Adventures in lockup

Farewell Leonard Nimoy!

I would not be a true, green-blooded Star Trek fan if I weren’t saddened by the loss of our beloved Leonard Nimoy. His portrayal of Spock will live on forever and is one of the multitudes of reasons why Star Trek is, and always will be, better than Star Wars. Yes, I know them’s fightin’ words, but remember, I’m in prison, so that makes me really tough – Grrr! OK, back to adventures in lockup.

(Editor’s note: The whole family is made up of Star Trek fans. The whole family feels the same way as Alanna. Spock rules, Skywalker drools…)

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Hurry up and wait

After sentencing, I was taken back to jail, where I would await transport to the Big House. At that point, I was just ready to get on with whatever would be next. I knew that prison would at least be better than jail. At the Lane County jail, I was in Max 2, which is basically solitary confinement with one hour a day to use the phone or be out of the cell. I wasn’t in there because I was troublesome, but because of my charges. So going to someplace less isolating, even if that “someplace” was prison, was a welcome change.

Travels abroad…or something like that

Two days later, I was on my way to where I would be spending the next almost six years of my life. I rode up with another woman, who looked about 19 or 20, and a couple of men being transported to whatever men’s facility to which they’d been sentenced. There was a metal grate wall between us, but we could still talk. I remember the three of them all seeming quite chatty. Maybe they knew that they wouldn’t be sitting with people of the opposite sex for a while and wanted to connect. I, on the other hand, didn’t have much to say. I was more concerned with the heartbreak I’d left in all the people whom I loved so deeply – my entire family, my husband and stepchildren – and my dog, who wouldn’t understand why I’d left.

On the way to our new places of residence, we stopped at a hub where people would be switched to different buses, depending on their destinations. It had recently snowed, which made for a cold layover since we were all wearing what we either wore to court, or the clothes in which we’d been arrested. There was a woman who’d been arrested in her bath robe, house slippers, and a tee shirt with no bra. She had not been allowed anything to compensate for the wet, slushy ground so her feet were soaked through. It was a stark reminder that we were prisoners who had to earn back our humanity in the eyes of society.

A new world

People told me that Coffee Creek was set up a lot like a college campus. I’d heard stories of beautiful gardens, espresso carts, and decent food. No one had mentioned that these things were all on the minimum side, or that a woman had to have four years or less remaining on her sentence before going there. As it turned out, I would be spending two years in medium.

The intake unit was not so bad. It was a dorm setting which definitely made it less intimidating. I stayed on my bunk most of the time and simply observed the interactions between inmates, as well as officers and inmates. It was interesting to watch how all these women dealt with their new surroundings. Some went out of their way to prove themselves to be strong or “bad” or whatnot. Then there were others who were looking forward to changing their lives. It was a shock to see how many people had never learned basic life skills, like tooth brushing. I remember one woman who said she’d never been taught to brush properly. I think for many of them, prison was a step up from the lives they’d lived previously.

Concrete and razor wire

I don’t think the fact that I was in prison really hit me until I was moved off of intake and into H unit. Now, instead of a dorm, I would be in a cell with a solid steel door and toilet right there in the open. I remember walking to my cell, #127, and having the door popped open, walking inside, and then having the door slam shut behind me. At that moment, it became real. Something about those slamming doors made it feel worse than just the fact I couldn’t leave. The psychological effect of that particular sound was strangely oppressive, even more so than the razor wire outside and the cold concrete walls inside.

Going inside

The thing about prison is that it’s only ever truly a prison if a person becomes a product of his or her environment. The definition of freedom has to change in order to not be poisoned by the constant bombardment of sadness and anger, and the physical inability to leave. A person has to turn inward in order to expand and grow healthily. I had already been in the worst type of prison – that of addiction and the emotional walls I’d built up around myself as a result of swallowing my own voice. I wanted to look at prison as a sort of monastery where I could unravel all the knots and explore spirituality. I owed it to myself, and to all the people who love me, as well as to the society with which I’d broken my end of the contract that allowed me to participate.

And so it began.

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I’ll be back next week to talk more about life on “the inside.” I hope that it’s not only interesting to people, but that it also may help someone who could be looking at spending time in a place like this. A person can do time, or time can do the person. It all depends on the view that’s chosen.

Until next time,
Live long and prosper.
Alanna