But, I know the ways of a rainy season. I know where to be, be as I I write this. I know how to get caught frozen to a small place out of the rain, a place where I can not move, not allowed to move until the rain goes. If it is a long rain, I will have to make my way back to where I am housed. I will end up very wet, but that usually does not happen as I play it right. I stand alone, under a overhang that keeps me dry. There I listen to the rain and thunder. There I think of things.There I see the fast water running down, across. Seeing it i think, I think I am at fast rivers bank. I stare, stare in time that narrow fast water becomes a different water, a different place. I’ll stand there and look out across the way, eyes cutting through the silver rain. I’ll think back, see her face there besides me as we wait for the storm to pass. I’ll kiss her lips. First, she giggles, then draws me close to her, the sound of rain and the warmth of her. I even smell her beauty as we embrace.

I’ll stand there looking down. I begin to see the forest path of which I ride my horse under the leaves that have rain slicing between them. I smell the heat of the horse, the wet of the leather… And I ride. I ride not for home, no, further than that where it’s just life, earth and me.

Yes, within the the rainy season I know how to jail, write in it. It brings me some peace. I have never written anything free, only caged. At times I know that God has chosen this for me, for I am one of his soldiers. Can he let me march free, free under his rain again. It is not much to ask. Yet, I ask over and over, day after day. Lord, please give me that ’second chance.” If I do not get that, at least he gives me the rain.

Her name is Marcia Silvers,(pictured above with George) an attorney from Miami Fl. She works closely with Attorney Roy Black. Word is, she’s the best legal research mind for post convictions to come along in many years. Roy and Marcia are working on my freedom. I work on keeping my sanity, something I must do day after day after day…

From the visit I took away many good things. While walking back towards my cell after the visit, I stopped, looked up to the Heavens, took deep breath, and silently, I said;

I am not of common man
Where I am is where I fair
Death can be near, yet I never fear
Bless the lord-good people are near
To fear the fear takes too much care
Where I am is where I fair
The sun comes, tries to burn me, I’ll never run
Come freedom I’ll see my son
Lying there beneath some land
Oh where oh where is life so dear
So I walk some more as my cage awaits
For where I am is where I fair
For I am not of common man
Of common man call me not

Each Sunday, late afternoon, I receive the Lord’s host. Of course I say a special prayer afterwards. There is a special spot I go and kneel before the Lord. A low space, square with steel bars. The side of the bars I see are not white like the outer side. No, kneeling, I see rust. I have been coming to this spot for four years, saying my special prayer and the rust has gotten worse.
After my prayer I also do the same thing every week with my hands. I reach out aways and begin to pick away bits of debris, weeds, and, now and then, some insects. Funny how it still lives. Yet certain times of the year it is unyielding, just a stem. Then at good times of the year it blooms. Just one tiny flower of red. Funny how there is no other about it, just it. But I honestly enjoy just staring at the rich red color of it. But today, Sunday, as I cleaned around it, stared some, it came to me!
The flower is like me. You see, of late, some good people have found a spot. They kneel before it and begin to pick, push and clean above at first, then lower and all around me. They are trying to push away much debris. They are trying to give me space so I can live and not strangle from the weeds of prison life. For I truly believe I have blossomed of sorts. Oh it was hard to flower for I had to extend my arms very high to keep the pushing foliage from crushing down on me. Now I have help, and maybe and finally the season of miracle will come. A season where my rich color can be enjoyed by all.

An Angel without wings.
A Saint unrecognized.
His miracles walk the halls so cold.
They each hold a piece of legacy untold.

Giving to all, all that he has.
Never holding back his gifts.
Knowledge, experience, compassion, and love.
Like the arm of God working from above.

When he’s granted his overdue freedom,
the love will not cease to flow.
This man is an Angel of the highest rank.
Each day, for him, the Lord I thank.

I thank God for Georgie.
For all that he is.
I know I’m not the only one,
So many are grateful for this miraculous son.

I sit listening to Jenkins, at first a lot. But now I am just staring down at the shine on my shoes. I remember the shine as I looked down right before entering the bank. I remember the heels clicking on the banks marble floor… then the blast of the gun.

I hear Jenkins again. I also take in the smell around me, smells I have never known. The smell of men and walls that time has made into something only found amongst the caged. yet, this mans voice makes my heart warm, but the heat only comes in shortness because the fear jumps upon my being. A fear that brings a taste to one’s mouth that makes it hard to swallow.

“Alice, Alice, it’s getting to that time; just remember to do all I said. Worst case is you get caught, extra year big deal. You just gotta act no actress has acted before Alice. Then once you’re free, don’t run far. Do like I said, get cash, find a out of the way spot right here in New York. Millions in the city. Just lay low. I’ll be out in two, three yers the most. They’ll take me back up-state, them back down here in a few months for another hearing”

“But what about assisting me, you’ll…?”
“Don’t worry bout that, there is no violence, you’re walking out and they let you”
“And it will be the next shift?”
“… right Alice, take the clipboard and papers, walk out, get on the elevator with the other “suits” and follow them out through the kitchen and laundry area, once on the loading docks, keep a hard face. Some of the dock workers, “Short-timer Inmates”, might approach you for assistance, tell them your overwhelmed with cases and keep walking for the street.” Jenkins finally stopped talking, took a deep breath, stared down at Alice-she felt the silence, she reached out to him. He caressed her hair… pulled her up to him… looked into her eyes
“… Jenkins” she whispered, and the they kissed, really kissed. “if you want to…?
“… no, not like this” he said as he wiped away her tears with his rough hands.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

So, the prison venture of Alice Young worked. She stood by the door as the next shift came on. She yelled at Jenkins, she was “done with him”, loud enough, drawing the attention of the on-coming guard. “Let me outta here i can’t help him”.
“Sit down “Cal” while I get her out” the guard instructed Jenkins.
Door opened, out she went, clipboard in hand… on the elevator, gone….

Out on the street, the only thing swirling in her head as she held the clipboard, was, learning Jenkins first name, Cal… short for “California Jenkins”

Final segment in a day or so…

“Hey, I been on that prison bus allday, now I got to wait more, how bout some food?!” Jenkins blurted out as he was being unchained.

“Yea yea, we’ll see”, and the steel door slammed shut.

Now all Jenkins could do was pace, sleep on the wooden bench, or look out the window over downtown Manhatten. First he paced. Food came, not much. He dozed a while. Looked out the window and the hours passed…

“…JENKINS !!”

“Yoo…?!” Jenkins yelled back

“Come to the door, bad news, trip was wasted, parole hearing been rescheduled, sorry” the guard informed him.

“Screw you, get me back on the bus”

“… can’t, in the morning, have a nice dark” and the guard moved on.

“hey, what about some more food, that was nothing”

“… later” he heard faintly.

Now Jenkins looked around more, knowing the long night coming. Looked at the bench, concrete table, stall with sink and toliet… “Geez” was all he could say.

“Put em’ in there” he heard, waking him as the steel door opened.

In came a thin, mustached Asian man. Jenkins watched the man, nervous, just standing there… “Sit down enjoy” Jenkins mumbled falling back asleep. There Jenkins laid, using the orange jumpsuit as a pillow; sleeping in his underwear, socks and prison boots on.

The food trays banging woke him once again. “Get the trays through the slot” ordered Jenkins, the thin Asian obeyed. While Jenkins ate, the Asian just sat. “you eat’in or what?” asked Jenkins. The Asian just shook his head no. “Fine, I’ll eat it” and Jenkins took and ate it.

Jenkins looked over and the Asian was sitting on the toilet. Just peeing. “…oh boy” said Jenkins, “Hey, I ain’t one to pry, but what are ya in for”

The Asian waited a bit… “I shot my lover in a bank” Now, at least Jenkins knew why the Asian was in a federal holding suite. “You a fag or something?” asked Jenkins. The Asian just stood staring down at his small feet. “Is he dead?” The Asian shook no, “You’ll do five, wasn’t a bank job was it?” The Asian shook no. “You got a record?” Another no. “Hey, we’ll be in here all night, you gonna just shake your head?” The Asian just sat staring down. ” ahh, the hell with ya” and Jenkins started doing push ups, alot of push ups. When he got done he sat next to the Asian. “You got a lawyer?” The Asian just shrugged. “Listen you chink bastard, either say something or you get a beaten, which is it?”
“… my name is Alice” blurted the Asian in a true female voice.
Jenkins, eyes popping “Your a girl??!!” The Asian shook her head yes, then spoke… ” I thought I could get away with it, I mean shooting Curtis. He, he stole all my momey, lied to me, always. So I dressed like this, went and shot him, froze, couldn’t run”
“And they don’t know your a woman?” The Asian shook his head no. ” Oh-boy, wait till the guys upstate hear this when I get back–no, no don’t cry” And Alice sobbed herself to sleep….

TO BE CONTINUED…..

So the elderly mother drove through the night. Thought many thoughts as she stared straight ahead. Of him as a boy, as a man. What it must have been like for the past 30 years for him in prison. She thought, should I have brought others? No, no other sept the woman that bore him… and she drove.

Outside the prison she waited… he finally came out, head down. He got into the car, stared straight ahead… she at his profile. He aged and was not the same. She put it in drive and off they went.

At home, free, the son never ventured far. Mostly, just tilling the garden by their large country house. She would stare at him through the window, watching, weeping. Wondering what he had endured for 30 years caged… what, God only knows.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Well readers, what you just read is from the long ago fiction novel, The Thornbirds. Great book that was made into a mini-series. When I came upon this part it stuck with me. I am coming up on 30 years shortly here. Caged for almost half my life. The man released here killed a man in a bar fight. Least the writer knew that to spend 30 years in prison someone must be killed.

I on the other hand killed no-one, no violence what so ever. I just wouldn’t “rat”, and for that I am expected to die here. I won’t, don’t, and will never give up hope that someday, someone, will take the long lonely drive to retrieve me from this living hell.