It’s winter, so bundle up – take a walk with me.
At my cell door, we have to stop. Two guards are on the other side, and I need to hand them all my clothes. I stand in my boxers as one searches through my thermal top, thermal bottom, two pairs of socks, shorts, t-shirt, jump suit and jacket. Once finished, the male guard hands all those items to the female guard standing next to him.
I then hand the man the last of my clothing, my boxer shorts and tennis shoes. Once he searches those, I’m made to do the strip search drill, lifting my testicles and turning around, before I’m allowed to put my boxers and tennis shoes back on. Turning my back to the door, I squat a bit to place my hands through the feeding slot so hand restraints can be placed on my wrists. Once locked in place, I stand up, and the guard motions for the cell to be opened.
“Back out the cell,” the guard states. You’re not supposed to turn around and walk out, but back out. Now we are escorted by the two guards to the recreation yard outside. Once through the door to the outside, the bitter cold instantly bites my flesh, sending goose bumps along my skin. As one guard holds me, the other walks the recreation yard, searching it – and holding my clothes.
Once she returns, I step in the yard and the door is closed behind me. I stoop once again to place my hands through the slot so the handcuffs can be removed. My clothes are then passed to me through the slot. I quickly begin putting them on and trying to get warm.
That was the easy part. After my time outside is up, the guards return to get me. Once again, I walk back to the gate door and begin to strip out in order to hand my clothes to the guard. Layer by layer, I hand them in as they are searched, piece by piece, until I am once again naked and outside. The last thing I hand in is my shoes, as I stand on the cold concrete, waiting. But, before they can be returned, I first have to raise my testicles, raise my arms, and turn around.
My body is shivering by the time I get my shoes and boxers back and turn around to once again put my shaking hands through the slot to get handcuffed. I then stand up before backing out the door and walking back into the building.
Thank you for walking with me. If you enjoyed this, we can do it again tomorrow. This is what every one of us does that wants to get outside our cell for two hours in the winter.
ABOUT THE WRITER. Travis Runnels, is a published author, and is currently working on his second novel. He lives on Death Row.
Travis Runnels #999505
3872 FM 350
Livingston, TX 77351
Home…
When my family moved to Texas, we had only been there a week when it became apparent I was so lucky to have been raised in such a diverse environment. My dad and I drove from our home in the countryside to a small East Texas town to pick up construction material and a few groceries. On the way out of town, we stopped at a grocery store. It was one of those old country stores – small, well lit, clean. It had the smell of fresh bread baking and home.
I don’t understand why people treat others differently because of the color of their skin or their religion. When I read Andre’s story, I cried – especially when I saw him standing there with that big smile and his arms around his family.
You gave me a voice to be heard,
Remember when you were seven years old? Take a trip with me, humor me if you will. You’re seven. You live in middle class America, and you’ve been strung along in the fantasy that Santa Claus exists.
I lived like that for years – until Evelyn found me, inspired me, nurtured me and blessed me a thousand times over. So, for the last two years, I haven’t had to play ‘The Company Store’ game. But, time marches on, people get tired, tired of waiting for you to come home. They sometimes forget about you. I understand this all too well. I’ve been waiting for that bike since I was 48.
There is nothing I can imagine more terrifying than a parole interview. All the time under your belt means nothing in those brief moments. Your entire life depends upon how you present yourself, how you project, body language. It’s all on the line, and you might not get a chance to see the review process again for God knows how long.
Angry for all the years I’ve lost,
When you first arrive off the transport van, you are interviewed by the ‘Death Row Classification Committee’, handed a rule book and told that you are expected to follow the rules and policies. Just a few days before, you were condemned to die by lethal injection because they believe you can’t be rehabilitated and are incapable of following any rules.