I grew up being the oddball, labeled a “black sheep.”  I used to think the term was racist until I realized there are black sheep of all colors.  But any way you color it, all I could come to terms with was that I rarely fit in.  Anywhere.

So, I made a decision.  Instead of trying to trim my edges to fit everyone else’s box, I became an all around do-what-I-want, nobody-tells-me type.  Box the world, don’t box me.  On the outside I made it look good, continued to walk like I talked, but on the inside it all felt wrong.  

Fast forward a few years, ‘cause that’s really how time flies, I found my way to a place where it was easy to be that way…  you know the rest.  The state penitentiary was merciless and very unkind to me, a vicious cycle at best.  Yet this is the one place that openly received me, though I rightfully earned my ten years in captivity.  I made a commitment though – I was not leaving the way I came in.  

Time settled as it does, and then the day arrived.  My eyes saw the heavens open up, and in my pain and tears, I asked God to help me change.  In that moment, I felt relief.  As I spoke the name of Jesus that day, comfort filled my heart.  

I sensed my brand new start in that moment.  As I prayed and smiled, I was reminded that God sent someone before me who was rejected, someone who could help me learn how to live.  He set me apart long ago, and only now do I realize I am who and where I’ve always belonged, in the loving arms of the biggest one ever rejected.

ABOUT THE WRITER. Talena Banks is new to the WITS family, and fairly new to creative writing, but you wouldn’t know it. Faith is often overlooked in writing spaces, though it is a source of strength for so many. I hope this writer shares more with us.

Talena Banks can be contacted at:
Talena Banks #1177254
4370 Smiley Road
Las Vegas, NV 89115

My ten-year-old hands gripped the bottom of the old wooden window and hoisted it open as far as I could.  The pane had long been busted out, sharp edges of glass still protruding out of its frame.  As usual, the crisp 2 a.m. air stung the back of my head as I lay in a fetal position with my back to the opening, wrapped in my piss saturated sheet.  The moisture and the unyielding night air contributed to my fierce grip, securing the thin fabric around my body.  My grip wasn’t only meant to shield me from the chilling night air, there was something much colder about.  I suppose one could have mistaken me for a mummy or perhaps a body wrapped for burial before being lowered into the Abyss. 

Colder than ice itself, is the heart of a mother that would abuse their own child.

Boom!  My bedroom door slammed into the wall.  Fear paralyzed me, even though I’d endured these night attacks for years.  I don’t know how, but I had drifted off to sleep, missing all the warning signs that ‘colder than ice’ was near.  I also missed my opportunity for a hasty escape into the prickly arms of the 2 a.m. night air outside my window.  Oh, how I wished I was a mummy!

Mummified.

Standing in the doorway, the look in my mother’s eyes chilled me to the bone, as it did every time.  To my young eyes, she appeared to levitate a couple of inches off the floor and glide closer to my bed, the odor of alcohol seeping from her pores and into my nostrils.

  *   *   *   *   *

I was awakened by the birds chirping outside my window and smiled.  Surviving yet another wintery night storm gave me hope.  How do the birds endure the bitter cold each night and show up every morning singing and dancing?  I wished I could be like the birds outside my window.

Then I heard the knob of my bedroom door.  This was rare, leaving me unsure how to proceed, as I stared at the doorway and my mother appeared.  Filled with alarm, my mind raced to figure out what was about to happen since I rarely saw my mother in my room during the day.  I knew it was vital to assess quickly and accurately.  Then her voice cut through the air, sounding different, less hostile, less angry.  “Go take a bath, and put these on,” she said, throwing me a new t-shirt and pair of jeans.  “Be ready to leave in twenty minutes.”

Without hesitation, I complied, tears forming in the uncertainty of it all.  

Let’s go, Larry! 

Not heeding my mother’s command meant pain, plain and simple.  As I walked out the front door after my mother I noticed the broken door jam hindering our front door from closing and locking properly.  Scenes from the violent attack my mother unleashed on her new boyfriend the night before crashed back to my mind, tightening my chest.  My mother’s bloodcurdling screams came to mind as my eyes landed on the blood stains on the floor, wall and sofa.  Hell, it was everywhere.  Things ended badly for the man after he dared to kick in my mom’s front door.

I was about four or five steps behind my mother as we raced up the street, going to only God knew where, when she broke her stride and I nearly ran into her.  Then it happened.  She turned and reached for my hand, telling me to ‘come on’.  With our hands firmly gripped together, she all but dragged me to the bus stop.

She grabbed my hand!

I wasn’t sure what phenomena blew my mind more, my mother’s hand gripping mine, or the fact that I was about to board the bus for the first time.  I had ridden, hanging onto the back, several times, but never actually boarded.  What a delight!  In that moment, I felt safe; important even!  It was new, and I dared not fight it because whatever it was, I liked it.  Smiling, I looked out the bus window, watching my neighborhood disappear.  My eyes were again drawn to my hand cuddled inside my mother’s.  How were those same hands that soft and tender?

Is this Love?

My mother pulled the chord that ran the length of the bus before gathering her purse and me as the bus slowed down and pulled over.  Walking through the folding doors, I was caught off guard by everything I saw.  This was a world I never knew existed.  Cars were whizzing by, people were everywhere and there were more restaurants and stores than I could ever count.  We made our way across the highway and right up to the Golden Corral.  

Once inside, my mother pulled out a wad of money and handed it to the pretty white woman behind the register.  I liked the way the lady spoke to us, “You two enjoy your meal, eat all you want!”  I smiled in kind, and as we walked farther into the restaurant the sweet smell of food – fish, bread, chocolate, fried chicken and more – caused me to salivate.  My heart began to race as my mother handed me a tray with various empty dishes, napkins and a set of shiny silverware.  I could literally see my reflection in the face of the spoon, and I remember looking happy.

I smiled.

My mother and I got situated at a table, and she again reached for my hand.  I was sure I was experiencing the thing called ‘love’.  Her face was different than what I was used to, beautiful.  I had never remembered seeing her teeth so plainly.  As interesting as the thought of eating was, I was captivated by her smile. 

Then Mama let my hand go and told me to go get whatever I wanted.  That was the day I fell in love with barbequed pork chops!  I gorged myself on porkchops, long fish (Mama called it trout), and sliced ham.  Mama made me also eat some green beans and a bit of mashed potatoes, but I was not mad or upset at all.  I took notice of how lightly my mother ate that day.  The few times I remember looking up, I felt she was happy to be looking at me.  Maybe she was feeling it too, that thing called love.  

Then it happened!  No doubt also having the best day of his life, a kid walked by licking the hell out of a triple stacked ice-cream cone.  My head spun in all directions searching for where he may have gotten it.  And there it was on the other side of the buffet line, a two sided ice cream machine, offering chocolate and vanilla.  Alongside the machine were several side options for topping off the ice cream.  My mother, still eyeing me, handed me a bowl.  Love escaped her lips yet again as she told me to go get what I wanted. 

Happy birthday, Larry.

While eating my ice cream, my mother came around to sit beside me.  She leaned closer to ask, “Do you know what today is?”

When I didn’t respond she told me – “Larry, today is your tenth birthday!”

I took in what she was saying without asking any questions.  It didn’t really matter what she was saying.  Whatever was happening, which I fully believe was that thing called love, just seeing the smile it put on my mother’s face demanded that I be all in for whatever it was.  And I certainly was.

I didn’t think things could get any better, yet they did.  I generally knew that gifts were often given to people on their birthdays.  They were given to kids at Christmas time for being good all year. I remember seeing other kids with new bikes, Big Wheels, BB guns, remote control cars, new shoes and other things.  It always felt bad in my chest, and I had learned never to expect those things.  Mama told me quite often that I was no good and she wished she never had me.  So when my mother asked me if I was ready for my gift, my throat got dry and tears threatened to fall.  

Shining bright!

My mother ushered me into a huge building, the letters on top reading, ‘Movie Theater’.  Again, she pulled out a wad of money, passing some through a little trap window, before guiding me into the middle of what looked to be a million chairs in front of the biggest TV I had ever seen.  Again I thought, was love here too?  My mother laid her coat and purse in my lap before telling me to sit still, she’d be right back.

After she left, the already dim lights ceased to shine at all before the brightest lights I had ever seen blasted onto the giant screen, along with a thunderous roar that accompanied the action on the screen.  Wide-eyed, heart pounding, I knew this was truly the best day of my life.  It only got better when Mama returned with two buckets of butter smothered popcorn, Coca Cola and jelly beans.  We watched Howard The  Duck that day, and I have never forgotten it, but what shines the brightest in my heart from that day is the laughter I heard from my mother.  Her smile is forever etched on my heart and in my mind.  Maybe, just maybe, we could remain in that moment, surrounded by that thing I think is called love. 

The craziest thing happened to me on Thursday.  As God as my witness, this is exactly how it went down.  At around 11:30 a.m. I was working on a water main break that happened over the weekend, nearly shutting down and evacuating the prison.  I’m in the Maintenance Shop, the phone rings, and my officer answers it.  He says a few words into the phone as he looks at me smiling.  After he hangs up, he walks to the desk where I am eating lunch and says, “I don’t know what exactly is going on Steve, but that was the Administrator and the Center Lieutenant. Go back to your unit and get your things together.  You are going home today!  I think the clemency you applied for might’ve came through. I double checked, and they are saying it is definitely you. They have your release paperwork with your photo on it and your SBI#.  You are walking out the door at 1:00 p.m. today.“

No sooner had he told me, I felt the blood leave my face.  A Sergeant I’ve worked with almost everyday over the last eight years and a few other officers came into the shop, one saying, “Holy shit, Steve, we just heard.  You are going home, dude!”

At this point, I was in utter shock, tearing up and shaking a bit.  Inmates were hugging me, cops were openly shaking my hand, and I was walking back to my unit to get my things before heading to intake for release.  It is a huge no-no for officers to shake hands with inmates, it does not happen, and I had sergeants, lieutenants, civilian staff and about 25 officers shake my hand, saying things like, “If anybody deserves to get out early, it’s you Steve.”  “You’ve kept this shit hole open with all the work you’ve done.”  

I was beside myself with emotion.  When I got to my unit, the officers were blown away, having gotten calls that I was getting released. They double checked and were told, “It’s him, stop calling here, tell him to get to intake with his shit.” 

I asked if I could make a phone call to tell somebody I was getting out.  “Absolutely, get on the phone and call.”  I called my friend Alan, and he was overwhelmed with happiness and emotion.  I told him I needed a ride.  I tried to call my sister Linda, and she didn’t answer.  I tried to call my friend Ammie, and she didn’t answer.  I have nobody else to call, and as I’m on the phone, I realize how alone I am in this world.  

It was getting close to 1:00 p.m. and my time to walk out the door when the phone rang in my unit.  My officer looked over at me, and I heard him say, “I’m NOT telling him that, you better send somebody here to tell him that, I’m not.”  And a few minutes later I was told it was all a huge mistake made in Classification.  There was a guy with the same last name as me.  His name was David Goff, and he was getting released.  How my SBI# and face sheet photo ended up on all his release paperwork was a sincere, unintentional, massive f#$@-up. 

People were amazed how calm I remained, more upset than I was.  The Administration and some officers were screaming at the people who made the mistake.  I heard things like, “I just told this guy he was going home, and now I’m supposed to tell him …oops my bad.”  I had people in suits apologizing to me all day long.

Inmates have been getting clemency releases by the dozens.  The closer Governor Murphy gets to the end of his term, the more frequent they are happening.  He needs bed space within the prisons and he doesn’t have it.  I thought it was my day, that my lottery ticket had come in.

I came within minutes of walking out the door, and if I had, multiple people would’ve lost their jobs.  I felt so bad for the lady who made the mistake.  They told me she was so upset for putting me through that, she took off work the next day.  I don’t want her to be upset over me.  I’m fine.  Can you imagine if I had walked out of here, and the next day a SWAT team showed up?  They would’ve come in heavy to take me back, all because of a clerical error. 

That Thursday was the most emotional rollercoaster I’ve been on since the day I walked into that police station and confessed to a twenty-three-year-old unsolved murder.  I was shaking for hours afterwards, went to bed that night at 7:30 p.m. and slept till 6:00 a.m. I was out cold… didn’t even get up to pee in the middle of the night.  The thing I thought about before I fell asleep was not how sad and disappointed I was about not going home or being angry about the colossal mistake.  I thought about how alone I felt making the calls to tell somebody – anybody – I was coming home.  I need to get some more people in my life – that was my final thought before falling asleep.  That day had the possibility of being the most monumental day of the rest of my life, and I had hardly anybody to share my joy with. 

ABOUT THE WRITER. Steven Goff is a first time WITS contributor. Steven takes solace in writing, which is one of the many reasons why WITS exists. The writer is also a self-described veracious reader, interested in learning and also allowing his mind to travel outside of the prison walls. Mr. Goff can be contacted at:

Steve Goff #640012B
Bayside State Prison – 1403
P.O. Box 96777
Las Vegas, NV 89193

ABOUT THE WRITER. Ronnie Rice is new to WITS, but we couldn’t pass up this piece, it’s meaning powerful in its brevity. In very few words, Ronnie expressed the value of social support in the carceral setting and how that can impact well-being. We hope to hear more from him in the future.

Ronnie Rice can be contacted at:
Ronnie Rice #221051
N-224
Wabash Valley Correctional Facility
6908 S. Old US Hwy 41
Carlisle, IN 47838