One week after seeing Yolanda, I took a long look at myself in the mirror. "Not bad" I said to myself. My eyes were clear, my beard was thick, dark and about two inches long, and my hair was cropped short. My brown eyes spaced perfectly apart to look neither like a rat or a grazing cow. My skin was pale but clear. My straight nose with a slight hook. No bags under my eyes and no wrinkles. I smiled at myself and then shut my mouth to cover my crooked brown teeth.
Besides the immense conflict in my mind regarding Yolanda, sadly prison was one of the better periods in my life. I tend to view things as a glass half full kind of guy. For example the clothing was itchy but there was always a clean pair to change into. The guards always laughed at me when I soiled my pants and they thought it would be a proper punishment to make me work in the laundry room. The laundry job wasn't so bad though. It would be me, three other inmates, and a single guard in the room. The job consisted of sorting the pants, shirts, underwear and socks into different piles. There were four industrial size washing machines. Each one was meant to wash a specific garment. Even though the machines were actually the same, we had to follow this silly system to avoid mixing the clothing up. Once we loaded the machines, we sorted the next load and then waited around shooting the shit. One day I told the guys about Yolanda. I explained how I accidentally killed her lover in the stock room, and how she visited me and told me to forget about her. They encouraged me that other girls were out there and that it was foolish to continue loving someone that filed a restraining order against me. I thought back to the time I first saw Yolanda at the park. She looked so beautiful, but then I said "Bandy, you don't understand beauty. You need to escape this prison and open your heart to all the wonders of the world."
My pep talk to myself continued for some minutes as I reminisced about Claire who brought me food in the park and Kenny, my only childhood friend. As the buzzer rang when the dryer finished its cycle, I screamed out loud "Yolanda! You may have my heart, but I don't fucking love you no more!" The guard ran towards me and attempted to restrain me. I swung my arm around with all my force and smacked my forearm across his face. His nightstick flew out of his hand into the air as he toppled to the floor. I heard the sound of a swarm of guard's hard soled boots racing towards the room. We all lay on the ground and covered our heads to endure the seemingly never ending beat down. I was the last person to be interrogated regarding the incident and pleaded guilty to the story that the other inmates formed.
I was sent to solitary confinement for my actions. This was in a separate building located to the west of the four main prison buildings. The Hudson Correctional Facility was much different when I was there. Standards of prisoner treatment were harsh and bordering on torture. I was locked up in a small dark cell in this separate building and stayed there for an entire month. The room was large enough to stand and lay down in but not much bigger. The floor was cold cement and they didn't provide me with a blanket. There was a faucet with salty tasting water and a few loaves of stale bread.
When I was finally released from solitary, I was in a very agitated state. I uncontrollably opened and closed my mouth in a way that looked to others that I was chewing on something. My eyes were no longer clear and now riddled with red veins. My the skin was clinging tightly to my now visible cheekbones and my face had a hollow look to it. I was more pale than ever before in my life. When I got into my regular cell, there was a letter for me waiting on the bed. I looked at the name of the return sender and couldn't believe my eyes... Kenny!
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