I began counting down the days to my release date, which is also referred to as an SRD (Supervised Release Date) or simply ‘out date.’ Inmates have their own counting systems. The most popular one is ‘___ days and a wake-up’, such as ‘6 days and a wake-up.’ One does not include today or the release date in the number. You only count the days between today and the last day. This makes one’s release date seem closer in a reasonable way. I began counting down in August, my release date set at December 10.
“Holly? Is that you?” I turned in the dayroom of Broker to see who was speaking. A blonde woman sat at a table by the windows. I didn’t recognize her.
“Yes, I’m Holly,” I answered.
“Oh my goodness!” she said. “I was here when you first got to prison. I lived in Tubman with you for a time. You were so different then! I just returned to prison a few weeks ago and didn’t know you were the same person. You used to be so tense and agitated all the time.” I nodded, thinking that was likely true. “Look how calm you are! You’re so peaceful!” she continued.
I smiled a thanks and walked away thinking, “Thank you Jesus for rescuing me! I am so grateful.”
A few days later another inmate called me over to a table. “Holly, aren’t you scared to be leaving?” This was a common question. Many women expressed fear over going home. They feared homelessness, joblessness, addiction, and rejection by society. I was not scared. I would follow Jesus into any situation and know He planned it for good. His plans are good!
At a recent release plan meeting with my caseworker she asked about my plans. At each meeting she made sure to say, “Holly, remember – it is not my job to create a release plan for you or find resources for you. It is my job to make sure you are doing those things for yourself.” This time she asked about employment. I answered, “I plan to obey God, and He will provide for all my needs.”
She looked startled. “Well that’s fine, but God doesn’t pay the rent!” she retorted.
Jesus brought to mind Deuteronomy 8: And beware lest you say in your [mind and] heart, My power and the might of my hand have gotten me this wealth. But you shall [earnestly] remember the Lord your God, for it is He Who gives you power to get wealth, that He may establish His covenant which He swore to your fathers, as it is this day.
“I think God does pay the rent!” I answered. She shook her head, but I felt confident and smiled. I gave Jesus a mental high-five.
The release process usually involves a family or friend arriving at the prison to pick up the newly released inmate. The prison will wait to start the release process until the inmate has a ride out. Once family or friends check in at the front desk, the prison finds the inmate’s location within the prison and calls them to Property. One brings their personal belongings to Property where they are compared with the inmate’s “property list,” a list of controlled items the inmate has bought on canteen such as shoes, television or tablet. Long-termers usually have a lengthy property list as they’ve had time to buy everything allowed.
As I prepared for my own release date that summer, my friend Khoua approached me with a warning and advice. “You should ask for a copy of your property list so you can check it for accuracy. When you leave they will compare it with your belongings and if anything is missing, they can legally hold you here until midnight – in seg – and maybe even longer!” This was a horrifying thought. I wanted to leave as soon as permitted, first thing in the morning! So I took her advice.
When my property list arrived I felt a moment of horror. Five years earlier, when I went to work at the gym, I’d bought my first new pair of shoes on canteen. The prison provides shoes, of course, but they literally weigh more than two pounds and fall apart within a few months under even the most gentle use. After much research I bought one of the cheapest pairs, and they also began falling apart within a month, a large rip over my big toe appearing.
“Look at these stupid shoes!” I complained to coworkers at the gym. I lifted my foot and pointed at the toe. “I just bought them,” I bellyached.
Kelly glanced over and hummed commiseration. Sally also stopped to take a look and said, “I just bought my shoes too, and they’re pretty good but too narrow for me. I’m going to bootcamp soon, that’s why I bought them, and I’ll never make it through with these uncomfortable shoes. You wanna trade? Your shoes would only need to last me a few months.” Bootcamp is a prison early release program and is literally like a military bootcamp.
It was a generous offer, and I accepted. I still had these shoes 5 years later, and they were not on my property list, but the shoes I traded away were! “Jesus,” I prayed, “What should I do?”
“Remember the time…” Jesus answered, turning another incident that had happened years earlier into a mental movie. I’d arrived at prison thinking I was better than people from a lifestyle very different from my own. I believed I had superior skills in navigating problems (I did not). It didn’t take long before I was making extra money selling artwork to other inmates. Payment was made in canteen, which except for pickup on canteen day was to remain in our units. When my buyer lived in another unit, creative ways were found to pass this canteen between us. Guards were always on the lookout for this behavior.
I was in the line for the cafeteria when I heard behind me, “Step over here, please.” A guard was pulling another woman out of line. The woman looked to me like a career criminal, and I imagined her to have special ability to commit crimes undetected from years of practice. We all had interest in what was happening.
“Did you just pass something?” the guard asked her. The inmate’s next words amazed me.
“Yes I did. I’m sorry,” she replied. I gaped in shock, knowing I’d never be so honest.
A few months later I was again in line for the cafeteria wearing my coat so I could carry canteen undetected. The woman in front of me was my buyer, and as the line moved forward she emptied her pockets into mine: toothpaste, pepperoni, sausages, candy and so on. She had purchased a lot of artwork from me, so her payment was huge. I struggled to find hiding places on my person and began stuffing items into my sleeves as my pockets overflowed.
The toothpaste went into my left sleeve just before I rounded a corner and came face to face with a guard. One second later the toothpaste tube exited my sleeve at the wrist and sailed though the air, landing at the foot of the guard. The guard was surprised but quickly recovered and pulled me out of line.
She marched me to the OCO desk where another guard stood and conferred with her on what to do next. I waited at the desk with pockets full of hidden canteen. The second guard turned to me and asked, “Do you have more contraband on you?”
Remembering the honest answer from the tough looking inmate, I swallowed. ‘If she can be truthful so can I,’ I thought, and answered, “Yes I do. Two bags of coffee, pepperoni, candy and sausages in my coat pockets.” I set each item on the desktop.
“I don’t think we need to strip search her,” the second guard said to the first. “Just give her an LOP and send her back to the cafeteria.”
The memory ended. “Use this lesson again,” Jesus said. “Be honest. Be humble.” I wrote a kite to Property that said:
“I will be leaving in a few months and there’s a problem with my property list. I used to be shady and years ago I traded shoes with someone. I don’t have the shoes on my list and do have a pair not on the list. I’m sorry. I do not want this to cause problems on my release date.”
Nervously I dropped it in the mail and waited. A few days later I received a reply from the Property Sgt:
“I will attempt to confirm your story by reviewing receipts. If I find you to be truthful I will update your property list without any consequences. Thank you for your honesty.” A week later that’s exactly how it went, and my property list was no longer a barrier. What a relief!
I’ll never forget my last days in prison. It felt epic! I had begun listening to a Christian radio station the year previous, and found a new song I loved, named “Different” by Micah Tyler. I sang it now in my cell and prayed the words, asking Jesus to continue His work in me as I walked out that door in a few days…
[Verse 1]
I don’t wanna hear anymore, teach me to listen
I don’t wanna see anymore, give me a vision
That you could move this heart, to be set apart
[Verse 2]
I don’t need to recognize, the man in the mirror
And I don’t wanna trade Your plan, for something familiar
I can’t waste a day, I can’t stay the same
[Verse 3]
And I don’t wanna spend my life, stuck in a pattern
And I don’t wanna gain this world but lose what matters
And so I’m giving up, everything because…
[Bridge]
I know that I am far from perfect
But through You the cross still says I’m worth it
So take this beating in my heart and
Come and finish what You started
When they see me, let them see You
‘Cause I just wanna be different
The majority of women at Shakopee prison have been sentenced to less than 10 years. During my own incarceration the prison formed a ‘long-termers’ group for women with a sentence of 10 years or more, and I was invited (my sentence was 12 years). Out of a population of 700 women, only 50 or 60 qualified for this group.
During my stay, I did not get to know every woman who was ever there at the same time as me. Ninety percent of the population is here today and gone tomorrow. The only constant is that small segment of the population who remains year after year. Additionally, as prison has an ambiguous, fluid and transitory culture while remaining complex in structure, long-termers become the most reliable guides to getting things done. They also remember the reason for every new rule and which inmate to blame for that rule’s existence. Long-termers, unfortunately, carry some notoriety because their crimes and sentences are difficult to imagine living through. For these reasons nearly everyone knows who the long-termers are, and I was likely no exception. My work in the intake unit of Broker the last year of my sentence also put me into contact with a greater number of inmates than average.
In the months leading up to my release date there seemed to be a buzz of excitement around me. Inmates with shorter sentences arrive and leave every day, but a long-termer going home is unusual and inspires hope in everyone. Several times a day I’d be asked, ‘How many days left?’ As I answered, whoever had asked me would get a far away look in their eye imagining the day they would leave.
That last summer in prison I left my tutoring job and enrolled in Office Support, a certificate program. I finished six weeks before my out date and chose to return to the kitchen, becoming the baker. The cafeteria and kitchen are in the Core building with Property. Floor to ceiling windows fill the exterior wall, giving a look into the goings on in the rest of the prison. Many a meal is accompanied by a show, inmates eating dinner while watching medical personnel run to emergencies, guards run to stop fights, handcuffed inmates hauled off to seg. When alerts could be heard over a nearby guard’s radio, all heads in the chow hall would turn to the windows.
Kitchen staff could look out the windows all day, and were the most well informed inmates in the goings on at the prison. They knew who was in seg and when they went, who had been taken to the hospital, and which units had been fighting.
Kitchen staff were not permitted to stand in front of these windows and gawk, however they usually did – especially when someone was being released. The long walk out of the prison involved passing these windows on the way to Property. I would be leaving during my usual kitchen shift, and all of my coworkers would be there. “Don’t get yourselves in trouble by standing at the window to watch as I walk by!” I warned. I hoped they would listen, I didn’t want anyone punished.
One thing I most disliked about prison routines were the standing counts, especially the last one of the day held at 9:25pm. Count would be called over the PA system and one must stand at the door, ID badge in hand at the window, waiting for staff to pass by. This wait could be 5 minutes or take half an hour. Guards often varied their starting and ending route through the unit. Everyone was excited if their hallway was first. Who wants to stand there for half hour during the middle of a great tv show? This is prime time! I missed the climactic ending to so many detective shows, never finding out who the culprit was.
As my release date grew nearer, I comforted myself saying, ‘I only have to do this 6 more times….5 more times…4 more times…’ My last night as the guards passed I punched the air in victory, “No more times!” I shouted in my darkened room.
The morning of December 10, 2018! My parents would arrive at 8am, the earliest time allowed, and I would be called to Property soon after. I awoke with the dawn, feeling lighter than air. I felt Jesus presence very strongly, my heart skipping with joy. I turned on my radio to my favorite Christian music station. The song Waymaker filled the room. I brushed my teeth and combed my hair as if in a dream.
I’d arrived at prison broken, alone and hurting. Today I was leaving healed, united in spirit with Jesus, and whole! We were leaving this place together today!
At 7:30 am I grabbed a wheeled cart, filling it with my packed boxes. Then I sat in the dayroom to wait. Soon friends joined me at the table, sharing the vigil with me. We cried together. We laughed, sharing memories. We waited with anticipation.
Our table was within sight of the guard desk, and at 8:15 the phone rang. A moment later the PA system in Broker loudly announced for the last time, “Aho, staff desk. Aho, staff desk!” The dayroom broke into applause at the sound, and suddenly cheering could be heard throughout the building as women lent their support from their rooms. I stood and smiled, surprised.
Taking my cart from a smiling guard, I wheeled it out of the building and down the long walk to the Core building, passing the other living units as I went. Jesus walked beside me. Women can frequently be seen pulling a wheeled cart as they move from one unit to another, however when her belongings are packed in boxes instead of bins – she is going home! As I passed Tubman I saw women standing at the large dayroom windows, and when they noticed me with my boxes they waved and cheered. I passed the Anthony unit and was greeted again with waves and smiles.
So it continued until the Core building came into view. Standing at the windows was the entire kitchen staff, along with the guards. They waved and cheered as I passed by and entered the building. My heart felt so full. The moment was bittersweet. How different from the day I arrived miserable, lonely, and unloved!
A few minutes later my parents met me at the exit, and Jesus and I walked out those prison doors, ready to began the rest of my life.
