Prison journalism: My first hours after prison

Prison journalism: My first hours after prisonAt Waffle House or the convenience store, the incarcerated mindset kept coming back. A story shared by an ex-con.

by Prison Journalism Project

25-07-2023 14:03

in Prison Journalism

My first hours after prison. Image by Unsplash

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I paced the floor, taking shallow, rapid breaths. My heart was racing. I knew my name would be called soon, around 10 a.m. I had urinated at least four times in the past hour and was feeling the need to go again.

What if something goes wrong?

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I had seen it happen before with other men who were scheduled to be released. Sometimes their ride never showed up. Sometimes a detainer was placed on them by another law enforcement agency and the police arrested them right after they left the prison. In the most heartbreaking of circumstances, loved ones got in car wrecks on the way to pick them up.

My anxious thoughts slowed when I heard the golden words: Pernice, to the rotunda. I took a deep breath, the kind you hold for a few seconds as you process something momentous. Then I grabbed my clear, plastic bag that contained my well-worn orange shower shoes, toothbrush, toothpaste and deodorant, and headed for the rotunda.

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This was goodbye to prison. I was off to the unknown. A whole new world. A society I had been hidden from for 13 years.

THE FIRST STEPS As I approached the main building, I felt as if I was in slow motion. I looked into the eyes of every person I passed. I wasn't sure whether to smile or remain stoic. Some people weren't leaving for decades; I did not want to make them feel envious or sad.

I took in the faded blue paint of chow hall, then the brownish brick recreation building where I had worked cleaning weight equipment the last five years, and finally the long stretch of the school where I attended college. Then I came to the biggest and most intimidating building: administration.

As I entered the double steel doors for the last time, I started to feel a sense of loss. I should have been excited about freedom, but the fear of the unknown created a tsunami of apprehension inside me.

I turned in my keys at the last window on the secure side of the gray metal bars. Good luck, the corrections officer told me.

But in that moment I did not need luck. I needed to focus on the tears pooling in my eyes. I was overwhelmed. I was happy, afraid, anxious and excited. I didn't know whether to cry or smile. But I kept my emotions in check. I was still in a medium security prison after all.

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I entered the strip-out room next. Why did I need to get naked in front of a corrections officer and a security camera before leaving? I will never know.

As I stripped off my prison gray uniform, the officer happily handed me my dress-out clothing. The blue jeans were nice and soft, and felt almost foreign. I struggled to put my brown belt through the loops; it had been a long time since I owned a belt. The light blue polo shirt brought color to my appearance and my soul. Then came the white memory foam shoes. It felt like I was putting my feet into a cloud.

The new clothing made me feel totally different and strange but it also moved me.

A local church had donated a bag of clothing specifically for my transition. They cared about my release and wanted me to feel confident. When strangers care about you, it helps you care about yourself. I felt like I mattered.

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ENTERING WONDERLAND' After I signed the final papers, I crossed the threshold with a packet of documents in hand into the outside world. A group of U.S. military veterans were waiting to give me a ride to my next destination - I had served in Iraq and had been active in the veteran community in prison.

I paused before we exited the reinforced sliding glass doors. I looked over at the officer escorting me for permission to step out - after 13 years, I had become accustomed to following directions and asking for permission.

You're good, the officer said, nodding reassuringly.

Standing outside of the concertina wire fences, I froze. Was I actually about to leave? I inhaled deeply.

My two escorts wanted to ask questions, but my brain was foggy. I got into the back seat of the gray SUV and we departed. I looked out the window to see if any of my friends were in the prison yard for recreation time. I had hoped to wave at someone I knew one last time, but I couldn't make out any faces.

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As soon as we hit the road, I was hit with sensory overload. Buildings had changed. The flashy colors of the storefronts were foreign to me. I was not used to so many vibrant color schemes. Everything in prison had been drab or neutral. I felt like I was a character in Alice in Wonderland.

I hardly recognised many of the cars on the road. They were sleek and aerodynamic. Some were boxy - I later learned that those were electric cars. As the cars sped by, I saw several drivers who looked like they were talking to themselves.

My fellow veterans wanted to chat, but I felt as though my body had been frozen in a cryogenic chamber. My brain hurt. I was exhausted and nauseous.

AN AMAZING

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