by Armando Gonzalez, San Quentin State Prison, CA
Today is bright and sunny, with a crisp chill in the air. It’s about ten in the morning, and I’ve been doing push-ups, pull-ups, and dips for about forty-five minutes.
One of the fellas who’s recently been let out of the SHU (Security Housing Unit) comes by and asks, “Hey bro, you got a minute?”
“Yeah, what’s up?”
He says, “let’s spin some laps.”
As we start to walk around the track, he asks, “Hey, about a year ago, did you put in a request to go Christian?”
I say, “Yes.”
He asks, is that still something you’re looking forward to when you transfer? In my mind, I wasn’t sure, I hesitate.
You see, about a year prior I’d asked the homies to give me their blessing for me to walk out of and away from the gang lifestyle and politics, to fully live out all my faith as a Christian. After some back and forth, they’d agreed but wanted me to wait till I transferred to the level 3 prison. I was waiting to leave.
In the meantime, the counselor found some more points in my file from my last time in the hole, and so I’d been stuck for another year waiting for my security level to drop.
Now, on the edge of being able to leave behind this life of bondage and destruction, I was scared. Could I really do this? How will I survive this life sentence? I can’t commit crimes to support myself. Who will have my back? More than that, who am I, if I’m not this character, this role identity I’ve been playing since the age of eleven?
What if without the homies and their approval and validation that I matter, am I really a nobody if I have no value?
I decide to say, “No, you know what? Thank you, but I’m good where I’m at, with the homies. As I was about to say that, “Yes. comes out of my mouth. Wait, what? Why did I say that? Is what I’m thinking to myself when this guy says, ok. You don’t have to wait anymore. It’s official you’re not a homie anymore you’re on your own. You can’t come to our area. If anyone asks who you in with you tell them you’re a non-affiliate Christian…. As he continues running down to me the do’s and don’ts of separating from what had been my whole belief system, values, identity, family, my life purpose for the past 27 years (14 of which at that time had been spent in prison for a gang-related, senseless, and cowardly murder), I sort of go into shock.
The last thing I remember him saying is …so go grab your stuff from the hood and go.” I say ‘Um. ok. uh, man. Thank you, brother, I appreciate this, Gracias”
When I go grab my sweater, bag, and water bottle, and start to walk off, a couple of what are now my ex-homeboys try to walk with me. I tell them, “No. It’s good.” They look at me, confused I say, “Ask the homie,” and I walk away on my own. I feel a mix of emotions; heartbreak, gratitude, sadness, disbelief, fear, joy, panic, confusion, dazed, and amazed.
About an hour later, yard is over, I get back to the cell. Now I have to explain to my celly that I’m not a homie anymore, and if he’s not comfortable being in the cell with me I understand, and I’ll have to find a cell to move to, while explaining this and how I’d put this request in before.
We were cellies, I had to stop three times to keep from breaking down in tears, overwhelmed. He asks, “Man, why are you crying? This is a blessing! I’ve never even seen this happen!”
I say, “Yeah, I feel you. But it’s like being in love with a woman, and you don’t want to leave her, but you knew that deep down you have to because you’re not good for each other and it’s breaking your heart… October 31st, 2015. I’ve got to say it was a good day.