by Gucc, San Mateo
It’s 7 AM. I have been waiting for this day for a long time. I start to knock on my door loud, “AYE pop my door! I’m ready!”
The staff replies jokingly “ Wow Mr. Gucc you’re up early today!”
To which I don’t reply. I don’t have time for jokes or conversation. I have one thing and one thing only on my mind. Going home.
I hear the sound of the lock on my door retracting. I open my door and quickly put my Bob Barker shoes against it to keep it propped.
“Aye can I get the cleaning materials please?”
The staff laughs and tries to crack another joke, “What’s the hurry? Don’t you want breakfast?”
I answer his question with a glare.
He begins walking to the closet at a slow pace and slowly starts to unlock the door. I brush by him in a hurry to collect the materials I need to clean up my room. I start to fill the mop bucket, as it’s filling up. I put the cleaning spray bottles on the rim of the bucket. I sit quietly and wait. I look down. It’s not halfway, but it looks full enough to get the job done.
I turn the water off and push the bucket towards my room. I think to myself “Sheesh, I’ve been here too long, I think of this box as a room.” I look inside the box I have spent my last couple birthdays in and realize what’s really happening. It’s my day to leave.
I start grabbing my pictures and I smile remembering the feeling of opening the letters that contained these pictures. I look at the giant stack of letters in the corner thinking of whether to keep them or not. I remember only having one letter that has to be over 100 that accumulated over time. Yeah I’m going to keep them.
I take the letters, pictures and books that came into my possession while I was here and place them on a table. Damn, I almost forgot about my journals, they hold all my raps. I go back into my room and grab them and place them on the table next to my other personal possessions.
Now, here comes the work, cleaning my room. I throw away my old mini toothbrush and off-brand toothpaste. I strip that thin object they call a mattress bare and throw the thin fabric that they call blankets out. I spray all the surfaces in my room and wipe them down with a rag, then I mop it.
After cleaning the room it looks like no one ever stayed in there. It doesn’t look like someone made music, prayed, wrote a letter, read, or even entered into that room. It’s no longer a room, it’s just an empty box until the next person comes along and occupies it. But oh well not my problem… anymore.
The staff starts to speak and breaks my train of thought, “You done cleaning Gucc?”
I look at them then reply, “Yea.”
He then asks, “Are you ready to go?”
I don’t reply. I just grab my personals and approach the staff desk. The staff grabs his walkie talkie and heads over to the unit door and nods me over. He makes a transmission, “control we have one and one to admissions.”
The walkie talkie blares, “Control copies one and one”.
The unit door opens and I go to the same place that I got booked in, so long ago. They hand me the release forms and I sign myself out because I’m legally an adult now. I came in when I was 16. They ask me if I want to make a call for a ride, I reply no. They put my personals in a bag for me and let me go on my way.
I’m still wearing the correctional facility clothes, the officials took mine for investigation when I first got booked in. I don’t have a phone or anything, the police took that too.
I sit in the parking lot for ten minutes, no one shows up, but then again I didn’t expect anyone to. I throw my bag over my shoulder and began my long journey home.
It doesn’t bother me, anything is better than being in a cell. On my journey I feel out of place, it feels weird not to have someone breathing down my neck and watching my every move. That’s what I grew accustomed to. Well, I can’t say I didn’t get any stares. I saw a couple of strangers looking at me with looks of curiosity.
I finally made it home. I knock on the door, shortly after I hear someone walking towards it. The person then speaks, “Who is it?”
I could recognize that voice anywhere it was my little sister. I reply in a monotone voice, “It’s me.”
She begins unlocking the door asking, “who is m-…”
I guess she didn’t recognize my voice but she definitely recognized my face. Her face shot into a smile, mine did not. She was clearly happy to see me, but I was different. She welcomed me into the house. I looked around. It was different, but the same. I stood still for a minute or two just taking it in when something struck me. I feel more comfortable in a cell than my own house.
In my cell I didn’t have to deal with other people because it was just me. I remember all the things I said I was going to do on my first day out. I was going to call up a female, smoke, and kick it with the thugs.
But I now realize all I really want to do is be alone and isolate myself from everyone. All that other stuff was for the old me. That’s not me anymore and never will be…