Hotep,
As you should already know, my new housing assignment is cell 5316 – located in the prison hospital. My Achilles heel surgery is approximately a week old; 6 days to be exact. I’m still somewhat frustrated about the sign resting on the outside of my cell door, but night eventually turns into day. The weight of that small piece of paper is decreasing as the scales of curiosity begin to prevail. Who knew?
My mornings normally begin with a nurse coming into my cell – assisted by an officer of course – to take my vitals. The pain medication spikes my blood pressure, so I guess its protocol for them to monitor that. There’s not much conversation, other than a “Good Morning,” or “Thank You.” To be honest with you; the room is normally filled with tension. But today was slightly different.
At the conclusion of my vitals check, one of the staff members kindly asked: “What really happened?” As bad as I wanted to share this experience of injustice – I fought off the urge to spill the real with a subtle request: “Can I have some more ice, please?” My request was met with a smile and a refilled pitcher of ice. No hard feelings, just laying the foundation for future vital sign checks. Na mean?
The occupant of 5315 is physically and mentally disabled. I have yet to see him, but I hear his voice all day, and all night: “Nurse! Nurse!” His heart monitor is gradually becoming a fixture of my consciousness. Real talk.
The cat occupying cell 5317 has 4.5 months to go, on a 40 month sentence for writing bad checks. I overheard him speaking with the unit case manager about his parole guidelines. They even joked about his next checking account. SMH.
Then there’s me; the resident in 5316, healthy, but temporarily hobbled. Full of life, but trapped on death row. SMH. Three lives predestined to briefly encounter the others – yet all 3 face different transitions within our current existence. Only the Creator knows the final outcome of our transitions, but I can feel my transition changing lives for the better. Ya heard?
Seeing my parents yesterday was truly inspirational. Despite the fact that our visitation arrangements were filled with administrative chaos, seeing their faces and hearing their voices affected me the way that that Aliyah joint, “Back and Forth,” does whenever I hear it; I just wanted to get up and dance. Na mean?
My parents are constant reminders of what my transition means – not just to them or me, but the many generations to follow. And I’m not about to let them down. This W2TM journey is a moment I wish I could have for life. So, some of my better moments will be dedicated to reading cases such as Michael Dale Rimmer vs. Tennessee. And then there will be those rare occasions when the low moments of my life will cause me to utilize a Styrofoam ice pitcher as a basketball rack, and the ice cubes as the frigid penitentiary issues I face on the daily. With the form and eye of a pure shooter, I’ll hoist those ice cubes (issues) into the toilet bowl, from my bed, one issue at a time. Feel me?
Believe this: my emotional highs and lows aren’t trapped behind door 5316 or any other door within this box. These highs and lows fuel this medium of W2TM, to go far beyond this neighborhood of social retardation and will into the next millennium.
I’m out like the 3rd strike.
Keep on Keepin,’
MannofStat
Copyright © 2012 by Leroy Elwood Mann
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