Demoralized, deflated.

Occasionally things go as planned, but my experience tonight was actually more typical. Got to prison at the appointed hour, sent back to car to get my license (the times I don’t bring it in are always the times they ask for it), and only then am told that they’re wrapping up an emergency exercise and all yard movements would be delayed for at least an hour, moreover, all rec might end up being cancelled anyway.

Why don’t I have a book in the car to wait out at least 45 minutes (which would have still given me enough time to get something done with the men)? Instead I had nothing to do and certainly didn’t want to sit and talk with the chatty lobby guard for an hour. So I left. But why was he so eager to have me go home? Why’d he stamp my hand before telling me I should not bother to wait?  I feel bad about leaving, but worse, and guiltier, about possibly having allowed myself to have been pushed to leave, as if he could chalk up a point for his team. He kept insisting that I should go home and take it easy and enjoy my being liberated. But I’m here because I want to be; I’m a volunteer, I insisted back.

I’ll see the men in a few weeks, and hear then about what actually happened on their end tonight: were they told I’d been there and strongly urged to go home?  Did the call out for them even happen?

Just put the Oakes book on Lincoln and Douglass in the car. It’s on my To Read stack, but I won’t get around to it for awhile so I can spare it.


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