PRISONER EXPRESS

Around the time I was like five years old ('69) when Mom doesn't like it when you go to far from home I recall that when she needed something from the neighborhood store she would send me. Usually around noon she would send me to the Jiffy-Mart to buy some sodas, one for her and me. My siblings were at school (dad in prison) so running the errand was the highlight of my day. In the time it took to go and come I felt that freedom from the influences of others telling you what's right or wrong. I could throw at dogs (and cats, too), run across the street without fear, look for treasures, and I was BOSS! Before long those days passed and I too began going to school. School was awwwwwright but not all that. Even back then, and throughout my school years, I'd be sitting in class feeling bored as hell and just wishing the teacher would shut-up! Sometimes, yeah sometimes, when I was being a good studious boy and doing my class work in the back of my mind I was hoping for the bell to ring, announcing lunch so I could get away from school work.

How I got passed to middle school is still a mystery to me. A small part of me did like school but the rest of me didn't. In middle school it was nothing different and I longed for the bell to ring for lunch (and to go home). Soon I just quit going to school. Truancy is just one of those crimes that landed me in state school, Texas Youth Commission. State school was boring too! Although the teachers were more tyrannical so when the bell rang for lunch it was a relief to get away from these tyrants. Then I arrived in prison. In prison I wanted to be in school instead of working in the fields. However working in the fields sometimes is inevitable. It was good to be out of the building and working outside, supervised by wannabe a cowboy with guns at hip, but at free labor rates, fuck-that-shit! I'm looking all around for an excuse to take a break or spot the rank lift his cowboy hat signal "hat time" i.e. dinnertime (sometimes the end of the work day. In retrospect, I wasn't the only one looking forwards to dinner because at hat time a murmur would pass around as somebody hurried-up and told his homie and others just uttered it for all to hear and know.

Even when I used to work in the free world (hell yeah I've worked!) I would still look forward to that midday meal that marked a break from work. It seems like if my life has always centered on dinnertime as a recess from work or school except for these last sixteen and a half that I've spent in ad seg (administrative segregation). There's no work or school (nor any congregate activity) in ad seg. I wish there was something to do. Sure I still look forward to dinnertime and any meal. Meals mark the day's routine. Breakfast starts the day, dinnertime brings us closer to that special Moment of the day, mail call and supper ends the day. But one of these days I am going to find myself no-longer-here in this piss-hole. And it's going to cross my mind, briefly, all the times somebody asked me what's the first thing I wanted when I get out. Sometimes I've asked others this very question to which 95% of the time sex is the common answer. But for me… well, I no longer have a place I can go to and call home. Mom's in a nursing home and my sibling don't write… so, I'll go find me a Mexican café and explain to the person that brings me a menu how I just served 20 years and am hungry for a home cooked meal and that all I want is a platter of chalupas, hot salsa, and their biggest glass of ice cold water with sliced lemons on the side so I can make a freshly squeezed lemonade.

PS: Chalupas are corn tortillas fried in grease until they're crisp with refried beans spread across the tortilla and diced lettuce and tomato and shredded cheese sprinkled on top.