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Confinement

by Susan Walker  
2/09/2011 / Testimonies

The endless two-hour drive leaves my nerves on edge as I finally approach the turn-off to my destination. The flat, barren land looks like a giant desert leaving a dry, scorched feeling in my mouth. I do not know if it is just an illusion, but everything feels dead and desolate.

I stop my car behind a long line of vehicles filled with mothers, children, grandmothers, and friends. All are furiously fanning their bodies in hopes of creating a slight, cooling breeze as sweat runs in rivulets down their flushed faces.

Brake lights flash on and off crazily as the line slowly inches the one hundred yards to the visitor parking lot. A man in policeman's garb gives each car an inspection. The guard unlucky enough to be assigned to this job, always stands as a sentinel void of emotion, like a robot made of steel.

The inspection allows the officer to record the car make, model, license plate number, number of persons present, and the driver's license number of the person driving. The officer completes his inspection of my car in such a way, that I feel no more important than the cardboard number he passes into my hand, so that my car may leave this place.

The unbreathable toxic fumes arising from exhaust pipes becomes fixed in my throat as my heart begins to race in nervous reluctance due to the thoughts of upcoming confinement.

The concrete feels like coarse sandpaper as I slowly step toward the great barriers before me. The horrifying walls of chain link rise ten feet toward the sky with an added foot of razor wire that seems to laugh that there is no escape once I enter.

I slowly reach for the metal handle to pass through and a buzzing noise proves that a pair of eyes pierce me as someone unlocks the gate from the tower above. I walk under the gate only to see a duplicate of the previous, giving me the feeling that I am the prisoner here.

The only building I will be allowed to enter looks forlorn and plain with its stark white walls. A woman passes me with tears in her eyes. She must not have known that she had to get permission to visit her loved one.

I enter, sign my name, show identification, get my hand marked with invisible ink, and receive another cardboard number as I advance toward the metal detector. Another guard searches my purse for contraband as I remove all metal objects from my body. He finds nothing, and I am allowed to go on.

I sit down at a table made to accommodate only four people. The stench of sweaty bodies slowly begins to fill the room as every table is taken. I wait an agonizing twenty minutes as many men dressed in all white prison uniforms pass through an opening on the left side of the room. The smoke from hundreds of cigarettes begins to thicken around me.

Then he enters. I rush into my father's arms as tears course down his and my cheeks. We move back to the table I have chosen to converse for the five hours allotted us.

As I pass through the gates on my way back to my car, the land around me takes on a whole new meaning. The air is fresh,and I inhale deeply. I finally notice that there is a wonderful blanket of vividly green grass at my feet. Beautiful trees stand as tall guardians of nature, flowering in the sunshine.

As the prison buildings fade in my rear view mirror, I look forward to the peaceful ride ahead. I think of how wonderful my freedom is, and feel more alive than I have ever felt before.

I am a 37 year-old, married, mother of 6. I have been writing since I was 8 years-old. I am a Christian and attend First Baptist Church, Benton, Arkansas. I live in Alexander, Arkansas.

Copyright 2006 Sueb33730 (UN: sueb33730 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.

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