the purgatory of a parole saga
Back when the Rio Olympics were just a few weeks away, I was waiting for the revelation of something much more mundane than the origins of a global pandemic.
The letter below was written during the most trying psychological experience of my incarceration: Waiting for the final word from parole that would either send me home or keep me behind bars for about two more years.
Well, as you’ve hopefully heard by now, my original Hearing Officer recommended me for a June 2016 release back on May 20th. As expected, the first Parole Commissioner to review my case rejected his recommendation – something that apparently happens in most cases. So on June 1st I requested an appeal of that decision, which I was told would take about two weeks since a panel of two Parole Commissioners would be thoroughly reviewing my case.
And so began the longest psychological trial of my life. I was told by everyone here – from other inmates to my teacher to the COs – that a ”No” usually came during that two-week period, and that a “Yes” would take a bit longer to arrive. So starting on about day 10 after requesting an appeal, I would spend all day trying to distract myself as best I could, and then toss and turn waiting for the night-shift CO to come by and put the rolled-up passes into the metal grate over the window of my cell door sometime between one and three in the morning.
Many of those mornings a pass would slip into the grate, my heart would fall out of my chest, and I would slowly uncurl it to reveal … a pass to Medical for my cell-buddy. Or a pass for me to go to the Package Room. Or a pass for my cell-buddy to stay late at his job in the Plumbing Shop.
So by the time passes were given out each Friday morning I would let relief wash over me – at least I could relax through Saturday and Sunday mornings since no passes would show-up over the weekend. And finally, on the Friday morning before Fourth of July weekend, I let myself feel a small kernel of elation. It had now been four weeks since I requested my appeal, and not only could I look forward to three days of no passes due to the Fourth being on Monday – it had been twice as long as hearing a “No” was supposed to take.
Maybe all of this was almost over. Maybe I was close to walking out the gates, hugging my parents for as long as I needed, and going to lay on their back lawn to watch the clouds turn into stars.
And as July stretched on I found myself spending my days in a weird sort of stasis – after I got back from tutoring my brain didn’t want me to do anything other than lay on the bottom bunk, stare up at the top bunk, and half-listen to the news or whatever was on PBS or live sports if they were on. Honestly, I can’t really remember too much from June or July other than small snippets.