A Bus Ride To Prison

[Luke]

A Bus Ride To Prison
Have you ever had a time in your life where you just wanted to die, where you just thought death would be easier than facing the problems that you know are awaiting you? That was the feeling I had when I was 23-years-old, just after the judge sentenced me to serve a 45-year prison sentence.

I remember my thoughts and experiences clearly as I was beginning that term. I had already been detained in jail for about a year--during my trial--before the judge sentenced me. A few weeks after my conviction and the imposition of sentence, I knew that I'd soon be on my way to prison. It would be a new experience, and one that I wasn't looking forward to begin.

My journey began when one of the guards from the jail came by my cell door early on a Saturday morning to wake me. "Roll up!" he hollered. "Roll up" is jail vernacular ordering a prisoner to pack all belongings and prepare for movement. The moment he said it, I felt it. His words were hanging in the air, like a threat, letting me know that I was on my way to a place from where some don't return. "Okay, let's go," I said to myself as I tried to pump up my heart.

I didn't have much, as the jail really limits the amount of personal property a prisoner can keep. The guard marched me to a smoke-filled room in the jail where my ankles were chained together and my wrists were cuffed to a chain wrapped around my waist. There were several other prisoners in the room, as we were scheduled to ride the bus that would deliver us to prison.

I didn't know where I was going, not for several hours anyway. Then I found out, I was going to the United States Penitentiary in Atlanta. "Damn," I thought. "Why would they be sending me to Atlanta? I'm from Seattle."

It didn't much matter what I thought. I was beginning to realize that my thoughts didn't matter to anyone but me. When I was arrested, I pretty much lost my identity and became chattel, the property of the U.S. government. Prison guards regulated everything in my life: the clothes I wore, the food I ate, the time I slept, and the mail I sent or received. Lawyers even spoke for me. All I did was go through the motions of being human, but authority was always directing me. That's what it means to lose freedom.

What I did begin to think about was my own mortality. What was I going to be after release? I was a young man then, but I wouldn't walk the streets again until I was well over fifty-years old. I'd been an adult for only a few years before I got locked up, now prison was going to be my life. Who would I be after release? An old man with nothing: no home, no automobile, no assets. A couple of friends might buy me a Big Mac and a cup of coffee, but I'd have nowhere to go. I'd have to start my life from nothing, and that was a chilling feeling.

Anyway, the bus ride was hell. I was chained during the whole trip, and the people sitting around me were--for the most part-guys who seemed like they'd been doing time forever. Most were covered with tattoos, and most of the tattoos were combinations of designs that included demons and skulls and snakes and flames. I guess the tattoos were supposed to be frightening or something, like they were going to make the prisoner scarier or somehow meaner; they worked. I was learning that everyone had their own way of dealing with time. Yet I had enough experience after my year in the county jail to know that I'd do my time alone.

While riding the bus, I was calculating how long I'd be in prison. I realized that even if I received all of the possible time off for good behavior, I still would remain in prison for nearly three decades. But I also knew that I was alive, and as long as I was alive I could make my own decisions. I made a commitment to myself to stay alive and to do everything I conceivably could-while building integrity--in order to advance my release date. I later found that prison wouldn't give many opportunities to help me reach my goal.

When the bus finally approached the huge penitentiary in Atlanta, I was eye struck by the enormous wall that enveloped the entire prison. It stood forty feet high, clearly separating the prisoners inside from the community. And the heavily armed guards standing outside the bus made it clear to me that there was nothing nice behind that wall.

I was scared, but I was determined to do whatever it took to make it through. I told myself repeatedly that I was ready, but now, in retrospect, I realize that I could never be ready. All I knew was that I was going to do whatever it took to make it through and to make it out of there alive. There was no room for fear, but it was everywhere. I could smell it on the bus, on the men. We all waited, looking outside of the windows in silence. I knew the only way I was going to make it was to stand up and face it, to go through it: it was with this absolute resolve that I was determined to return to the world.

Once I was escorted inside, the plain concrete walls reminded me that my time was not going to be easy. As I was getting settled inside the walls, walking through the crowded halls, staring at the desperate faces, I felt like I was on the road with a million drunk drivers all at once. They were angry, but with no apparent reason, as if they woke up in the morning and didn't even know why they were mad themselves.

Standing in line to eat breakfast is like going through a busy intersection where the traffic lights don't work; it's easy to crash, to get into a wreck without any warning. Bam! That was how fast things happened in the penitentiary. I learned that killers run five-six to five-eight. People who appear harmless are frequently the most dangerous men in the penitentiary. And, there is no such thing as a fair fight in prison. You see guys over six feet tall, 200 pounds, hit guys that are five-eight, 150 pounds, with a pipe when the smaller guy isn't looking. They get respect from the other prisoners for this kind of thing, that is, recognition for doing 'the right thing." I've seen people stabbed and piped in the showers, chow hall, the yard, the theater. People wore phone books taped to their bodies to protect themselves as they walked to the yard. Shanks were planted everywhere. Prison is really a battle zone; an expanse of desperate men were no one wants to be.

I remember reading somewhere that there were no atheists in foxholes, as every soldier placed in that situation is praying to God. Similarly, there really are no pacifists in prison, as every prisoner is capable of violence. All prisoners feel the tension. No matter where a man walks behind the walls, the threat of death is ever present. Seasoned prisoners want newcomers to either run with them or to run away from them. They want to mold the way a prisoner behaves, who his friends are, and what he does. I refused to let the other prisoners dictate the kind of person I would be, so I pursued my own goals, and decided to keep to myself while inside.

Prison is a consuming experience, and I didn't want to be consumed, I didn't want to become the people I saw around me. Instead, I committed myself to working on my goals and focusing on the future.

Ever since my time in prison began, I knew that my road would be long. And although I was certain that the prisoners around me could make the road longer, none of them could make it shorter. And that's why I've always structured my time to help me avoid them.

[Budwoman]

THIS IS A RIDE THAT THOUSANDS AND THOUSAND OF INMATES HAVE TAKEN... MOST OF THEM WITH THE VERY SAME FEELINGS. HOW WELL STATED THIS IS.... THE FEAR, THE CONFUSION, NOT KNOWING WHAT WILL HAPPEN, NOT KNOWING HOW TO REACT TO OTHER INMATES OR AS FAR AS THAT GOES EVEN TO GUARDS...

HOW DO YOU KEEP YOUR SANITY? HOW DO YOU STAY A NORMAL HUMAN BEING THAT STILL HAS A CONCIENCE?


THIS IS WHY IT IS SO VERY IMPORTANT FOR REHABILITATION TO OCUR, BUT IT NEVER DOES.


DONNA

[jnv512]

Thanks for sharing this with us. As much as we may try, we on the outside can't truly understand what goes inside, except without information from people like you. We truly appreciate your sharing with us and please do so as often as you can and like

[Crisee]

wow...that's all i can say right now. very enlightening.
-Crisee

[torrey]

n209343-1

Thanks for posting. I think I may have missed the introduction. I'm interested in the origination of your postings. Are you the author?

[sherri13]

N- Great post-was this your personal experience? Whether it is or not, it was a great post- look forward to reding more from you!

[JodyAnnShaw]

It's not to often that you read something that truely states the truth... of feeling and emotions... about that particular situation. Very well said, and wow.. did it bring back some memories!
Jodygirl

[Sshari2002]

Please keep posting this mans writings. He is a gifted writer and I look forward to more of them. It's hard to imagine taking that bus ride, what it must feel like, the things going through your head...thank you for sharing this, it makes me feel closer to my Robert having read this, to read and get a feel for what that must be like. Again, thank you for posting these by Michael Santos!

[danielle]

What a sad and insightful commentary. Thank you for sharing it.

[nitamac]

Thank you for sharing your story. If you don't mind me asking how much time did you or are you serving?

[Texasfem]

Thank you for sharing your story. You have me in tears! My son is 22 yrs old and will be going on the bus trip soon. Thank you Again! Jeannie

[ddsbrother]

Thanks, Luke, for sharing your ride. You are a great writer. I am at awe with your story and felt as if I was there. Maybe writing is YOUR gift! I am praying for you. Thanks again!!!

[Larry's Wife]

Wow. I just read your story and cried all the way through. My husband will be leaving his orient prison for another bus ride any day for his home prison. My mind has been racing for days on how he will feel on this bus ride. I wish I could be on this bus right along side of him and be holding his hand. Thanks Luke.

[JimmysonlyGirl]

thank you for sharing

[brunosgirl]

that made me cry thank you for sharing your personal experience & feelings my boyfriend never says to much about prison except the food sucks lol .... maybe he dosen't want me to worry or to really know how he feels so i don't worry but i do any way its my job i could not even begin to understand how alone u must have felt .. i'm still crying ....... you have brought something some light to my attention & i feel the need to write to him just to let him know that i love him thats all i can do for him right now is love him......


thanks kathy

[KatieO]

Wow, thanks, heavy reading, but worth it.

[BabyBooWV]

What a touching thread. Thank You for sharing your experiences with all of us. It is greatly appreciated.

[babyblues2]

You are a beautiful writer, I almost felt like I was on the bus ride with you. Please keep posting!
I pray everyday for god to watch over my man & to give him the strength to get thru this.

[miksbabygirl]

thnx for sharing your story with everyone

[Marissa7]

wow very touchy. I can relate this with my boyfriend when he rides the buss. Thanks so much for sharing this!

[Joe Siver]

awsome!!!! thats all I can say....Thanks
sherryd

[sicksgurly]

thanks for you post....it is hard for us on the outside to understand what it is like in there and how you guys truely feel...

[vonage]

Luke... You Ride Touched My Soul .my Son Is 19 Yrs. Old And Will Be Taken That Same Bus Ride. I Can Only Hope & Pray He Like You Can Make A Victory Out Of His Defeat. When One Gets To A Place Thar Seems Impossible To Go Over Or Under Or Around --- That Is The Place That He Has To Say ....the Great Have A Way Of Conquering Fate------

[MB-313]

Thanks for sharing ur story,I just read your post,& it was very touchy.

[timmyslove]

Wow interesting yet welly described story!!!