NEVER EXPECTED THIS

Monday morning, I'm gearing up for a new week of college classes and facilitating Managing My Life. I'm eager, because it's been nearly a year since I was able to attend college over paperwork that stretched my patience to the max. Now that I know I'm going to college, I'm happy...until I heard we would be eating in our housing unit this morning.

The entire unit assumed they were short of staff like yesterday, but then we're hearing that a cement truck was at the facility. This meant we couldn't be out when a truck was on the boulevard. That placed us at ease, because we're all assuming that it was the annual lockdown.

As I'm grabbing books to get my day going, men were coming back from outside. I'm talking about the wood shop workers, laundry workers and maintenance workers. Still, we didn't bat an eye as we watched the morning news. Now my mind was on the biscuit tray I'm anticipating, until someone yelled out, "Strike Force is coming."

I grabbed my belongings, then headed to my cell. On my bunk, I'm not thinking the worst. My celly and I started conversing about random nonsense as we waited for our cell to be searched by Strike Force. A young white correction officer arrived at our door and told us to dress in our prison blues. This informed us that we would be in the gymnasium as they searched for contraband. Still, I'm at ease, because this felt normal.

The cell opened and we marched outside, lining up side by side for a drug sniffing K-9 to be run around us. Once done, we were ordered to the gymnasium. The weather was nice, and that made us upset as we knew a day inside would be on the menu.

In the gymnasium, our comrades were sprinkled throughout the enormous open space. I sat with a few buddies of mine, who complained about how COs took them from their jobs. They also began discussing the news of the day: how bad our cells would be when we returned to them?

I avoided those thoughts as we were being served our breakfast trays. As I lined up with the men, I was approached by Twin, who was supposed to be speaking with Nicole Hannah Smith, the author of The 1619 Project. Twin wanted access to a phone, but they were off in the gymnasium. So, he approached the recreation supervisor and explained his issue. Well, that had the ball rolling because the Warden allowed the call to occur. One problem solved, but the running theme was what our cells would look like upon our return?

As I sat with my thoughts, Tim shared that Tabann would be getting transferred tomorrow. This was my co-facilitator for Managing My Life. Now I'm getting anxious, because we only had three weeks together, figuring out our presentation for the students. This had me wondering what would come as I facilitated a classroom alone? That evaporated from my consciousness as Twin returned, sharing what occurred with Mrs. Smith.

The conversation dipped into his desire for Mrs. Smith to bring a program to Nottoway Correction Center. He also expressed how she loved the ship he made for her (The White Lion, inspired by what he read in The 1619 Project). That made us smile as I congratulated him on getting his art beyond these walls of shame.

As we spoke, the mind of the men around us showed up: they were playing cards, being loud. Some of the men were in small groups, talking about their cells, getting free of prison and how Youngin' was heading home in two days.

Youngin' approached me upset, because we possibly won't be taking pictures tomorrow. I assured him we should take them before he headed home. Sadly, he revealed that we're on our annual lockdown. I dropped my head, mad as hell. I finally was able to get back into college and now another week or two of no classes. I just closed my eyes and groaned...until my celly Red said that Strike Force was messing up our cells. I peered up at him, noticing his worried expression. Now I wanted to leave.

We entered the gymnasium at 8:30 AM and remained there until 1:00 PM. One of the investigators called for us to head back to our housing unit. I'm up and strolling outside, thinking about what the cells would look like.

When we reached our building, in the vestibule was an X-ray machine that scanned our mattresses for contraband. We slithered by it to climb the stairwell to the third floor, where we entered a corridor littered with mounds of trash bags of people's belongings and confiscated mattresses. Now I'm freaking the hell out.

When I entered our unit, I glanced into the open cells and gritted my teeth. Everything was trashed. I'm next to Grizz, and he was shaking his head. We climbed the stairs to the top tier where we resided, then he said, "Good luck," and went to see his cell.

I'm nervous as the cells I bypassed were demolished. The voices of the men around me were yelling their disdain as I reached my cell. I peered inside: a hurricane's aftermath. I couldn't even walk towards my bunk, because all my celly and I owned were tossed on the floor with zero respect.

Red called me from the stairs as he hurried to the cell. He's asking what it looked like? I stepped aside and let him see for himself. The anger he had boiled to the surface as more of our comrades snapped out, refusing to lockdown as someone shouted his TV was broken.

I eased into the cell, trying to get my life back in order. Red followed after attempting to make a complaint with staff, but those incapable of articulating their issues shouted over him, so he left them to their own devices.

We started getting our world together as I cried inwardly. Red declared it was time to transfer from this madness as the Major arrived at our cell door. He had it opened and took in what Strike Force did to our personal property, then expressed that he spoke with the head of Strike Force--and promised us that nothing like this would ever happen again. We thanked him...then...then we began salvaging our lives again.

This is my reality and I'm tired of it. Free me, please. I can't do this anymore.