Being sent to prison for the first time can be
a very horrifying experience. Especially when you know you
are not guilty of the
crime. You are torn apart by your emotions with feelings of
anger, rage and impotence as you endure the trial and conviction,
the
sentencing and then doing time. It’s a life changing
experience. Some people have triumphed and some have not.
I am on trial for what is considered to be
a very serious crime. There is no evidence or eyewitness, just
me saying I am not
guilty. My future is now hanging
precariously in the balance. It is up to the competence of the defense
attorney against the skill of the prosecutor, whichever side
can convince the jury
they are right. It is written in the Bible “make
peace with your adversary quickly, before they deliver you
to the Judge and you be cast into prison.
You shall not be any means come out till you have paid the uttermost penny.” But
I was adamant about going to trial. No one would bilk my family or myself
out of our hard-earned money. The trail lasted ten days. I was allowed
to go home
with my family every night. Then on that final day, after the prosecutor
and defense had made their final presentations, the jury was sent to deliberate.
Which lasted four and a half agonizing days, the hours went by excruciatingly
slowly. I could hardly sleep a wink at nights, the wait was enough to drive
one mad. Finally the moment came when the Judge asked the foreman for the
verdict.
The silence was deafening, you could hear a pin drop. He said, “we
the jury find the defendant guilty as charged”. For a moment
time stood still. My life flashed before my yes. Then I was screaming “Guilty!
I am not guilty! You all must be mad!!" The Judge banged his
gavel repeatedly, “Silence” he
roared, as I was handcuffed and led away. I could hear my wife saying between
sobs, “he is not guilty”. The thing that caused me the most
pain was hearing my kids screaming, “daddy, daddy where are you
taking my daddy!”
It would be a week before the sentencing, so
I was remanded into custody because the Judge thought I would
be a flight risk. This is the period
in time where
you are inured to the life that awaits you, and stripped of the person
you used to be. You exchange your street clothes for a jumpsuit. To the
world
you are now a con. This waiting is done in the county jail, where you
are locked
in a 8x10 cell. The only time you are allowed out is to take a shower
every other day or if you have a visitor. Stress and depression
begins to encroach
upon you as the loneliness and isolation starts to have their effect.
My only companions are two packs of cigarettes that I traded
for and an overactive
imagination that keep me awake most nights. How long will the sentence
be? Will I make it out alive? Are prisons really like the movies I have
seen?
Maybe
the time wont be long, but what if it is? What of my family, our business?
Will our friends think I am guilty? Finally it’s that day. The
Judge says “You are now hereby sentenced to 12-20 years in prison.
You will be eligible for parole after 12 years.” He bangs his gavel.
The sound goes through every fiber of my being. Its like my life is over.
As I am led
away the words 12-20 keep ringing in my head over and over 12-20, 12-20.
I am then transferred to one of the state’s
prisons, it’s a level
five security facility. This institution is surrounded by a high wall,
topped with rolls of razor wife, and guard towers. The gates
opened, and slammed shut
with such resounding finality. I felt like a fish gobbled up by a shark.
The first stage is processing. There you are given a commitment
number. I am now
prisoner W-63627. Then you are relived of all your personal possessions,
except your wedding ring and the underwear you are wearing. You
then receive two shirts,
two jean pants, three pairs each of socks, boxers, and tee shirts and
one jeans coat. You are also given two small tubes of toothpaste,
a toothbrush, one wash
rag, a towel, two disposable razors, one roll toilet paper, two soaps,
a mattress, two sheets, and a coarse blanket. From the look of
this blanket I know it going
to itch. These are now all my earthly possessions. I am then photographed,
fingerprinted, and given an I.D. card. Then I undergo a medical checkup.
At the end of all this, it’s time to enter the general
prison population to do my time. As I go these thoughts accompany
me. Will I get into fights?
Am I going to need a shank? Will I be pressured to become a gang-banger?
I intend to hold onto my individuality. I refuse to be owned
or manipulated by
anyone in this place. I may be in prison but the prison will not be
in me. I am escorted by a guard to prisoner housing unit J-block,
also called “new
man or fresh meat block”. Upon entering my ears are assailed
by a cacophony of voices. The place is dimly lit. There is also a smell
that I cannot place.
I think it comes from men being locked in a crowded space, being together
almost twenty-two hours a day. Friedrich Nietzsche said “what
does not kill me makes me stronger”. I will live by that saying.
It has now been eight years since I have been
down. I have since moved to a level four facility. There is more
freedom of movement and programs
to
be involved
in. There are no walls around this prison just fences. Living here,
it is a world within a world, a society of captives. I have come
to realize
the
people
on the outside looking in are also a society of captives, held prisoner
by families, jobs, friends, and materialistic pursuits. You could
get up and
walk away to another state, another country, the same way a prisoner
changes one
institution for another. Yet you are still faced with the same boundaries.
Freedom is not where you are but it’s a state of mind.
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