I pray to someday be in the free world again.  I fantasize about the day I’m released from this hell I’ve called home for the past 23 years. I imagine what I’ll be wearing and even what the weather will be like. My release song is Sam Cooke’s, ‘A Change Is Gonna Come’.  Yeah, I know it sounds crazy, but I have to leave this place with a theme song fit for a Re-Born King.

The free world is so close to me I can hear it, smell it, and – at times – see it.  Just knowing Freedom is just across these walls drives me insane, yet it’s also comforting.  Little things remind me of her – cars, trucks, planes, the smell of gasoline, lakes, trees…

Every now and then I’m blessed to have a taste of Freedom, depending on how you look at it. There are times when I have to leave one Plantation for another.  At that moment in time, my heart skips a beat, my hands get sweaty and butterflies dance in my stomach.  And, there she is – Freedom will appear before my eyes.  I’ll be able to tell her – Freedom – how much I miss and adore her company.  I can explain my love for her and beg her to take me back. Sounds good doesn’t it?

Never happens like that. Instead, I’m shackled around my waist, my legs are bound and my hands are cuffed to my sides. Unmovable!!!  I’m placed on a bus built with rods to secure my leg irons. I’m sat next to someone who doesn’t understand my desire for her – Freedom. He won’t understand our relationship.

All I want to do is pay attention to her details. The way she smells, the sounds of her many voices, the beauty of her flesh, the piercing of her eyes as she stares back at me, the way the curve of her hips runs for miles down her legs.  At times, I can’t tell if she’s laughing at me or just laughing for me, to show me it will be all right.

I’m embarrassed to let Freedom see me in my condition after so many years of being apart from her. Does she recognize me?  Why is everybody on the bus staring at me? Then I realize I’m crying. I can’t even wipe my face because my hands are cuffed to my sides. I knew people wouldn’t understand my relationship with her.

Before I’m done taking in all the love of Freedom, I’m reminded it was only for a moment.  I enter another Plantation. My little time with Freedom will have to sustain me until my next rendezvous with her – on my day of reckoning.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.  Bobbie George is not only a thoughtful and talented writer.  He also has worked training service dogs during his incarceration.

He’s spent over two decades in prison, but still lives every day trying to be the ‘best version of himself’.   He can be contacted at:

Bobbie George #243589
Ionia Correctional Facility
1576 W. Bluewater Hwy.
Ionia, MI 48846