a strange kind of bedroom community
In order to get a visit at the facility that is housing my father in this twenty-second year of a fifteen-to-life sentence, you need to be 1) determined 2) adaptable 3) a bit unhinged. And when I say unhinged I mean this in the most respectful way, as I am now keenly aware that having a loved one in prison, with all of its politics and trappings, rituals and requirements, can make the people waiting on the outside as frantic as the people on the inside.
So I was advised to be there early. Really early.
When A and I arrived on the grounds at three thirty Sunday morning, we read a sign that warned all visitors off the property until 6:30 a.m.
“I don’t get it. The ladies on the site said to be here between one and four.”
Because he was tired and hungry and more nervous than me, he didn’t say that he knew that didn’t make sense, but I could see his expression under the soft orange lights above us.
As we were turning to leave the grounds and go god-knows-where, an officer pulled up. “We’ve never been here before,” I said immediately, because I felt like he needed to know that.
“You here for a visit?” he was nicer than I expected and I said this to A when we finally pulled off, but first I said, “yes” and told him that one of the regular visitors told us to be here at this time.
He smirked some and pointed, “Over there. Across the overpass.”
“The overpass?” The direction he indicated was dark and far away.
“I know, believe me it’s ..” but he stopped himself. Maybe he understood that whatever he was going to say about them, he was also going to be saying about us. “Just drive to where you see that white car. You’ll see the rest of them.”
We pulled out and crossed the 101 overpass headed for the white car.
There were no words for the quiet organized picture of more than fifty cars lined bumper to bumper. Waiting. A silent, sleeping, motorized community of ladies-in-waiting. One or two cars with a steady stream of exhaust puffing from its muffler while the rest slept; the cars and the women inside of them, until it was time.
So I was advised to be there early. Really early.
When A and I arrived on the grounds at three thirty Sunday morning, we read a sign that warned all visitors off the property until 6:30 a.m.
“I don’t get it. The ladies on the site said to be here between one and four.”
Because he was tired and hungry and more nervous than me, he didn’t say that he knew that didn’t make sense, but I could see his expression under the soft orange lights above us.
As we were turning to leave the grounds and go god-knows-where, an officer pulled up. “We’ve never been here before,” I said immediately, because I felt like he needed to know that.
“You here for a visit?” he was nicer than I expected and I said this to A when we finally pulled off, but first I said, “yes” and told him that one of the regular visitors told us to be here at this time.
He smirked some and pointed, “Over there. Across the overpass.”
“The overpass?” The direction he indicated was dark and far away.
“I know, believe me it’s ..” but he stopped himself. Maybe he understood that whatever he was going to say about them, he was also going to be saying about us. “Just drive to where you see that white car. You’ll see the rest of them.”
We pulled out and crossed the 101 overpass headed for the white car.
There were no words for the quiet organized picture of more than fifty cars lined bumper to bumper. Waiting. A silent, sleeping, motorized community of ladies-in-waiting. One or two cars with a steady stream of exhaust puffing from its muffler while the rest slept; the cars and the women inside of them, until it was time.
posted by A Girl Again at 4:40 PM
4 Comments:
you are right.
it takes a special kind of person to wake up at ungodly hours to visit an ungodly place. but we do it. because of the distance i'm not a "regular," so each visit is its own adventure, but we continue on because it is the only way.
i wish the process was easier. i wish no one ever had to be searched, prodded, poked, looked at sideways-- just to see the one they love. but we put up with it all, for even the shortest amount of time. a touch & a smile.
Wow. I can really see it all. A was a trooper. I'm glad someone told you where to go. You gave us a great image of what a caravan of love looks like.
it was THE most astonishing, stalwart, sad fact of life that I have come across in quite some time. These people are brave and desperate and awesome in their ability to endure the unimaginable. and all for someone else's sake.
Your words make me feel as if I were right there with you and in spirit I am.
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