Birds

Waking up to birds chirping at the window is quite wonderful. I must find out the various types of birds who gather in this quiet area next to the housing unit. I wonder…do they realize that folks are sleeping? For some, such beautiful sounds may be irritating but there are really very few complaints.

In over 30 years I have awakened to many sounds in prison; screams, dogs barking in the midst of riots, singing, radios/TVs blaring, violence, etc. Of over 360 months, over 1,500 weeks and over 109,500 morning wake ups, I do prefer to hear the chirping of the birds. It is acappella and full of melody while a nice pleasant echoing sound as each bird flies off into the distance. The joyous sound of freedom…

Prior to going to sleep last night I was reading one of the daily newspapers, and I was scanning each page with a journalistic eye lens. I approached the obituary section with caution. Ever since my father died in November 2000, I have been more conscious of this section of the newspaper. In the past, I would skip over these pages and move directly to the sports section. No one wants to think about death while in prison.

But I found a man I have often wondered about in the obituary section last night, Reginald Price. We met in 1973 inside Concord Reformatory. I was 20 and developed a friendship with him and his brother, Alex, before I was returned to the maximum security prison in July of 1973. Reginald and I exchanged letters, and he was eventually released. We continued to correspond, and I remember one day receiving a family photo of Reginald, a woman and a baby. In the letter he said that I was the godfather of his baby girl, Lataisha.

We lost contact gradually, and I had not seen or heard from Reggie until now. The funeral is scheduled for noon today at the 12^th Street Baptist Church. Many questions remain unanswered. What happened? How did he die? Where is his daughter now? He is part of a very large family, and I hope through grief a stronger bond will be produced within their circle.

Prison is a peculiar place. Most activities are within a designated time slot. Every day schedules are the same. The meals are served at a specific hour; the medication is distributed at selected intervals; gym, school and programs are accessible at select moments. There are usually lines for everything. Doors and gates are often locked, and people congregate as the anointed hour nears.

I have seen from afar the annual dash for the wedding gowns at Filene's basement, and baseball fans sleeping overnight at Fenway Park for play-off tickets. But daily, I observe (and reluctantly often participate in) the ritual of going to a specific area and waiting for the door/gate to be opening by anyone with the key. Just like cows in a pasture one must learn to practice patience and utilize wisdom in this setting.

Published in Spare Change News in Apr. 2001