by Bailey West
“Sir, where am I going?” I questioned the guard as he led me to the exit.
“Pineville,” he spoke over his shoulder.
“Pineville? Where is that?”
“It’s in southwest Missouri.”
“Will I be able to call my mother when I get there to let her know where I am?”
“Yeah, at some point you will get phone privileges. Aye, Valentine, look, man, you seem to come from a decent family, and you are a smart kid. Take this time to better yourself. Stay away from the knuckleheads and lay low. You gotta do the time, but it doesn’t have to be hard time,” the CO explained.
I nodded. I understood what he had said, but that came from a man who had no idea of what hard time was to an inmate. He was able to go home every single night. He had the choice of whether to come in the next day. He had freedom. I didn’t. I didn’t know much about hard time or easy time but what I did know is if someone came to me on some bull, I was layin’ em’ down. There had been a lot of dudes in the streets who thought that since I wasn’t slangin’ or bangin’, I was on some weak shit. They thought I was a dude who would fold when they came at me. Every nigga that ran up on me was carried away. It would be the same way at Pineville. Don’t mess with me and I won’t mess with you. Fuck with me, be prepared for me to never stop coming after you…ever. I put that on everything.
I was loaded onto a bus with several other inmates. We were each chained to the seat by our waist. I couldn’t see much through the window I sat next to beyond the narrow slits of its coverings. The scant bits I could see—the trees, the grass, the cars, the girls—was enough to make me miss my freedom. I didn’t know how long the drive was from Saint Louis to Pineville, but I didn’t close my eyes once. I tried to remember the landmarks and signs I saw on the way, so when it was time to leave, I could easily navigate away.
The bus pulled up to a tall chain link fence with barbed wire across the top. The entire fence slowly retracted allowing the bus the space to enter. We continued through the fence and came to a stop after pulling several feet into the compound.
I stepped off of the bus after being unchained from the seat and stood shoulder to shoulder with the other inmates awaiting further instructions. We faced a tall, black brick building covered with vines. The thick vines grew from the ground, resting on the entire length of the building. This was nothing like County lockup.
A large prison guard dressed in all black began to speak, “Just in case you hadn’t noticed, gentlemen, you are no longer at home with your mommas. No one is here to coddle you, so man up. You may have run something in the streets, but you don’t run nothing here. You are now the property of the State of Missouri’s prison system. We tell you when to wake up. We tell you when to eat. We tell you when to speak. We tell you when to shit. You have no rights unless we give them to you. As of right now, you have nothing. You will earn everything in this prison from your meals to your visits. You will respect the staff and each other. Lack of respect and discipline will be met with severe consequences. Everything that comes out of your mouth should begin with Sir or Ma’am and end with Sir or Ma’am. You do not move or speak until you have been given permission to do so by a staff member. Do you understand?”
“Sir, yes, Sir,” we all responded military style.
We were escorted into the building where we went through the de-humanizing process of undressing in an open room, bending over and coughing to check for contraband, then being forced to wash with a delousing shampoo in an open shower room. We were then assigned inmate numbers, had pictures taken, given IDs, uniforms and were shaved.
Carrying our other uniforms and a rolled-up mattress, we were escorted into the bay, where our cells were located. The bay was a circular room with four floors of cells. There were round stainless-steel tables with benches scattered on the main floor. In the middle of the main floor was a control room where the guards monitored the entire bay. All of the prisoners were locked up in their cells, but that didn’t stop some of them from watching each of us intently, probably trying to feel us out. I was ready for whatever. I knew two things coming in here; no one would beat me in a fight, and no sissy ass nigga was coming for my ass. They would have to kill me first.
“Valentine!” One of the guards called out.
I raised my hand as much as I could while still holding on to my mattress.
C-seventeen,” he beckoned for me to follow him.
I followed him up three flights of steps until I arrived at the stenciled sign on the wall that read, “Level C.” We walked past several cells before arriving at number seventeen. I walked into the small cell and was greeted by a man sitting at a small desk tucked in the corner of the cell. He looked old enough to be my grandfather, if not my great-grandfather. His dark as tar skin was wrinkled and leathery. His short hair was completely white, and his large eyes had a bulge that almost made them look cartoon-like. His eyes were no longer all brown but had begun to take on a blue color around the perimeter, and the whites of his eyes were a light-yellow hue.
“You can put ya pad up on da top bunk,” he didn’t look at me while he spoke. “There is a lil’ bit of space on the other side of dis’ desk for ya to put yer’ stuff.”
I put my bag of uniforms on the ground and threw my mattress on the top bunk.
“Tappy!”
“Sir, yes, Sir,” the older man called out.
“Make sure he knows how to make up his bunk. The Warden will be walking through tomorrow,” the guard who escorted me up, barked.
“Sir, yes, Sir,” Tappy replied.
Tappy stood very slowly from the desk. I stood up straight and widened my stance. I didn’t know if this was about to be my first test or not. I didn’t want to have to knock out somebody’s grandpa, but I would. Survival was my number one priority in here.
Tappy examined my stance and laughed the laugh of a man who had smoked way too many cigarettes. He laughed until it turned into a deep phlegm-filled cough.
“You can relax, young buck. I’m too old for all that dumb stuff, been there done that,” he said after drinking a sip of water.
I relaxed, a little.
“My name is Theodore Brown, but all da folks calls me Tappy,” he extended his hand.
“Samuel Valentine,” I responded as we shook hands.
“I’m just trying to get by so if you don’t bother me, I won’t bother you. I am finna show ya how to make up dis bed cause if da’ Warden come in here for ‘spection and yer’ bed ain’t right, then we both is in trouble. Ya, feel me?”
I nodded.
“A’ight, so look…”
Tappy took me through a short demonstration of how the bed should be made.
“Take dis’ sheet and spread it out over da’ whole pad. It should hang over some on the bottom corners, so you can do the diagonal fold on the corners. Warden don’t want to see no wrinkles or nothing loose…”
I followed his instructions and made my bunk look exactly like his. I didn’t think anyone cared what beds looked like in prison but apparently, it’s a big deal. I put my things away in the space Tappy designated for me. Then I followed him to the dining hall while he explained the rules to me.
“Look straight ahead. Don’t talk ’less they talk to you. Watch these young cats ’cause dey is always tryin’ to find someone to use to prove they is the big men in da prison. You seem like you got ya head on straight, so stay low and out of trouble. You can either do hard time or smooth time. When I first came couldn’t nobody tell me nothing. I stayed in trouble. Now, look at me. I’m an old man and ain’t got nothing to show for it. Don’t be like me.”
Tappy was a huge help. He made sure I understood how things went and who to stay away from.
I was keeping to myself during the day, and at night, I was telling Tappy about all of the new technology like wireless home telephones and cell phones. He said he had been in jail since he was my age. He was sixty-five years old. He was convicted of armed robbery and sentenced to eight
to forty years. Eight to forty doesn’t even make sense, but that was the sentence. He had served forty-six years, and he’s never been up for parole.
I was at Pineville for a couple of weeks before I had my first commissary day. Commissary day was the day the inmates were allowed to go to the “store” and purchase snacks and comfort items to make life a little more bearable. During our last phone conversation, my mother told me she’d put some money on my books, so I was looking forward to seeing what I would be able to purchase. Tappy warned me that commissary day was usually the day the jackers came out. Those dudes who don’t have money, so they will rob you for what you get.
“Keep your eyes on the swivel, ya feel me? Don’t trust nobody in here cause we all is criminals,” Tappy explained as I stepped out the cell headed to the Commissary.
I had enough money in my account to get everything I wanted and needed. The commissary workers loaded all my goods into a white pillow case, and I carried it back to my cell. When I arrived back on my floor, two inmates were blocking the entrance to my cell. I’d seen them on the yard, but we hadn’t had any interactions. Tappy told me they were trouble, so I stayed away from them. I knew why they were in front of my cell, but I tried to get by them anyway.
“Excuse me,” I said attempting to walk between them.
They didn’t budge.
“I see you went to the commissary today,” the taller of the two dudes spoke up.
I gripped my pillowcase tighter and cocked my head to the side.
“Dis nigga can’t talk or something?” The shorter one asked.
“I’on know if he can talk, but he heard what the fuck we just said,” the taller one answered.
This was it. I knew it was. This was my first test. These niggas were coming to take my shit, and I wasn’t going to let them. They were having a conversation, but I wasn’t paying attention because I was deciding who I was going to hit first. I settled on taking the shorter of the two out first because he seems like he was faster than the taller one.
“Nigga you ain’t hear us ask you a question?”
After making my decision about who was going down first, I answered his question.
“Naw, cause I don’t know neither one of y’all and I ain’t no expert at nothing in this bitch to be answering no questions.”
“Well how about this, give us your shit now,” the taller one pointed to my pillowcase, “and all the rest of the shit you will get from the commissary, or we gone take it and kick your ass in the process.”
I chuckled, moved my bag to my left hand and made sure I had a tight grip. No one was taking my shit. Over my dead body.
I calculated correctly, the shorter one jumped first. I caught him with a right jab to the jaw, he went down. The taller one swung, missed and ended up right next to his friend on the floor.
“Hey,” Tappy rushed,” get in here ‘fore the guards come, hurry up!”
I quickly stepped over the two sleeping inmates and moved into my cell.
Samuel
When you are locked up all you have is time;
Time to:
Think,
Ponder,
Regret,
Plan,
Wish,
Hope, and
Dream.
I thought about what I could have done differently, the night when the police came to our house. I pondered what would have happened if I hadn’t taken the plea deal. I regretted I didn’t go to court and fight for my life. I planned my future outside of these concrete walls and metal bars. I wished I had another chance to prove my innocence. I hoped the days, years and hours would pass quickly so I could be home again. I dreamed of walking out the gates of this prison and never looking back. I had lost all hope that someone would figure out they had the wrong man behind bars for those murders. I knew I couldn’t keep hoping to be rescued. I had to settle into my reality. My reality was I was serving hard time for a crime I had no knowledge of.
I don’t remember if I enjoyed being outside when I was free, but now that I am serving time, I look forward to feeling the sun warming my face or the wind blowing against my skin. Playing a game of basketball made me feel free, normal. In the course of a game, I could temporarily forget I was incarcerated. Until the alarm in the yard went off and all the inmates would have to freeze in place until the sirens stopped. Then I would remember. I was locked up.
I had picked up a basketball game with some guys from another floor. We talked a lot of shit, but it was all in fun. I came down from a lay-up and saw both of the dudes I’d knocked out, standing on the court staring me down. I passed the ball to one of the guys on the team just in case they were feeling like doing something. I was prepared to handle them the same way I’d handled them before. Just as I was making my way to them, someone came behind me and punched me in my side, twice. What I didn’t realize is I was not punched, I’d been stabbed. The pain didn’t register at first because when I felt the first prick, I turned around to swing on the person that hit me. I caught him on the jaw right after he stuck me the second time. The guards made it over to me just as the pain was starting to register. My assailant was down, but I started swinging wildly daring someone else to walk up on me. The guards had to use a taser to get me down so they could get me to the infirmary.
I woke up in a nice soft bed in the infirmary. Luckily for me, the shank that was used was short and caused shallow wounds. It hurt, but I would live.
“Aye, Lil G, this how you gone spend your time in here?”
I slowly turned and saw one of the inmate workers standing over me. I immediately recognized him. Not only had I seen him on TV when he was arrested, but everyone knew he was one of the inmates who ran the prison. Everyone respected him from the gang leaders to the prison guards.
“What?” I asked with a little bite to my voice.
“You hard of hearing, Lil G?”
He was getting on my nerves and had only spoken a couple words.
“No, I can hear just fine.”
“So, it’s your listening you have a problem with?”
“Who said I had a problem?”
“You obviously have a problem if you're laying up in here after being stuck.”
“Man, look, I was minding my own bus…You know what, nevermind. I’m cool.”
“No, what you are is disrespectful. When your elders are speaking to you, the least you can do is make eye contact like a man.”
This muthafuc…
I remember seeing him on TV when he was arrested after being on the run for several years. He was accused of killing a police officer during a protest in the eighties. He claimed his innocence, but he was convicted of murder, although he didn’t pull the trigger.
I looked up into his dark almost black eyes that were below thick bushy eyebrows and right above a long slender nose.
“That’s better. You are telling me you don’t have any idea why you got stuck?”
“I didn’t say that. I said I was minding my business just like I was doing before you started talking, and I am about to do now.”
I adjusted myself on my bed with my back facing him. I was hoping he would get the message that the conversation was over, but he didn’t.
“The guards had me pick up some of your uniforms from your cell. Tappy gave them to me, and he gave me this picture. This your girl and her mom?”
I turned around quickly to see him holding a picture of me, Torrey and Mom at my high school graduation. They were so proud of me and wouldn’t stop taking pictures. That pose was probably one of at least one hundred from that day. I snatched the picture from his hand.
“No,” I grimaced when the pain shot through my side from turning around too quickly. “This is my family, my mother, and my sister.”
“Your moth…” he stopped short and stared at me for a second. “A’ight Lil G, stay low.”
He turned and walked away.
I was so glad to see him leave.
I was released from the infirmary after
a couple rounds of strong antibiotics just to make sure I didn’t get infected with anything. The guards asked me if there was anyone else involved in the incident other than the one that stuck me. I declined to answer. There was no way I was going to be labeled a snitch. They had the one who actually stuck me because I’d knocked him out before the guards took me down. They had no idea the other two had set me up, and I was not about to be the one to tell them. I would deal with those two when the time presented itself. As for now, I wanted to go back to my cell with Tappy and stay to myself.
The guard walked me up to the top floor instead of the third floor where my cell was.
“Sir, excuse me, my cell is on the third floor, Sir,” I informed the guard.
“Not anymore. You are going to the fourth floor, D-twenty-two.”
I followed him down the “D” corridor until we arrived at cell twenty-two. I stopped at the door and examined the cell. The floor looked like someone spent hours cleaning and buffing it. You could almost see your reflection in it. The toilet and sink were polished, the beds were perfectly made without one wrinkle. The uniforms were folded, so the black stripe on the pants was one continual stripe. The shirts were folded next to the pants, and all the buttons were lined up perfectly. There was a small bookcase on the wall full of books with titles like; The Souls of Black Folk, The Autobiography of Malcolm X and Go Tell it on the Mountain. I looked at the guard questioning this cell assignment, “Are you sure this is where I am supposed to go?”
He nodded for me to step into the cell.