To Free the Truth

Even though the threat of violence is always there in prison, there are times of peace and people can change inside these gates. When I was still trying to learn how to “do time,” I met an old school black dude named Willy. I asked for his advice if he was in my shoes…he told me he’d been inside for 22 straight years and his best advice is to get involved in table games, sports, exercise, or whatever I want, but to strive to be the best, don’t ever do anything half-hearted. Another old con maned Marty said, “Man, you got 99 years. You aren’t gonna last trying to ‘do that time.’ You need to quit trying to do time and start living, because you ain’t goin’ anywhere anytime soon.”

So, I absorbed my environment, tried to be the best at everything. I loved playing handball. It took a few months of hard work and practice, but I became a real challenge for the top players on the unit. I mastered the game of chess, competed in everything from sports to exercising. I started watching sports all the time, learning the games so I could get involved in gambling. Marty said a smart, knowledgeable gambler can make a little money in here, and it’s true.

Of course, gambling causes problems, which is why it’s illegal in here. I can’t tell you how many conflicts and fights I was in over gambling. It was how I made money for hygiene, stamps, and coffee, though. I couldn’t just give it up. People are gonna test a young guy like me no matter what I do–that was just my life.

Point is, there’s times when everything flows smoothly even in prison. I once had a job in the Officer’s Dining Room (ODR) where I could rest in the air conditioning  and eat good food. I got to know some of the rank and they’d move me where I wanted to go and let me slide on some stuff. I’d go to work around 2 p.m. and leave at 4 p.m. to go to the library, then I’d hang out with friends in the hallway before going back to the ODR from 5-7 p.m. I’d leave there with a big Gatorade bottle filled with ice and juice, go to outside rec, and play handball until the yard closed at around 10:30 p.m. I’d shower, crash out, and get up to do it again.

I also made extra money selling food from the kitchen. Cheese, peanut butter, four tortillas, jalapeno peppers, and even salad dressing can be swapped for stamps, hygiene, or commissary food. The grilled omelets with cheese that I made went for 3 stamps a piece all day long! The guys on my block knew who to look for if they were hungry.

I tried to become one with the penitentiary, play the part of the convict. It seemed to work for a time. For a moment, I thought I could do that 99 years without a hitch as we say in Texas. But, it ate at my soul, pulled me down periodically. I wondered why the psychiatric doctors on the unit never really tried to help me change how I started to think. I think they were just speechless after hearing my story. What do you tell a kid who’s faced with a lifetime in prison for a crime his father committed when he asks if death is better than life behind bars? I don’t hold it against them; I wouldn’t know what to tell me either. All I know is trying to be the consummate convict might not have been my best course of action. That seems to foster despair. I should’ve been finding reasons to fight, to hope. I lost all the hope that I had. Until I met Jenniy, I was content on just dying. All of my efforts were half-hearted. She inspires me to fight, to hope, to want more out of life. For that alone, I’m thankful she’s in my life.

Thank you, Jenniy…