Pinstripes & Prison Stripes

I guess our sense of ‘normal’ changes with time, especially when we’ve endured extreme situations.

Every once in awhile I’m still caught off guard with things that take me right back to incarceration.  I suppose it’s something that may never go away.  But I kind of like it.  I think because little moments of freedom meant more or felt stronger when I was locked away and it’s a kind reminder to stop and appreciate them.

I flipped on the television tonight while finishing laundry.  I decided to watch the audition for the new season of “So You Think You Can Dance”.  Immediately in my mind I went right back to the first season of the series.  I could almost smell my room, hear my roommate laughing and feel the sweat dripping off of my face.

I was in a work release program at a transitional center during the first season.  It’s still prison, but I left everyday to go to work at the State Capitol.  It was very tiring holding down a job under the conditions of a transitional center.  Because we left and came back every day, our security was much stricter.  To me, and most, it was worse than actual prison.  It was the pay off for working in the ‘real world’.

I had to catch the early morning bus at 6:30 a.m. in order to arrive at the State Capitol by 8:30 a.m.  I left the Capitol at 4 p.m. in order to get back to the center by 6 p.m.  Arriving at the center was a snap back to our reality.  First we went through the shakedown procedure, meaning an officer looked through our small, clear bags to make sure we weren’t bringing in extra money, contraband or medication.  We walked through a metal detector, then we were stripped and searched by another officer to make sure nothing was hidden on our body or in our clothes.  Depending on the number of girls arriving at the same time, this whole procedure could take up to two hours to get through.  We were tired a lot.

But Monday and Wednesday nights became the bright spot in our week.  We were allowed televisions in our rooms, and most rooms had one.  But getting three girls to agree on one show to watch had the same odds of winning the lottery.  It didn’t happen very often.  This new show “So You Think You Can Dance” was the one exception.

Every Monday and Wednesday night we rushed through the shakedown as soon as we could, then rushed to the chow hall to eat dinner as quickly as possible.  By 9 p.m., most girls would be in their room to catch the new episode of the show.  More laughing among inmates could be heard on those nights than I’d heard in my entire prison sentence.  The mood was lighter.  My roommates and I even managed to forget that our air conditioning wasn’t working and it would reach 95 degrees in our room most days.

My good friend, Missy, lived in a room two down from mine.  Visiting between rooms was strictly forbidden and being caught in someone else’s room was a quick, one-way ticket back to the actual prison.  That didn’t stop us, though.  Certain officers were lazy and never left their station, so we knew when to sneak down and visit someone else.

Missy was more of a goody-two-shoes than even me, and never would risk stopping by my room.  But I usually ran down to her room to ask, “Did you see that?!”  And we’d laugh and high-five when our favorite dancers did well.  During the finale episode when the winner was announced, I  was a little riskier than usual and stood in her room while watching the winner announcement.

Moments like that were rare and brought a sense of normalcy, and we laughed a lot in those days as if our lives were normal, forgetting that a whole world stood outside our door free from barbed-wire, bars or shakedowns.  It’s true that humans can adapt to anything, and it was my way of adapting to my culture.  Now I sit comfortably on my sofa and watch the show, which feels normal.

I am truly humbled by remembering watching the show on that 13-inch television, and having to sneak down to someone’s room just to share a little joy. 

These little things remind me to look for more reasons to share a little joy.