Trip to A Women’s Prison: It Could Have Been Me

The only thing separating them from me is I got lucky. The only thing separating them from me is I got lucky. The only thing separating them from me is I got lucky. The only thing separating them from me is…

Today, I walked into a prison for the first time in my life. I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t know if the women would be hostile. Violent. Mistrusting. Accusatory. Apathetic. I didn’t know. I was excited to be there with them, but I still prepared myself for the worse. I prepared myself to face a room full of angry women who resented my freedom to come and go as I pleased. I imagined a classroom of women shackled and chained by the choices they made that led them to a life of incarceration. I imagined a cross between Orange is the New Black and Shawshank Redemption. I tried to prepare myself for the fact that these women would be nothing like me. Nothing like me. Nothing like me.

The only thing separating them from me is I got lucky. The only thing separating them from me is I got lucky. The only thing separating them from me is I got lucky. The only thing separating them from me is…

I looked each woman in the face. Smiling faces. Hopeful faces. Faces similar to the fresh faces I see each time I teach at the University. I heard names like Denise, Angel and Amy. Names that didn’t inspire fear. Names that implied they could have been doctors. Lawyers. Teachers. Names that didn’t convey poor choices. Names that any of us could bear.

The only thing separating them from me is I got lucky. The only thing separating them from me is I got lucky. The only thing separating them from me is I got lucky. The only thing separating them from me is…

I saw women with tattoos that mirrored my own. Nothing scary. Just names of babies. Names of boys they thought would love them to infinity and beyond. Images of loved ones gone but not forgotten. Birds. Hearts. Bible Verses. I heard women tell stories similar to my own – stories of abuse, self-loathing, and anger. I saw regret in the eyes of women who knew there would be no do overs. I saw women who, under normal circumstances, would be my colleagues. My next door neighbors. My best friends. My sisters. My aunts. My mothers. I heard women with life sentences speak about dreams for the future. I looked in mirrors and saw me looking back.

The only thing separating them from me is I got lucky. The only thing separating them from me is I got lucky. The only thing separating them from me is I got lucky. The only thing separating them from me is…

I saw women whose psyche was sometimes so fragile they hid from the night like it was an abusive lover. I, too, fear the night sometimes. I, too, wonder will that elusive sun really come out tomorrow. I saw graceful movements. I heard lyrical voices. I saw beautiful flowers I wanted to rescue and take home with me so they could stretch towards the light and grow the way they were meant to grow. Only grace and good fortune allowed me to say my good-byes and walk outside into the light, but, before leaving, I promised. I’ll be back. I won’t leave and unremember you. I’ll be back. I promise you, I’ll be back.

The only thing separating them from me is I got lucky. The only thing separating them from me is I got lucky. The only thing separating them from me is I got lucky. The only thing separating them from me is…

 

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