Blood On My Sleeves: the shade of reproof

This post was inspired by Professor Amy Laura, the Rev. Isaac Villegas and legendary anchoress, Julian of Norwich

Dressing can be a self-imposed expression.  I was always the type to match my leather jacket with my Timberland boots.   If I was wearing sneakers, my ball cap had to have a similar colored pattern.  What can I say?  I like to feel “fresh to death.” 

It’s because of this that I can relate to why a clothing stylist can earn a living in this day and time.  Choosing my own wears came with an inexplicable degree of pride.

For the past 16 years, a red jumpsuit has been the extent of my day-to-day fashion sense.  No belt; no turtleneck sweater; no polo shirt to match my latest footwear.  Long sleeve or short, a red jumpsuit is the style for today, everyday.

Red has never been my color; burgundy, maybe lavender, but rarely red.  Now I’m sentenced to wearing red everyday.  It’s crazy how this red jumpsuit defines me to the public, as a menace, or a detriment to the rest of the prison population.

The shame of wearing this red jumpsuit is predicated on witnessing a glance of acknowledgement becoming a sudden tunnel vision of disregard.  A smile directed toward you quickly becomes a frown, because the red jumpsuit screams, “Bloody Murderer!” This entails an existence that could only be seen in most people’s nightmares.

So many times I catch myself grasping at my fashionable roots.  Sometimes I’m actually indecisive about which jumpsuit I should wear.  They’re all red!!  All of them represent my condemnation by a “jury of my peers.” Should it really make a difference which red jumpsuit I step into?

I don’t know.  I guess it’s my Creator’s way of replenishing my sanity – hoisting me above the blood on my sleeves.  This garment of reproof is an exact reflection of the blood lust that dwells within the judicial vampires scheming to drain the oxygen flowing through my veins.

I’ve witnessed the dismal psychological impact of the red jumpsuit.  Destroying the esteem of those once believed to be spiritually sound.  There are no highs and lows when the red jumpsuit becomes your attire.  Being draped in death has driven some to remain awake, while their soul smells with the sense of capitulation.  Without purpose, there is no life.

Wearing this red jumpsuit hasn’t destroyed my self-esteem, or dismantled my sense of self-worth.  It’s just something to wear, while I’m here.  I once read that Albert Einstein didn’t spend much time thinking about his daily attire.  That’s a luxury I just don’t have. 

Every stitch of this red jumpsuit gives me something to think about. A poisonous injection I don’t deserve; a crucifix – like gurney with restraints, and the denial of watching my grandchildren make a positive difference in this harsh and cruel world.  There’s plenty to think about when donning the red jumpsuit.

Thirty-five trips to the execution chamber; the red jumpsuit prevails.  I don’t plan on making that trip, but I do have high expectations of leaving this red jumpsuit behind as dirty laundry.  Still feeling “fresh to death.”

Still Living,

Leroy Elwood Mann

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Copyright © 2013 by Leroy Elwood Mann