Nobody wanted to be inside tonight.
The moon was blood-red, the stars were silent, and the sky was black. We couldn't see the barbed wire gates that surrounded us. We couldn't hear the clanging of keys, or the shouting of guards. We couldn't feel the dark blue khaki uniforms, made for men, folding awkwardly around us.
If we wanted to, we could fool ourselves into thinking we were free.
And we wanted to.
I was walking with Tammy. She strutted alongside my amble, her chin held high- femininity pouring from every curve in her form. Which direction? she asked me, her fingertips lightly brushing my arm. I smiled. She had a way of making our days feel like they were rife with choice.
In reality, we only had a yard the size of a large volleyball court. There was an oval pathway and three concrete benches on the grass inside the oval. We shared this yard with the other inmates housed on D-Yard of Central California Women's Facility - the largest female correctional facility in the United States. There were probably 500 of us on D-Yard, and it seemed like almost all of us were out that night.
I pointed, and we began to walk.
... Past the couple who were married on the yard yesterday- they'll never last, Tammy said.
... Past my old cellmate who enthusiastically waved- Her mama stops sending her money finally, and all of a sudden she feels like waving, Tammy smirked.
... Past a old woman who blew me a kiss- Don't you dare Rara-her and treat her like she's normal, Tammy warned, do you know what that heffer is here for?
Tammy was here for stabbing a man. Like every woman incarcerated and sentenced to a state prison term- like me- she was sent to CCWF's receiving yard to be processed. The girls call it A-Yard. She was the last inmate checked into the prison on a Friday. I was the first checked in on a Monday and so, though we didn't meet till a month later, our prison ID numbers were only one digit off. Friendships have been formed on less.
On A-Yard, we worked together. I was a clerk and she was the game girl, so we would prepare the dayroom for the other girls during their hour of freedom a day. Between the two of us, and our social-butterfly ways, we knew every woman who came into CCWF over the course of four months. We both ran a tight schedule, which was unique- for most women, A-Yard is prison purgatory. Until you are transported elsewhere, you are locked in a room all day long, unless they are testing you for something.
Most girls sleep the days away, hoping to go to a smaller facility. CCWF is not where you want to stay.
Unlike the smaller prisons that may accept you after you complete the receiving process, CCWF is an all-levels prison. This means it houses all kinds; the woman who repeatedly steals shampoo, the woman who poisoned an abusive husband, the woman who set herself on fire in a public place, and the woman on death row. When you leave receiving and go to one of the main sections- called going "over the wall"- the sort of women you will be around is anyone's guess.
The A-Yard prayer is simple. Send me away quickly- anywhere except over the wall.
When Tammy and I got the call to go to D-Yard- we linked hands, and walked out together in the state-issued blue polka-dotted muumuus. We weren't worried about staying. We were rollover. They were sending us over the wall so they could move us elsewhere. Tammy was destined for Folsom's Women's Prison and I was headed to the firecamp program at the California Institute for Women. We walked from A-Yard to D-Yard, with 25 other inmates, carrying all our belongings on our back, in nylon mesh bags.
Somehow, despite the uneven gravel under our flipflopped feet and the heaviness of our bags and hearts, Tammy still sauntered. I was grateful just to not fall on my face.
A few of the women caught up to me, to ask if this was legal- this method of moving us from one place to another, just to make room. Tammy shooed them away and I let her.
The truth is, it didn't matter.
What would any of us do if it wasn't?
The only thing in our power was walking forward and being grateful, even though we were destined to go the long way.
And, tonight, I had plenty to be grateful for, even here on D-Yard.
The moon was big and I could be outside to see it. In county jail, I went four months without seeing the sky at night. Just over the wall, back on A-Yard, were a few staff members I trusted entirely with my welfare. I knew I wasn't staying in this place. Eventually, someone would make sure that I was moved somewhere better.
Not that it was all miserable here. I wasn't a total misfit. I knew almost all the girls on this yard and they knew me. I felt safe among them, and loved.
Tammy's comforting humming, and my thoughts, were interrupted by a blaring announcement over the speakerphone.
YARD DOWN YARD DOWN, ALL INMATES DOWN.
There was a collective groan. In the night, we looked around for whatever trouble-maker caused this newest interruption to our moment of near-freedom. The grass was wet, and none of us wanted to sit on it.
"Yard Down, ladies," the officers shouted as they ran past us, towards the commotion.
We sat.
This yard stays down, Tammy muttered unhappily.
The lights flickered and the yard went dark. There were shuffling sounds and then screaming. From behind us, there was a spark of light and the sound of a pepper gun being shot. Tammy pulled my arm, tugging me backwards, so that my back was to the wall. Then she scooted until she was in front of me. Just in case, she said.
All around us there were bursts of light, as non-lethal firearms were deployed, and as flashlights flailed about in the center. We heard keys and handcuffs, screaming, and then silence.
Then more silence.
The Yard went completely dark, until one light blinked slowly to life, just in front of me. It illuminated a bright pink traffic cone. I hadn't noticed on our first walk around, but I saw it clearly now- a vibrant, beautiful magenta I hadn't seen in months.
"Oh, what a gorgeous traffic cone!" I exclaimed.
In the stillness, my voice carried and filled the yard. Tammy turned to look at me, one perfect eyebrow, wildly arched.
There was a second more of a silence, and then from hundreds of feet away, I heard a responding voice.
"Fucking Rara."
Everyone laughed- hundreds of women who had met me before, sitting on the wet grass on a dark night, laughing because the way I didn't fit in had become our inside joke. And because we could.
We weren't walking off the yard and going home, but we weren't the ones walking off the yard with our wrists trapped in cold metal, headed toward jail-jail either. We weren't the ones shot with a pepper gun that night. It was something to find relief in, some place to find joy.
YARD IS UP AND YARD IS CLOSED.
The speakerphone blared its announcement and there was a collective groan.
The grass was wet, but at least we were outside.
This yard stays closed, Tammy grumbled. Should we walk directly back or go the long way?
I smiled. The stars were so silent we could hear all our choices. The chilled night was so dark, we shivered with freedom.
We had to go in, but not just yet.
Let's go the long way, I replied.
Gurl, Tammy agreed with her trademark purr. The long way is the only way we know.
She sauntered forward.
I ambled beside her.
The blood moon followed us and her soft hum led the way.
In the darkness, we could fool ourselves into thinking we were free.
So we happily played the fool.
_____________________
This is the the strongest memory I have of my entire 438 days incarcerated, and I have no idea why. Do you have any memories that crystallized for you even though they weren't particularly important?
