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“All oooof?” I responded and waited for clearer instructions.
“All that. The hoodie. The shoes. The hat. Take that off.” She livened up, but not because she was excited. She was irritated with the question I’d asked.
“Thanks.”
I removed everything she’d mentioned before stepping through the metal detector. Its approval awarded me everything I’d taken off. As I redressed, I began a new question but was quickly cut off.
“Where do—”
“Over there. Go talk to them over there. You see the big visitation check-in sign over there, right? You look like you can read.”
Taken aback at the harshness of her tone, I proceeded toward the desk she’d pointed to. I arrived to find another guard sitting behind the desk, marking letters and numbers on a notepad.
“Hey, I’m here to visit someone.”
“Grab a clipboard and fill out the paperwork. Once you’ve finished, bring your identification back up with you.”
“Okay.”
“Have you ever visited before?”
“No. I haven’t. But I did manage to get the validation check completed last night and was approved for visitation today.”
“Good. Makes my job easier. Give me that clipboard and just hand me your identification. Write your inmate's name and his number on the line beside it.”
Word for word, I obliged, hoping that my obedience sped the process up slightly.
“Here it is.”
“The next visitation is in fifteen minutes. I’ll try to get you in the system and back there by then. It’s only a thirty-minute visit. If they can get him down here in fifteen minutes, then you’re good. If not, then you’ll have to wait for the next visitation and I’ll let you back then.”
“Thank you.”
I had a seat a few feet away so that I didn’t miss my name being called or any important instructions. Within three minutes, she was calling me up.
“Ms. Roseberry?”
“Yes.”
Moving swiftly was possibly the worst decision I’d made all day. The pain in my back and sides simply wasn’t worth it.
“They’re going to get him down for the next visit. Here’s your identification. Remember, this is not a physical contact opportunity. You will be taken to a room where you’ll choose a seat. When ready, the inmates will come in and find their loved ones. Once the visit is over, you’ll return to this area and make your way out of the door. Understood?”
“Yes. I understand.”
“Good. Now, have a seat and wait for them to call your group.”
“What group is that?”
“The next one,” she responded, cutting the conversation short.
I imagined there was a letter or number that followed the word group, but apparently, that didn’t matter. I was next up and, for now, that information was enough for me to go on. Instead of sitting, causing more pain, I found the closest corner and pressed my back against the wall. The coolness offered little comfort but it was enough for the moment.
I busied myself by counting the tiles on the floor. The sound of crying babies, frustrated mothers, spiteful staff, and family members awaiting their chance to see their loved ones overstimulated me. I bounced my right foot on the floor, still remaining focused and determined to finish the count I’d started. At the brink of my stimulation, I gnawed the inside of my lip until I drew blood.
“Group sixteen.”
Sixteen, I thought. I'm in group sixteen.
