TRANSFER

I was sound asleep when an officer kicked my bunk and told me to pack my shit, I was transferring.

Barely awake I looked at the clock and saw it read 3:30 AM.  It's a Friday.  Monday is transfer day, so I know something is off.

It's not up to me, I only follow the orders.  And no questions can be asked.

For the past five years I made this prison my home.  I know the officers and what they expect from me.  I have friends.  Men I walk to chow with and eat dinner.  The men who stand up for me when I'm in trouble.  All the things that make you feel safe and comfortable in this messed up reality.  Here's an officer telling me to pack my things---I'm transferring.

I'm unable to make the rounds and tell them goodbye.  I wish I could.  I take a deep breath and remember I came to this place alone, and I'll leave alone.  I stand alone.  I process the fact I'm leaving, put my shit into bags and get ready to leave.

My Jewish brother and neighbor of nearly three years wakes up and makes a cup of coffee.  We give each other a hug and I tell him its been a hell of a ride.  He makes me promise to come visit him once I'm free.  His wife will read this and tell him I spoke of him.  Jen, you tell Mike I'll catch him on the flipside....that's a promise.

I walk out of my dorm and get into a line of others who will also transfer.  There are 40 in all.  We have to turn in all our property that the institution issued us upon arrival.  They don't want us to leave with their shit.  After they go through all our property and take the "extras" we then line up in the sally-port.  The Bluebird is waiting.  Basically a reinforced school bus.  Our feet are shackled and hands restrained.  You sling your property over your shoulder and try not to step too long a stride.  If you do, the chains will cut into your ankles and rub them raw.  Baby steps.

You duck to get into the bus through the emergency entrance at the back.  The front is for the officers and a grate separates us from them. 

In order to make sure you're the right guy, they ask you identifying questions.  My name is called.

"Smith!!"  

"Where were you born?"  Mitchell, Indiana.

"What county sentenced you?"  Orange County. 

"Mother's maiden name?"  Wendel.

"What's your girlfriends name?"  I don't have one.... "Get on the bus asshole."

And so my journey begins.

I sit beside the window and watch the bus pull away from the place I have lived and been visited at.  Another chapter ends, while one more begins.

I'm able to look out my window.  It has reinforced grate welded onto it so visibility is poor.  Still, I can see men in trucks headed to work.  A dealership where a salesman is showing a car.  A bus stop where people wait to be picked up.  A cute lady with long tanned legs slowly passes in the other lane. 

I see freedom.  It's right outside my window.  There isn't a row of fences with barbed wire or guard towers.  It's a small piece of Plexiglas between me and life.

I smile.  I'm glad I'm moving on.  A new place to develop relationships.  A new place to lay my head.  A new life.  My time will fly past as I learn the ins and outs of my new home.

The bus is slowing down.  We exit off the highway and shortly after pull down a long drive.  I see the fences and towers and know I'm nearing my new home.  I get butterflies.  You must walk the cat-walk.  They call out..."fresh fish", "hey cute boy--want to sleep in my bed tonight?"  You learn to walk tall, look ahead and shake it off.  They watch for the one with fear in his eyes.  The one who looks away or hangs his head.  Keep Fuck You written on your face.

As I pass under the gate I read the name.  They just sent me to a psych camp?  As if my life isn't crazy enough with their shipping psych's to my camp....now they put me at a psych prison!

Classification informs me I've just been transferred for "institutional needs".  A "population adjustment".  When you grow comfortable somewhere, you forget to feel.  Sometimes we grow too comfortable with the people in our lives and we forget to respect them....and our life.  If I grew too comfortable here I would miss the lesson.  So close to the end and I want the lesson to be loud and clear.

Don't ever, under any circumstances, come back to THIS place. 

Stay tuned to the next and last chapter of my life behind bars.