every time she visited him in detention. Visitors and family members have smuggled in items ranging from candy bars to porn, drugs and weapons. You show i.d., write down the reason for your visit, and then a correctional worker comes out and pats you down, searching you for contraband. When you visit a client in detention, you check in at the front desk, speaking through a hole in a glass wall. Built in the 1970s, the seats are concrete slabs, polished gleaming by thousands of teenage butts. ![]()
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