PRISONER EXPRESS

I think that our general pariah-hood is the reason why it is so hard for us to maintain our relationships and networks with people who still live in society. I think they feel ashamed to tell their coworkers and neighbors that they care for an outcast.

If we are the scapegoats, how does fraternizing with us reflect on them? It is no wonder that within seven years most of them leave us to our isolation. Many prisoners grow bitter about being abandoned and forgotten by their lover and friends. When that happens, the prison, this colony behind electrified fences, is all that most have left.

A few fortunate ones still have family support. I am a fortunate one. I was born into a family of caribbean immigrants. My mom will never forget her only son. When I call her I ask about my grandmothers and my little cousins. I miss them every day. I don’t get to see them often.

Several times each year my family drives over 200 miles to visit me at this prison. On the occassions when they decide to make that trip up here, the prison puts them through invasive searches. They have to take a number, wait for hours in lines, take their shoes off, walk through metal detectors and wear appropriate clothing. They go through humiliations before they see me.

Sometimes when I went into the visiting room in the past, my mom would tell me how certain officers hassled her or hassled the wives of other inmates. Even in the visiting room the police presence is felt. Sometimes it is hard to just open up and enjoy their presence, when the mood is being set by the intrusive prison guards. In mid-sentence, my words may be cut off by some loud announcement the guards are making over the PA system. So even when I have my family sitting at a table in front of me, there is a police presence between us. They make a concerted effort to impress their rules upon us. Several of their rules limit displays of affection to two hugs per visit �" once at the beginning and once and the end. My family likes to hug a lot so that particular restriction is deeply felt. I miss their affection.

In prison, isolation is felt on many levels. I try to combat the isolation with spiritual growth. On most days, I keep a self-help book in my hand. I want to change how I feel.

The cell window overlooks the prison yard. From the cell window I can see men exercising and walking around. I can see a few other buildings, a gym, offices and another housing unit. I can see the local mountains. I can see clouds and birds, usually seagulls. And I can see when it rains.

From the cell door I can see the hallway. Guards patrol the hallway. Porters keep it clean. Guards pass out mail. Inmates walk to and from work. Inmates walk to the chow hall three times per day or to the dayroom. Some inmates leave their cell doors ajar so they can feel a better breeze flow through their cell. I can hear the music floating from some of those cells.