central encounter

thirteen minutes to spare. beautiful blue skies, puffy white clouds linger by while lush green grass creates the landscape. in the center of it all, stands a mini-city . . . a world of harden-hearts, hatred, hostility, hardship. before my eyes, chain link fences seem to stretch like beanstalks toward the sky. at top of them, like curled ribbon - the wires warn the intruders and the insiders of the consequences. large earth-worn cement blocks stack together to form enormous walls, men acting like guard dogs, pace the top.

the car is parked, the carribeaner is taken off the keychain. the radio silences, the purse tucked away under the front seat. placing the keyring on my middle finger and clinching to the rest, my identification card and myself disconnect from the real to enter the dreary.

i circle "female" and sign my name, and as i do i know that i am signing away my right to privacy. once i am in these walls, everything changes. i join the rest of the group, fully observe the toned and untamed woman guiding our way and take a deep breath.

i walk in the first door. the blue sky fades away.
slamming behind me slowly enough to send chills up the spine, the bleak uncleaned tan paint on the cement door slides from left to right locking me in.
welcome to central prison.

with every door that kept me in its constraints, my mind wandered farther in farther down the corridors of its confinement. every wall was painted the same dreadful color, every thing made of metal and cement. there were no smiles covering the faces, no artwork draping the walls, no colors enhancing the lifestyles. just darkness remained.

the sense of control was completely disminshed as elevators were controlled by officers locked in plexiglass boxes with a control panel of buttons. there were no buttons inside the elevators - above, a camera video-taped your every move, a speaker connected you to the control panel and your voice signaled your desire. at any given point, someone whether prisoner or patrol was observing you, watching you, stalking you.

and your sense of comfort became your fear of insecurity.

up hallways, down stairs, through the voice activated cement doors, the female bully of a control officer led us through the labryinth as if we were touring a zoo or a museum. as she pointed out areas, i watched as eyes observed us from all areas - through glass, behind bars, locked in handcuffs. many of my group members looked down out of fear - i looked on with humanity.

an elevator lead us from mediocre temperatures into a small space no larger than an average bathroom. inside, the temperature dropped, the lights were dim and the vibrations seemed to linger as if haunting the space. in the center of the room, a window. as if on display for the entire world to see, an empty gurney, a white curtain behind, cords and indicator lights around.

a window of death.
a chamber significant.

within these cold walls, my heart stopped. this was not a hospital, someone had not died here by accident. someone had died here by fate, controlled by his own actions, enforced as his consequences. within these cold walls, man took man's life.

another hall led to another story, another story led to another emotion. a recreation room filled with ping pong tables, pool tables, weights. alongside every wall, engaged in every activity, men froze and looked upon our pretty, young faces as we interuppted their unpleasant world of white jumpsuits merely to observe their situation. a door in the corner pass the men offered significant hope for blue skies. outside, the men were lingering under the shade, perched on bleachers smoking cigarrettes. no one played shuffleboard. no one played basketball. everyone starred, and the guard dogs of men watched our every move from the tower above. another outdoor area harbored cages - eight by eight cubicles where men with bad behavior fought boredom for eight hours alone. chain link cages that actually locked in men like a pack of hungry wolves. here, the blue skies didn't seem nearly as blue anymore.

down more hallways, through the same creeping doors, color caught my eye from ahead. the color of death was now the color of rage and hate as the cement decor took on a vibrant hue of red. the men captive within these walls, standing within reach to shake their hands, wore the same piercing shade of red. it was a code, a signal. it was death row.

standing in a cell block, glancing down at the small bed, the single pillow, the single locker i couldn't help but wonder why anyone would choose this life. a toliet and sink at arm's length from the bed, locked uncomfortably and unwillingly every night. metal picnic tables formed the "living rooms" - a shower door that barely covered the essentials. a pod. this was life at its finest for the inmates; this was life inside a pod for at least seven years.

for two hours, emotions mixed while my heart sped up and stopped all the same. a tear of compassion, a hint of disapproval. a lifestyle chosen or a lifestyle destined? some full of pain, hatred, disbelief; others still pretending to be the evilest of them all. within these walls there are so many stories, so many tales, so many moments that take your breath away. whether its the creeping doors, the loss of control, the invasion of privacy or the need for humanity - within these walls, you will question your destiny.

will you move toward three hot meals and a bed every day for years and years to come, or will you take a minute to admire the blue skies and the white enormous clouds swaying by?