MyTimeToBlog
The sun rising over a prison didn't hold the same enjoyment as sitting under it outside. That's my first thought, yawning, as everyone did when they woke up...but my celly's farts had me cutting that out. The bunk ruined my lower back, so I'm doing a slow descent down the metal rungs on the ladder to the cold concrete floor.
My mind raced with thoughts of spending another day in a cell. A funky one. We're not being freed from this lockdown anytime soon, and that meant stall air, crappy meals, and more complaints from my celly again. I'm thinking of a six-letter word that begins with F for how I felt about that.
I grabbed my Bible for the first time in days. I'm depressed, so I'm praying a scripture would push me through. Joshua 24:15 arrived. I used it for motivation. I needed to, because I'm going stir crazy, and Richard Pryor would agree.
I returned my Bible to the stack of books on my locker, then picked up my journal. This morning's quote for the day was "Lead Yourself Somewhere Great." I scribbled it atop the page, then wrote about the cold eggs that I passed on for breakfast, and being unable to call home to wish my niece a happy birthday. I even included that I started watching Gilmore Girls, a wholesome television show that kept me occupied for an hour.
After closing the journal, I retrieved my tablet and turned it on. I opened up my gaming app for Burning Bridges and accepted the daily award for a military game I sucked at. I followed that with listening to Al Green's "Could I Be The One?" That helped me get in the mood to write an email longhand from my Outbox. My being on lockdown, I needed to get the article out in time for Death Row Soul Collective to place it on their site by month's end...I hoped.
The music kept me in a different headspace until I glanced up and saw that the Knicks lost to the Celtics without Jayson Tatum, their superstar. I started getting up on ESPN's sports show and the local news, learning that Diddy was going through a court case for something crazy.
The TV was my girlfriend. She always wanted my attention, and I handed it over. My TV remote caressed her, except when the buttons began failing me. So, I'm sitting up, changing the channels. On the TV: Captain America: Brave New World, Silent Night, and Outpost. All held my attention until the door sprang open. Shower time.
The shower stall I climbed into was dirty, and I didn't care. It's been three days of washing up in a sink. My body needed a cleansing and my head a shave. When I stepped out in fresh whites, I spoke with two of my buddies.
One was doing laundry, so I begged him to get my clothes washed. He did. My other buddy wanted me to make him some taffy. I would, because I needed him to make sure my letter would get placed in the mailbag tonight; scratch my back, and I'll do the same for you.
Back in the cell, it still reeked. I dumped the trash and sprayed lemon grass oil into the air with a homemade spray bottle. Once I did, I returned to my bunk and lay on my side, stealing a nap. My celly didn't let that occur because he started complaining.
As the showers continued for the housing unit, some of the men stole a chance and called home. Since my celly didn't take advantage of doing the same, he complained about the men who did. I turned on my side, stabbing my earbuds deep into my ear canals. He didn't find joy in anything but complaints, and when not doing that, it was about his upbringing, and legal case he felt the judge screwed him on. I learned what a narcissist was when I met him. Still, it allowed me to shut up and focus on what I could control.
The more I lay on my bunk, the more I recognized that this was a test for me: being one of those men who couldn't get their life in order because of being trapped in a cell. I laughed at that, because I've been in a cell for twenty-seven years, so why was today a problem? I knew the answer: my thinking I couldn't be more.
Lunch arrived. Crap. Dinner. Crap times two. So, I made a Ramen noodle with corn, refried beans and spicy cheese. My dessert was two chocolate chip cookies and warm water. That had me stuffed as I invested in reminding my buddy to come to my cell after the evening institutional count for the letter. Once I accomplished that, I decided to listen to more music as the hours drifted by.
When the COs bypassed my cell for institutional count, I sat up on the bunk. The window was offering me a glimpse of the approaching storm. It was pretty, but then my celly's silent fart gagged me. I climbed off the bunk, heading for the door for an intake of air that didn't taste like his flatulence. I wondered if another week with my celly would make me nose blind to his farts? Man, I gotta get the hell out of here!
When I climbed on my bunk, my buddy exited his cell, and forgot to come get my letter. I had to call for him to retrieve it. He did, then I grabbed my tablet and wrote content for my TikTok account.
The past week, I dived into the mental growth I accomplished under extreme circumstances. How I achieved that was by offering food for thought through an analogy on life in prison. I enjoyed what I came up with, but only time would tell if the masses appreciated them.
As I closed out another day on lockdown, I recognized through all this craziness that I woke up, read the good book, worked on getting my voice outside these walls, shared my love with someone who I cared deeply for...and that I didn't lose my mind missing out on calling my niece to wish her happy birthday.
Now I did get snatched out of my sleep around 2 AM, because a man lost his mind, screaming for help. It scared me because lockdown did that to him. I won't let that be me. I won't. I'm too strong for that. I am.