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Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781466918276 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Trafford Publishing |
| Publication date: | 08/08/2018 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 114 |
| File size: | 283 KB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Short Story
I decided to write a short story to share how I had a negative mindset against one of the, if not the best, programs I have ever participated in during my years of incarceration. The Residential Drug Abuse Program, better known as RDAP, is highly misconstrued and frowned upon throughout the system by inmates. The negative stories are passed along. Very few positive stories are shared. Many who speak against RDAP do not know a thing about it. I must confess that I was one of those individuals who ridiculed this program from the outside looking in. Now, I will be one of the first to say, this is one program every inmate should take before they are released. In RDAP, you are given tools to rationalize your thoughts, become conscious of your conditions, balance your lifestyle, successfully live with others, and begin a strong transition back into society.
This story is based on true events that had taken place prior to me signing up for RDAP.
Part 1 - Not Me
It is another one of those sleepless nights for me. Nothing bothered me more than the lack of respect that is given at this camp. It is two in the morning and these imbeciles are acting as if it is four in the afternoon. The sad thing is the only way I can get an intelligent conversation is to talk to myself. Something I found myself doing a lot of lately.
"What's wrong?" asked Mr. Conscience.
"I can't believe you just asked that stupid question," said Mr. Irritable.
"Try to stay positive," said Mr. Conscience.
"You been telling me that crap for years and what has it gotten me?" asked Mr. Irritable.
"You're at a camp now." stated Mr. Conscience.
"Psst ... this is what you call it. Look out that window ... What camp you know has a razor wire fence around it? Look at these pale, gray bunk beds and matching 3-foot lockers. And the only thing that is between these six by nine cubicles is 6-foot brick walls without any doors. Listen ... do you hear that? That is a symphony of snores and farts!" complained Mr. Irritable.
"Change is coming ..." Mr. Conscience began.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. It gets greater later. You've been saying that for years, too," interrupted Mr. Irritable.
"Things could be much worse," Mr. Conscience said.
"It could be, but I am not going to let it get to that," claimed Mr. Irritable.
"Well, it is good to see that we're still on our path to change," said Mr. Conscience.
"Yeah. ... yeah ... whatever," snapped Mr. Irritable.
"Just stay cool Drako," Mr. Conscience encouraged.
It was hard to find some sense of reason in this midst of madness. If it wasn't for talking to Mr. Harris or myself, I don't know what I would do for a conversation with substance. I have a lot of pain built up in me and it runs deep. It is hard not to be bitter after fifteen years in prison. The sad thing is, I didn't kill or rape anyone. I got all this time for drugs.
"Well, you were selling drugs for years and you did things you got away with," reasoned Mr. Conscience.
"That is my point. I didn't get caught," said Mr. Mollification.
"Just try to stay positive and out of trouble. Be grateful you're not back behind three fences with controlled movements and total chaos," said Mr. Conscience.
"I'm grateful but that don't mean I have to be happy. I am going to bid. I am smart enough not to get caught up in any foolishness."
I was talking to myself again and trying to justify my bitterness. A part of me was trying to stay positive and be optimistic about my situation. I even considered signing up for RDAP, but I quickly dismissed that thought. I was able to talk myself to sleep, just as I had done so many times before. Change was heavy on my mind and it was starting to seem like I couldn't continue to run from it. I was starting to feel like there was a purpose for me to fulfill. But a major part of me didn't want the responsibility and that personality was now in control. So, I didn't think about what was to come. But deep inside, I was realizing I couldn't keep running from change. The morning came swift. I was awakened by the counselor's voice blasting through the intercom.
"Attention in the camp! It's Wednesday. You know what it is! The recreation yard and education are closed! Report back to your housing unit and prepare for my inspection! No doubt, I'm in route!"
I laid there a minute and thought of how sick and tired I was of being in prison. I was disgusted by being around the same old things every day. Every week it was the same thing, everybody running around like headless pigeons. Just as I closed my eyes, in attempt to clear my head to get ready to face another day in this hell hole, I was interrupted.
"Yo, Drako."
"Wassup, Lil Hustle?" I replied to the gnat that was bugging me. He was known for trying to hustle everything he got his hands on.
"I got these milks. Stamp a piece."
"Aight, I'll grab one after inspection."
One thing about prison, everybody think they have all the sense. All Lil Hustle was trying to do was get rid of everything he was not supposed to have. Now, if I had bought that from him and during inspection the counselor finds it, I am out of a stamp and a milk. It never fails. He always find something wrong with my cube. So, there is no need to give him another reason to scold me.
I was finally able to shake the load off and get going. Now that my bed was made, and my cube was in order, I had to get myself straight. So, I navigated my way through the pre-inspection chaos to the restrooms.
"Wassup, Toops?"
"Ain't much Drako. Just another day in paradise."
"I feel you. Which side are you cleaning first?"
"You can brush your teeth in the last sink over there," said Toops pointing to his right and walking out of the restroom.
I was alone, just me and the mirror.
"You just don't give up, do you?" I asked Mr. Conscience.
"Why should I?" replied Mr. Conscience.
"You say something Drako?" Toops asked, stepping back into the bathroom with a mop bucket.
"Naw, Bro, just talking to myself."
"Give me a hit of that. Ha, ha, ha."
I guess it tickled Toops that I told him the truth. I was about to give him a piece of my mind, but I let it go. He stepped out again and I was face to face with me. I stared in the only set of eyes that I could never lie to.
Buzzz! Buzzz! Buzzz! Buzzz! Buzzz!
I guess it was for the sake of aggravation. I think the counselor got a kick out of holding that buzzer the way he did every morning. I wondered if there was a method to his madness. I have seen people get comfortable in prison, believe it or not, and maybe the counselor had his ways of making sure that inmates don't get comfortable around him. He was enough reason alone for me not to ever want to come back to prison. So, I guess his aggravation is a good thing if it gives me something to think about before I think about committing a crime.
"Inspection people!" yelled the counselor walking in the housing unit.
"There he go with all his mess," mumbled one inmate.
"Yeah, all that ain't call for," said another.
"You're right, here I go! And tell me what ain't call for fat boi? You might've tried me! You better bring it in! Everybody by their cubes and no talking during my inspection."
Everything went quiet instantly and it amazed me how all these so-called tough guys just fell in line. Later, they all will be talking about how they run this and that. I noticed that the inspection was moving along pretty fast. It may be a good morning after all. Just when that thought crossed my mind, the counselor barged in my cube and started his ranting.
"I should've known. You are the only cube out of order. Look at this mess."
"My cube straight, Counselor."
"You can't slick the slicker! You see this string tied up over here, illegal. Too many shoes and they are not in a straight line, illegal. One book or bible is supposed to be on your locker, illegal! Three zero seven, is out of order! Mr. Sullivan, you are ILLEGAL!"
"Man, ... Counselor ..."
"Ah, ah ... bring it in! Bring it in! I'll have you in that SHU so fast it will make your head spin. Now try me! Now get this pig pen in order!"
All I could do was shake my head and comply. There was no winning the argument anyway. I haven't seen anyone win one against the counselor and I wasn't going to be the next one to try. He went on his way and everyone else was spared, well, except for Lil Hustle. I guess he found his stash of milk and other food items he was stealing out of food service because he was letting him have it. I didn't feel so bad after hearing the tongue lashing he put on him.
I cleaned my cube to meet the counselor's approval. Fifteen minutes later, he announced the inspection was complete. I normally met my main man Mr. Harris at recreation for our daily spin around the track. I first met Mr. Harris at another prison many years ago, we were on our seventh year together at this point. He was at the end of a 22-year sentence. The sad thing was, it was his second time doing federal time. Mr. Harris was a realist and told you how it was. I liked that most about him. At the age of sixty, he is in better shape than most guys half his age. One thing that tickles me about Mr. Harris is he has this sarcastic way of accepting compliments. Whenever someone told him he looks good for his age, he would say, "Oh, I'm just trying to age gracefully." Then, he would follow that up with his slick laugh. I knew he would be one of the few that I stayed in touch with. Mr. Harris always made sense out of things that went on around us. To most folks, he was a grumpy, mean, and bitter old man. To me, he had a heart of gold and would do anything to help a friend. I think that prison gave him a good reason to be guarded. I found a way to connect with him and we have been friends ever since. As usual, he was high stepping around the track once I got to recreation.
"Hey Lil Bro!" he greeted, full of energy as always.
"Wassup Mr. Harris."
"I'm moving to RDAP sometime today."
"What? You ... nah ... You joking, right?"
"You know that I don't play them time jokes," he said in a humorous way.
"Yeah, but are you ready for snitch shack?" I said, laughing at my own joke.
"Hey, it won't bother me. I ain't giving them nothing to tell on me if that is the case."
"I know but I don't see being around that mess and doing all that silly stuff they do."
"You sound like these fools running around here. I don't care what they say about that program or what it is that I have to do."
"My bid is going too good and I ain't with changing it right now."
"Lil Bro, listen to me and you hear me good! It takes seven years to earn one year of "good time" credit. Now I can do that in nine months. I don't care what I have to do to get it. It makes perfect sense to me."
"You got a point there and I didn't look at it like that. So how much time will you have left once you are in?"
"You know what the monkey said when they cut off his tail?"
"No, what?"
"It ain't long now. Ha ha ha. I'll be out at the end of the year," said Mr. Harris, still laughing at his own joke.
I could see the joy sketched on his face. We just continued our walk and I didn't say much more about me not feeling RDAP. A far as I was concerned, one year wasn't worth all the hassle. My mind was made up and I didn't see it changing anytime soon.
Later that day, I helped Mr. Harris move his belongings into the unit that was assigned to RDAP. Just walking inside that unit made me sick. It looked like pre-school to me. It had decorations all over the place and it seems to be part of their brain washing scheme. I don't need to wake up seeing all that kindergarten stuff. I had come this far, and I had done so much to help myself. I didn't see them giving me anything more that I would need. I felt that I could finish doing my time on my own.
In that unit, everyone seemed to be so happy and cheerful. I didn't understand how anyone could be this happy in prison. I walked by one room and they were all dancing. I couldn't believe seeing grow men doing the cupid shuffle.
"Come on in Mr. Sullivan," called out one of the DTS (Drug Treatment Specialist). I called her Mrs. Two-Step because she loves to line dance.
"No Ma'am, I'll pass. This ain't the place to be dancing," I said.
"You'll be doing it when you come move to RDAP," she said giving me the look of certainty.
"I don't see me moving down here."
"If you say so. We'll see. Have a good day, Mr.
Sullivan," she said, getting back to her line dance.
I tried to get out of that unit as fast as I could, but I ran into another DTS. This one is a true southern belle. She had asked me before about moving to RDAP. I always made an excuse. She is known for getting her way. "Hi there, Mr. Sullivan," she said with a heavy southern accent. "You moving in?"
"No Ma'am, I'm just here helping my buddy, Mr. Harris."
"Whatcha waiting on?" she asked with hands on her hip and giving me the look that she wasn't accepting any excuses.
"I don't know if it is for me," I said honestly.
"Hush that up. I'm going to get you in here because you need this. It will help you. We are going to talk about this more later."
"Yes Ma'am."
I agreed to talk to her and I knew that she wasn't going to let up. I just couldn't see it, after all the bull that I've heard they had to go through. I was set on doing my time the way that I wanted to do it. It was set in my mind that they were going to brainwash everyone else, but not me!
Part 2 What Is Willed; Will Be Done.
Time was really moving for Mr. Harris. It seemed like yesterday that I had helped him move in RDAP. This morning he told me that he was three weeks away from the final phase. I don't know where the last six months went, but I was happy for him. I was missing our morning walks, but it was good that Mr. Harris was programming to get out of prison as soon as he could. The funny thing was, I had heard that he was doing the hokey-pokey dance. I would have loved to see that. I was able to find another way to spend my mornings by doing leather craft. I had gotten very good at it, too, and was making some very nice bags. The leather shop became my safe haven. It was a place that I could reflect on myself and my situation. Most of the time, I was there alone and was able to talk to myself freely.
"You have to have a plan, anything can happen now. Especially how laws are changing," said Mr. Conscience. "I don't want to think about any laws, ain't nothing going to help," said Mr. Irritable.
"Why you gotta be so negative? If you want something you have to have faith and claim it."
"Man, I ain't got no help this far and I'm not going to start looking for any."
"We have to stay positive."
"I'm positive that once I am done with this time, I'll go home."
It was becoming harder and harder for me to stay positive with all the disappointments I was dealing with. I found myself in a lonely and dark place. I had just lost another one of my favorite people to cancer. There is no way to describe the pain that is felt when you lose a loved one. Now, imagine losing that loved one and not having a chance to say good-bye, a chance to see them for one last time, or a chance to grieve and reminisce with your family. Whatever pain felt at the time, you can multiply that by ten and that was what I felt like. It took six years for my pain to ease from the passing of my grandmother and now the loss of my Auntie Jan laid heavy on my heart. I distanced myself from other people to be alone in order to deal with the pain I had inside. So, I was consumed by my leather work and I hid in the leather shop as much as I could.
"Drako."
"Wassup, Raines," I answered to one of the few that I considered a friend.
"Man, the counselor been paging you. I knew you was trapped in this leather shop."
"Yeah, you know that I can't hear anything in here."
"Well, he sent me down here to let you know that he needs to see you."
"Aight, I'm on my way. Let me put these tools away." I couldn't help but wonder what could the counselor want with me. I knew my cube was inspection ready and I hadn't done anything else. Maybe he had a form or something for me, I reasoned with myself as I made my way to his office.
Of all the things that my counselor could have wanted, nothing could have prepared me for the reason. His words crashed into me like a wrecking ball.
"Drako, your sister Sharika is in the intensive care unit. Your mom wanted you to call the hospital."
"Alright," was all I could say as my mind was trying to process what I just heard.
I cradled the phone in my sweaty palm as he dialed the number. I was in a trance, and my mind was racing. What could it possibly be? He made a gesture for me to take seat.
"Hello ... Momma," my voice was already cracking.
"Hey, baby. How you doin?."
"I'm good Momma. What's wrong with Rika?"
"Baby, it's gonna be alright. It's gonna be alright," she said in between her tears.
Hearing my momma cry uncontrollably opened my flood gate of tears.
"Momma ... Momma ... what's wrong?"
"She may not make it. My baby not gon' make it."
"Momma, she gonna make it. Now please tell me what happen."
"It's her kidney and her liver went bad ... it's my fault," Momma shouted and cried even harder.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Embracing Change"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Drako Sullivan.
Excerpted by permission of Trafford Publishing.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Foreword by Ebony Robinson, xi,
Letter from Author, xv,
Introduction, xxiii,
Short Story, 1,
Testimony: Grateful, but Change Doesn't Come Easy, 33,
A Glimpse of My Past, 40,
Journal, 30 days, 52,
Goodbye Letter, 71,
Conclusion, 77,
Poem, 81,
Afterword by Sabrina Wingard, 83,