MyTimeToBlog
Syfa approached me and shared that Link had someone tell him to get off the phone, or there would be problems. I became emotional because Link and I first entered Buckingham Correction Center in February of 2000. We are close friends, allies, comrades, shoot, lifers in this prison madness.
Link was locked up in the midnight hours in September. The investigators searched his cell, discovering contraband from the Wood Shop (pieces of wood to make a toy house with). I didn't even know this occurred until hours later. When I learned that he was in segregation, I chalked it up to bad luck; he was making a toy house, not a weapon to harm our fellow comrades.
This ache hit me as I lay on my bunk, thinking about how a single institutional charge could derail a man's life. You see, as men with life sentences, most only have two options to battle for their freedom: through the court system, and a clemency petition. That's all we have, and when you get to the point of being incarcerated for thirty years, a single institutional charge screws you royally.
We're considered the worst of the worst by society, and those in administrative positions in the Department of Corrections. So, when we get in situations where they look at a computer monitor, an institutional charge defines us more than twenty years of hard work to prove we're more than our worst. This was now Link's life, and as he stewed in that cold, cramped cell, alone, his thoughts began to bubble to the surface.
You see, when we're young, we feel invincible. Especially with too much time to do as an afterthought. That's the undeveloped mind, the kind that can dissuade you from doing productive things such as educational programs. Link had been on this path early, but when he decided to change, it was monumental.
Our adolescent stage of mass incarceration was marred by violence and gangs. We had to contend with this alone, but we survived. That's why when Link and I reconnected 20-plus years later, he wasn't down and depressed. He was wearing an Islamic headpiece, and presented to me that he was building a pathway home. To hear that in this madness, he and I began discussing our plans--and they were groundbreaking for two men that the world all but forgot about.
That's why I'm saddened by my friend being sent to a higher-level facility for a simple contraband charge. On top of that, how will his mind be? When all is lost, we tend to fall back to old habits--the kind that placed us in prison. Or worse, a relapse into drug usage.
Link sent word via his celly, Syfa, who shared that he said, "Keep your head up, and don't stop fighting for your freedom." A ghost whispering in the dark. His words haunted me, because we know what's at stake: freedom or death in a cell. Screw that. I thanked Syfa, then retreated into my world, wondering if Link was capable of dealing with a high-level facility?
It's been a decade plus since Link ventured to a high-level facility. During that time, gangs have overrun the system with madness that made sides be drawn: us (those who desire to do their time in peace), and them (those who don't care about anything but chaos). I navigated that world on tiptoes, still traumatized by all the insanity that tarnished my reality. Could he?
Even with a label as a lifer, that didn't give you a pass. You are the problem for those on higher levels. You're on their phone. You're in their space. You're eating the commissary they want. Problems. They were magnified by the reality of being incarcerated, angry, trapped, and incapable of thinking beyond what was shared. Can my friend navigate that world?
When I was told that an incarcerated man stepped up to my friend and told him he couldn't use the phone, I cried inwardly. Link's girlfriend informed Syfa that he said, "I can't let that slide," then hung up. That was a week ago, and she hadn't heard from him since. My traumatized mind returned to the days when I had to get permission from another incarcerated man to use a phone he and his gang buddies controlled.
I grew tired of that madness and had my mother call the facility and get me moved to another unit. I didn't see fighting over a phone as a plausible idea. It never is, so I stepped away. Link...damn, a violent fight for a phone spot didn't sit well with me, but I'm not him. He has a choice to make, and I'm praying it was with words, because when it's all said and done, how do you explain to those who never stepped into a prison setting that you had to fight to use the phone? They wouldn't get it. Nobody would in the free world.
As someone who has seen great men fall from poor choices, I prayed that Link didn't. We can have a setback with a small infraction like contraband, but violence--never. They'll say you're dangerous. You haven't changed. You need more time to rehabilitate yourself. I've seen so many men who were hit with those phrases, and instead of pushing ahead, they imploded with the prison phrase of the millennium: F$%K IT!!!
I sat in the day room, thinking about my friend. I'm so afraid that he fell on his sword and gave in to this madness. He'll die in a cell for that choice...old...alone...crying over a choice he could've done better by.
Syfa stepped up to me a week later. He spoke with Link's girlfriend. She informed him that Link was on lockdown because a group of men attacked another man over something stupid. I felt for that man, but I inquired about Link and his situation over the phone. Syfa said, "He's good. He just dealt with it like a man and the other guy respected it."
I thanked the heavens that my friend grew up and away from violence. He spoke his mind. He recognized his value and didn't allow the system to beat it out of him like so many today and before.
Link...my friend, I'm so proud of you. We all have our own battles to contend with, and you did your best. Salute to you, and you will get free. You and I will get FREE.