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It was no surprise I was leaving. Most people at STL Detention center were there waiting for a resolution to their charges. After a resolution was achieved they’d move from the County to a state prison.
While at the County lockup, I didn’t have any problems. People mostly kept to themselves and didn’t cause any ruckus. Other inmates told me that prison was better than the County because there was more freedom. Not physical freedom, but freedom to move around the facility. They also told me I would have to establish my reputation immediately. I was going to either be the hunted or the hunter. If there were only two choices, I would choose hunter. I still couldn’t believe this was my reality. I was serving a twenty-five-year sentence for a crime I did not commit. I was completely innocent but in the eyes of the State of Missouri I was guilty; a felon.
I took the picture of Mom and Torrey off the wall and put it in my laundry bag along with the rest of my things. I stepped outside my cell and stood against the wall. The guard attached the cuffs to my hands in front of me, and then attached the leg shackles. I hated being treated like an animal, but I took the plea deal the DA offered. I accepted the plea because I couldn’t put Mom and Torrey through anything else. I couldn’t get out of the charges and seeing them sad, and crying was wearing on me. I just wanted it all to stop. The only way to make it stop was by taking the plea. Neither Mom nor Torrey wanted me to do it, but at least with the plea I had an idea of when I would be out. Without the plea, it was a possibility that I would spend the rest of my life behind bars.
“Sir, where am I going?” I questioned the guard as he led me to the exit.
“Pineville,” he spoke over his shoulder.
“Pineville? Where is that?”
“It’s in southwest Missouri.”
“Will I be able to call my mother when I get there to let her know where I am?”
“Yeah, at some point you will get phone privileges. Aye, Valentine, look, man, you seem to come from a decent family, and you are a smart kid. Take this time to better yourself. Stay away from the knuckleheads and lay low. You gotta do the time, but it doesn’t have to be hard time,” the CO explained.
I nodded. I understood what he had said, but that came from a man who had no idea of what hard time was to an inmate. He was able to go home every single night. He had the choice of whether to come in the next day. He had freedom. I didn’t. I didn’t know much about hard time or easy time but what I did know is if someone came to me on some bull, I was layin’ em’ down. There had been a lot of dudes in the streets who thought that since I wasn’t slangin’ or bangin’, I was on some weak shit. They thought I was a dude who would fold when they came at me. Every nigga that ran up on me was carried away. It would be the same way at Pineville. Don’t mess with me and I won’t mess with you. Fuck with me, be prepared for me to never stop coming after you…ever. I put that on everything.
I was loaded onto a bus with several other inmates. We were each chained to the seat by our waist. I couldn’t see much through the window I sat next to beyond the narrow slits of its coverings. The scant bits I could see—the trees, the grass, the cars, the girls—was enough to make me miss my freedom. I didn’t know how long the drive was from Saint Louis to Pineville, but I didn’t close my eyes once. I tried to remember the landmarks and signs I saw on the way, so when it was time to leave, I could easily navigate away.
The bus pulled up to a tall chain link fence with barbed wire across the top. The entire fence slowly retracted allowing the bus the space to enter. We continued through the fence and came to a stop after pulling several feet into the compound.
I stepped off of the bus after being unchained from the seat and stood shoulder to shoulder with the other inmates awaiting further instructions. We faced a tall, black brick building covered with vines. The thick vines grew from the ground, resting on the entire length of the building. This was nothing like County lockup.
A large prison guard dressed in all black began to speak, “Just in case you hadn’t noticed, gentlemen, you are no longer at home with your mommas. No one is here to coddle you, so man up. You may have run something in the streets, but you don’t run nothing here. You are now the property of the State of Missouri’s prison system. We tell you when to wake up. We tell you when to eat. We tell you when to speak. We tell you when to shit. You have no rights unless we give them to you. As of right now, you have nothing. You will earn everything in this prison from your meals to your visits. You will respect the staff and each other. Lack of respect and discipline will be met with severe consequences. Everything that comes out of your mouth should begin with Sir or Ma’am and end with Sir or Ma’am. You do not move or speak until you have been given permission to do so by a staff member. Do you understand?”
“Sir, yes, Sir,” we all responded military style.
We were escorted into the building where we went through the de-humanizing process of undressing in an open room, bending over and coughing to check for contraband, then being forced to wash with a delousing shampoo in an open shower room. We were then assigned inmate numbers, had pictures taken, given IDs, uniforms and were shaved.
Carrying our other uniforms and a rolled-up mattress, we were escorted into the bay, where our cells were located. The bay was a circular room with four floors of cells. There were round stainless-steel tables with benches scattered on the main floor. In the middle of the main floor was a control room where the guards monitored the entire bay. All of the prisoners were locked up in their cells, but that didn’t stop some of them from watching each of us intently, probably trying to feel us out. I was ready for whatever. I knew two things coming in here; no one would beat me in a fight, and no sissy ass nigga was coming for my ass. They would have to kill me first.
“Valentine!” One of the guards called out.
I raised my hand as much as I could while still holding on to my mattress.
C-seventeen,” he beckoned for me to follow him.
I followed him up three flights of steps until I arrived at the stenciled sign on the wall that read, “Level C.” We walked past several cells before arriving at number seventeen. I walked into the small cell and was greeted by a man sitting at a small desk tucked in the corner of the cell. He looked old enough to be my grandfather, if not my great-grandfather. His dark as tar skin was wrinkled and leathery. His short hair was completely white, and his large eyes had a bulge that almost made them look cartoon-like. His eyes were no longer all brown but had begun to take on a blue color around the perimeter, and the whites of his eyes were a light-yellow hue.
“You can put ya pad up on da top bunk,” he didn’t look at me while he spoke. “There is a lil’ bit of space on the other side of dis’ desk for ya to put yer’ stuff.”
I put my bag of uniforms on the ground and threw my mattress on the top bunk.
“Tappy!”
“Sir, yes, Sir,” the older man called out.
“Make sure he knows how to make up his bunk. The Warden will be walking through tomorrow,” the guard who escorted me up, barked.
“Sir, yes, Sir,” Tappy replied.
Tappy stood very slowly from the desk. I stood up straight and widened my stance. I didn’t know if this was about to be my first test or not. I didn’t want to have to knock out somebody’s grandpa, but I would. Survival was my number one priority in here.
Tappy examined my stance and laughed the laugh of a man who had smoked way too many cigarettes. He laughed until it turned into a deep phlegm-filled cough.
“You can relax, young buck. I’m too old for all that dumb stuff, been there done that,” he said after drinking a sip of water.
