17 August 2021
Hello,
I want to apologize to my faithful subscribers for the lack of a post last week. I try to be very diligent with my posting. Last week, however, was an anomaly in my life--a good one. Rather than trying to scramble to produce this week’s content late, I have decided to post a journal entry of last week’s events, in hopes of excusing myself by providing what may be a more rich piece of work.
Poetry is never an end in itself. The artist produces art in order that other people will enjoy it and become elevated or enlightened by it. It is an act with a consequence. In this vein, all actions are a type of art, so long as they produce an effect. I took a week off of my blog so that I could begin a new art form.
Earlier this year I was invited to speak at the Council of Juvenile Justice Administrators (CJJA). Due to the pandemic, the entire conference was to be via zoom. As the conference grew closer I had a zoom meeting with the administrators. My childhood friend, and brother from another mother, Colt Lundy, was attending with me. CJJA wanted us to present together. The two of us were on the zoom call, less than a month ago, when they requested that we attend the conference in-person. Covid restrictions were pulled back, and CJJA decided to have their biannual business meeting in-person, in Nashville, Tennessee.
Opportunity was knocking. Colt and I both knew that attending the meeting in-person would have a far greater impact than a zoom call, but there was a problem; I’m still on ankle-monitored house arrest, unable to leave the county, much less the state. But we had to try. I immediately reached out to my lawyer and the Court in hopes of setting the scene. There were two hurdles: getting judicial approval to leave the state then getting permission from the community corrections facility I am on house arrest through.
Luckily, I quickly heard back from my prosecutor: he was okay with the travel. After a number of phone calls between the Center and my lawyer, we finally got it all figured out. I was permitted to travel to Nashville from Friday 13 til Sunday the 15th.
In the meantime, Colt and I diligently worked to craft and hone our keynote presentation. We stressed over the details: what to say, how to say it, what to wear, etc. When the 13th finally came around, we were both nervous. Colt met me at my place where we would be picked up by a driver at 10am. He showed up early so he could teach me how to iron my clothes.
I got a text five minutes before 10am.
“I’m here”, it read.
We calmly picked up our carry-on bags and descended the stairs to see what awaited. A black SUV waited at the curb. As we approached the driver got out and opened the door for me. I climbed into another world. As Colt and I were driven down I80-90 we looked at each other in disbelief.
“Can you believe it’s really happening”, he asked.
“No”, I replied.
It was a bewildering moment. I can’t say that I couldn’t have imagined it, because I did imagine it. But I never could have imagined how it would feel. You see, Colt and I befriended each other over a decade ago while locked within a maximum security prison, buried under the weight of years. Over the years of us living together, we dreamt of our first speaking event together. We planned this path long before finding it.
It was a quiet ride to Chicago. We were headed for O’Hare International Airport. Hearing Colt and I speak of getting something to eat at the airport, our Bulgarian driver asked how much time we had til take-off. With a little wiggle room, he volunteered to take us to a Bugarian market for lunch, a place he frequented often. We cheerfully agreed.
We walked into a market filled with foreign goods. The air was thick with the smell of freshly baked goods. He took us to the back where he ordered our meals from a woman he was obviously familiar with. He loaded our hands with entrees, deserts, and drinks. I shuffled to get my wallet, but he would hear none of it. He paid for the meal, delighted to share his heritage with us. After a lovely lunch, eating at the market bar, it was a quick trick to O’Hare.
Once in the airport, my trepidation set in. The Center declined to remove my GPS ankle bracelet before the trip, and I didn’t know how TSA was going to take it. For all they knew, there could have been a bomb in it--a unopenable container conveniently incapable of being removed….I was suspicious of myself.
You can imagine my surprise when we were simply waved through without any word or question. Our bags weren’t touched nor our persons. It felt like we had gotten away with a crime, so we ran like bandits into the terminal, stopping to laugh at the “Marijuana Amnesty” collection box. My ankle bracelet was running low on energy, so we found an Energy Bar and I cozied up in between two people and plugged in, trying not to acknowledge their bulging looks. Quite the contrast between an ankle bracelet and my suit.
Colt and I had never flown in a plane before. Colt’s previous ride in a bush plane hardly qualified. But the flight was uneventful. We settled in, buckled our belts, and enjoyed the thrill. It was only an hour and a half to Nashville, but it flew by. We landed and caught a cab to the hotel.
As we navigated the city I caught sight of our hotel, the “Omni”. I pointed it out as we whipped around corners, and Colt and I both got giddy at its sight. A tall black glass building rising up around its neighbors. It certainly looked like the nicest hotel either of us had ever been to. And walking in we knew. Not only did it have an extravagant lobby, it had as nice of a Reading Room, complete with a fireplace and shelves stocked with the classics. In some sense, we both felt as if we had entered into a foreign world, just another guest in a foreign market. The feeling continued as I made it to my room.
I shut my hotel room behind me for the first time and burst out into laughter. I must have laughed for a good minute, walking to the glass-wall window overlooking Nashville. That was the moment that I knew I had finally made it. My mind turned through 12 years of memories like snapshots on an 8mm reel. You would not believe the terrain I traversed to get to
that very moment in time, the obstacles, vices, villains, and habits that all tried to kill me. It was then that I felt my triumph.
To be continued…..
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