Jerry Garcia was right - "What a long strange trip it's been!"
It's strange how things work out in life.
We arrived at the Wickham Lake Correctional Facility on the six-fourtyfour train.
The place appeared ominous with its tall stone pillars, six guard towers and eleven foot thick walls and a ,very wide, water filled moat with something frightening swimming in it. It almost seemed like we were in Medieval Times and being invited to dine at King Arthur's court...except his guards weren't modern and working for the Corrections Department.
The guards secured the gates behind the train and "escorted" us to our new home, at least for the next four years, maybe two with time off for "good behaviour."
After our "indoctrination", we were taken to sign-in our personal belongings, draw our "fine" cell bedding and then off to our "spacious" closet sized cells. It was night, already after nine, so there was no dinner or meal to be had tonight. Just the cold, gray walls of our upscale "living quarters." The cots were rock hard, the mattresses thin, pillow non-existent. Golly, coziness and comfort just like home!
On about three, I was promptly awakened by the crying sobs of another inmate. Either just getting his first dose of reality or a lifer who just couldn't stand it anymore. It reminded me of a scared, dejected and hopeless kid.
Although we were a mere eight feet apart, the stone and steel made it seem like half a mile!
I, for one, already decided no way and no how was I going out like that!
My eyes shut and I tried to sleep. Dreams were apparently locked out by the gates of this Hell hole and I couldn't think of anything except where I was - that I didn't want to be - and what I could do to endure my stay or...escape!
("As Time Goes By", the theme from "Casablanca" plays in the background)
Things haven't gone as smoothly as I hoped. My sentence seems to be for the "max" now, probably because I got angrier and angrier and put my mouth in gear before the brain. Being "vocal" and expressing my "opinions" on the outside might be okay, but here, inside, there's no such thing as "free" speech. Four years have come and gone inside these walls and I don't know how much longer it will be before a parole hearing comes up...or I decide "not to wait."
Dammit! Parole hearing came and went; I'm not "rehabilitated" enough for the outside, my "attitude needs improvement" and my damn mouthpiece claims "he's still working on my appeal."
This place sucks almost as much as a mystery cache! It's too much!
Think it's time to act. Seven of us have planned a break for this Saturday. All the screws (guards) are attending some type of event, maybe they're showing those damn geocaching movies again! While they are hunkered down in easy chairs, chomping on popcorn and watching movies of those silly people running around the countryside on an imaginary "treasure hunt" - when in fact all they will find is nothing...nada...zip...naught...zero - we'll be gaining our freedom by escaping through the subterranean delivery tunnel! Oh, to smell "fresh" air again!
Placed with permission of the Warwick Town Council
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