WHEN THE TIME COMES

The monthly meeting for Peer Mentors at Nottoway Correctional Center ended with us being offered a speaking engagement for Reentry. Our cognitive counselor informed 15 peer mentors that we should share our stories with the men who were heading home in a year. I sat in the gymnasium, at two wooden tables with my guys, silently contemplating what I would say.

When I became a Peer Mentor, I discovered a startling truth: the majority of the incarcerated men had returned to prison for a second, and shockingly, a third time. So I couldn't come up with some bubblegum speech that would have them tuning me out the moment I opened my mouth. That's what held me in my thoughts as I scampered back to my housing unit that afternoon.

I've been contemplating becoming an orator for a long time, especially when my friends told me I had something to say. That was true, but when I discussed my past, there were 2 to 3 men in front of me...this time there would be at least 60 men. I lay in my bunk that night and imagined myself sharing my story.

I'm a 50-year-old man now, and I didn't make any concessions that I'd been incarcerated for 28 years. How I recognized my life now, possibly would not carry over well with the youth. Now when I woke up the next morning, I began second-guessing myself; who'll listen to a man who had 4 life sentences plus 23 years--who? I settled myself and made it to breakfast and found Chris, who worked in the Reentry unit. I said hello, but said nothing about desiring to speak with his men.

Shy, that's who I am at my core, but I inwardly cursed myself for being afraid. I marched into the afternoon recreation and decided to blanket my mind with weights. I pressed them to the heavens as I questioned my existence as a Peer Mentor: did I want to be halfway in, or all the way in? If so, I had to speak. After a great sweat, I found Cedric, who worked Reentry as well, strolling the sidewalk for our building. I called to him, blurting out, "I'll share my story with your guys. I need at least half an hour."

"Alright, come through Wednesday--no, Thursday at 2 o'clock."

I committed myself to speaking about my life, crimes and redemption. What would I be saying, though? I took a shower, my personal place of solace and began concocting what I wanted to share. As I did, my left leg trembled. This was foreign ground for me. Once out of the shower, I told Ramutu, another Peer Mentor I needed him to hear what I would speak about with the men in Reentry. He said cool.

We headed to the Study Hall the following afternoon (a Tuesday) and commenced speaking about my life. I began with an introduction of my name, time incarcerated, the length of my sentence and my crimes. The first walkthrough had Ramutu looking away as I teared up. The passion was there, as was the rawness. Round one done, but now I'm saying the speech over and over in my cell, alone.

The one thing about prison is that we're a community. Those who love and respect me desired to see me win; since that was true, I leaned on them. I called upon my closest friends and asked them to sit with me and hear my speech. They did and the comments were this:

"When you ever get a parole date, tell them exactly what you just told me. That will definitely get you free."

Another said, "You'll reach somebody with your story. Damn, that's a powerful story. I wish I could be there."

Honestly, I smiled, because the impact of my words caused them to have a reaction. One where they were impacted by my truth. Even with their comments, I'm still nervous and anxious.

I didn't want to fail, so I kept saying the speech over and over, in my head, walking the recreation yard, alone, and in the shower. I cut the speech down from 30 minutes to 25 minutes. I made sure I shared my truth and didn't focus too much on the unnecessary stuff, like arguments with men over something frivolous. The message mattered.

That Thursday, I'm up and needing my barber to hook up my beard. He promised he would come to my unit before breakfast, but work called (he's a maintenance worker). So I marched out and began my day as a peer mentor. I had to pass out books to the men in the Intake Units, and bring one of them the paralegal they requested for legal matters. After my morning phone call, my barber arrived right before lockdown. He said he would race back up after the afternoon count.

My face was shaved, then I headed to lunch. I couldn't eat because my nerves were getting the best of me. I made my walk around the facility, getting more books in the hands of Intakes, and helping two guys get some deodorant and soap because they were indigent. When I returned to my housing unit, it was 1:40 PM. Twenty minutes before showtime--my bladder got the best of me. My nerves, great.

A few of the peer mentors promised they would attend, supporting me. Ramutu and I stepped into the Reentry Unit. Artwork adorned the walls of the dayroom, all positive imagery as the TV played a Michael Jackson movie. I waited in silence as everybody was called out for the program. Cedric informed me I would be speaking from a microphone. I took a breath--a deep one as the dayroom filled up. He spoke to the men as they settled in, sharing that I would be speaking. As he did, my left leg trembled, my throat went dry and I was breathing hard. When I rose to my feet, I kept my eyes on Cedric and the microphone he extended to me. I gripped it, turned to the men and said, "My name is Tutankhamon Waterman. I've been incarcerated for 28 years, as of this October. I have 4 consecutive life sentences plus 23 years to do. I'm guilty. My crimes were taking the lives of my three cousins...."

I shared my story. I didn't hold anything back, and they listened. The power of being able to speak your truth changed me as well as those men, and best of all, they applauded me and gave me hugs. What I did for them also showed me that when the time comes, I must stand up. I did, and forever I will.