the motel.
With the three of us at the door, I knocked, inserted the key, and opened it. Cody had wrapped himself under the covers.
“Are there weapons in the room?” the deputy shouted. “Let me see your hands!”
My son raised them in the air as he bolted upright on the bed.
The deputies questioned Cody, in effect rehashing what they asked me. At their suggestion, I telephoned the customer service number on the reverse side of Cody’s credit card to determine where the last several transactions took place.
A great idea, except the information was not available at the hour of the morning. The second deputy announced his intent to search for the car. After twenty minutes, he returned and informed us he located it in the rear parking lot of a restaurant to the north.
I drove through the front lot the night before, but not the rear. Cody and I thanked the deputies. They were professional in their interaction, and their patience, persistence, and empathy appreciated. We shook hands.
Cody and I made the drive, and he reunited with his car. Returning to the motel, he loaded it and departed for Bluewater Springs. Relieved at the resolution, I nonetheless became wiped out from the ordeal. Because of work, I needed to get sleep but acquired a desperate urge to indulge in beer. I stopped at the Bison Lodge. The time allowed for the mandatory eight hours of passage from consuming alcohol and reporting for a shift.
I continued to plan on moving to Bluewater Springs after retirement, set for October 31, 2017. I prayed for him to get better and tried to help. In the spring of 2016, the relationship again turned sour. After a full year, it regressed to square one!
The inevitable reared its head. We started having bitter and nasty exchanges. One night, a series of illogical and undecipherable texts arrived.
I responded the best I could in light of what he wrote. The gist of it read as if he didn’t care anymore. Envision my horror when the words, Glock 17 popped on the screen. I called, and it switched to voice mail. I left a message to call. After a five-minute wait, I phoned.
Once more, I received his voice mail. I told him if I didn’t receive a reply within 10 minutes, I’d call the Bluewater Police Department. He didn’t respond.
I contacted the police, and they sent officers to check on him. I re-established communication with them after the passage of three hours. The dispatcher advised me Cody checked out okay, but they transported him to a treatment center for evaluation.
Eight days later, my phone blew up with messages. Angry, he blamed me for his commitment. I tried to reason with him. After one brutal text, I put an end to it for the final time.
I entered an emotional period but continued taking care of business. It didn’t seem difficult. I found it a piece of cake since this was the fourth time he burned me. I retained my work, the lodge, and close friends.
In the year Heather left him, I dealt with a decade’s long friend who informed me over the phone she possessed a passionate love traversing the closeness of the platonic friendship between us.
Aware of what transpired with Cody since the beginning, she stuck with me. A new development proved stressful for her. I surmised it a fantasy release and nothing more. She denied it and claimed her passion developed years prior.
In amongst the phone calls and texts from Cody, I dealt with texts and hours-long phone calls from her. There were not so pleasant exchanges, and it took a toll on our friendship.
I’ve known this beautiful, loving lady for over thirty years. It turned out an emotional drain. Nonetheless, I handled the loss of companionship. I knew what transpired wrought difficulty on her but didn’t comprehend how difficult. I will go into detail later.
For the most part, I remained content and focused, continuing with a sense of purpose. However, happiness eluded me with the loss of Cody.
My true happiness, aside from Cody, pertained to the lady who became my wife, Cody’s mother.
I loved her, although we maintained different personalities. Sociable, her family members drank substantial amounts of alcoholic beverages, and she kept with the best of them. I, too, am a functional alcoholic.
We never got involved with marijuana or any other drug. Our sex life exemplified voracious passion. There were times we performed sex thrice in a day. I’ve read and heard sex is vital to those born under the Scorpio sign. I’ll vouch for it.
As with Cody, our connection regressed, albeit sooner. She left and filed for divorce. She owned her reasons, and yes, two sides of the story exist.
Her leaving generated a profound effect on me. Over three decades passed without contact. She wished to remain friends and stay in touch. I made the choice to sever interaction. I still had Cody.
In the fall of 2016, I faced the decision to have my beloved Kitty Kat euthanized. I mourned his loss with a heavy heart. But the sorrow diminished knowing it best — he suffered, and his physical life wouldn’t last much longer.
I took care of what needed doing and braved forward, the loss comforted by the loving benevolence of co-workers and friends. I’ll never forget him or the joy he gave.
Of the stories I’ve told concerning him, a particular tale comes to mind. On a quiet and uneventful night, a new female officer worked with me. Her instant fondness of Kitty Kat apparent, questions began to flow. I shared his history, and we conversed.
She asked if anyone disliked Kitty Kat.
“By and far, most staff and inmates over here adored him,” I said. “Now, since you brought it up, one major who wasn’t in the position long disliked cats.”
I continued with a serious tone and expression.
“Three months after transferring in,” I continued. “He strutted into work one morning. With a cat-like hiss, he broadcast, ‘It’s either the cat or me!’ and marched to his office.”
“Two days later, he received a phone call from the Office of the Commissioner,” I added. “The commissioner’s assistant informed him to report the following Monday to a prison located far from Little Oak Work Camp for reassignment.”
This officer fell for it at first. After a brief period, she caught on, and we laughed.
Forward to January 2017. The major informed us of a significant, mandatory meeting scheduled with the warden the next day. He instructed us to wear our Class A uniform.
I took extreme pride in my uniform appearance. I wore it with honor and professionalism, be it Class A, B or C. Many noticed — co-workers, brass from other institutions, even inmates. Many inmates respect an officer who carries a professional demeanor.
The meeting brought shock and dismay. The Georgia Department of Corrections decided to close Little Oak Isle Work Camp after sixty years in operation. The warden advised we could put in for a transfer to another facility or institution. He told us the county sheriff’s department agreed to hire any certified officer who passed their application process.
They set April 20th as the tentative closing date. Due to retire October 31st, it made no sense to transfer. Come October 31st, I’d have to leave and move to Bluewater Springs.
Although
