The moment that I read Kenny's letter was an awakening to me. He explained that he had followed my story on the news closely, and found out where I was being held. He didn't know if he should write for his family's safety, but he figured that he knew me well enough that I wouldn't come to harm him or his family. The letter was touching, as he reminisced about the times when we were younger and he joked about how he felt like he was always helping me out of jams- like when my father died. This is how I knew what a true friend was. After all this time of not being involved in his life whatsoever, he felt it important to reach out to me and give me words of wisdom. He wrote about his wife, Kate, and his two children ages 4 and 2. He said that Kate had overcome a long battle with acute myelogenous leukemia, and because of her remission, the family found a new found faith in the Lord. He ended the letter with a bible verse from the Corinthians: No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and He will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation He will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it. As a rather unreligious man, I chose to ignore it, but still appreciated it all in the same.

Seeing how awful solitary confinement was, I tried my best to avoid it at all cost. I did what I was told, and when I was told; and even though my thoughts of Yolanda sometimes overtook me, I tried my best to remain level-headed. I actually liked being on good behavior. I often got made fun of by the other prisoners for what they called "giving into the big men", but I didn't care. My mindset was focused on finishing out my sentence in the least painful way I could. I needed to get back to my love, Yolanda, and my best friend, Kenny. I decided that if given the chance, I would mend all things broken in my life. I would tell Kenny how much his letter meant to me, and maybe even admit that I teared up while reading it. I would tell Yolanda that she had never left my mind for one minute during my sentence and tell her how important it was that her and I remain together.

I requested permission to be seen by the parole board. I was granted permission rather quickly. I was so nervous the nights before my interview that I had not slept or eaten. I looked in the mirror to give myself a pep talk before going to the interview and noticed my hair stringy and disheveled, and huge bags under my eyes that were sunken deep into my skull. I looked like a killer. "You are not that person, Bandy.", I told myself. My eyes were fixated and serious. "You are a good person, who just happens to love too much. And that is NOT a crime,". I continued repeating this over and over again until I was taken away to my interview. I walked into a room that was made of concrete walls and floors. Still in shackles, I was ordered to sit down in front of about ten different people, ranging in age, race, sex, and size. They sat about twenty feet away from me at a long, metal table. I was quick to assume that a few were psychologists from the questions about my childhood that they had asked me, and some were judges, or another type of governmental aide by the emphasis on my guilty plea. I explained everything with the upmost honesty that I could and exaggerated nothing. I figured that I knew I was a good person, and that would show through my actions, regardless of personal hygiene and appearance. I was asked about my meltdown in the laundry room and explained the meeting with Yolanda I had a few days prior. They took notes when I admitted that I had been in solitary confinement for a few months and I knew that their decision was made. Should I have lied?

I laid awake for a few nights after that awaiting their decision. I was so tired that when it came time for morning chow, I dropped my tray full of food. I was so weak, I could barely process what was happening, let alone collect the energy to clean it up. Because of my exhaustion and clumsiness, I was forced to skip my meal that day and sent to my cell. It was just before we were allowed out in the yard when a guard came to my cell with a letter from the parole board. My heart sank and I contemplated waiting to open it, but before I could even finish that thought I had already torn it open. My parole had been granted. Suddenly, I remembered the bible verse Kenny had written and it all made sense.