Violations.

This sign used to make me laugh.

And it still kind of does. Kind of.

Every time I pass this sign on the way to the bench, an image of enthusiastic, outdoorsy dog-loving individuals crowding prison creeps in my mind. An image of moms and dads and brothers and sisters and children lumped together in a jail cell chatting about the weather, the redundancy of the snow, or how many dogs they have waiting back home. Dogs waiting patiently for those long thirty days to be over. Dogs waiting by the door, day after day after day, listening for the little jaded ridges of the house key to slip into the lock and open. To be reunited with their owner.

Then, I realize this isn't really funny. This is actually a quite ridiculous thought. It is also a quite accurate thought. Of course, the people in prison are moms and dads and brothers and sisters and children. They are dog owners and they are most likely talking about the weather, counting down the days until their sentence is over, waiting for their release back into society. Waiting to inhale and exhale and breathe a dolup of crisp, almost spring air. 

The thoughts of prison are fresh in my mind this week because of a presentation I saw last week. Piper Kerman came to Chatham to speak about her book, Orange is the New Black, which is a more popular Netflix TV show. She spent over a year in prison and wrote about  her experience. She is a strong advocate for prison reform, and sadly, the new, fresh face of prisoners because of the popularity of the TV show. She is white (representing 18% of prison population--the other 65% is black and 16% latino) and comes from a solid middle class upbringing. Majority of prisoners aren't white and come from the lower class. She acknowledged that her time was a "fish out of water," experience. 

I admit I have little to no knowledge on prison life. I only know the facts that were presented last week and through the conversations and little blurbs I have read or heard on the news. The facts from last week's presentation that stick out--

• Since the 80s, prison population has increased by 800%.
• In 1980, nationwide, there were 500,000 prisoners.
• Today there are 2.3 million.
• Most of the prisoners are in (for many years and sometimes life) for nonviolent offenses to do with drug possession or dealing.
• In 30 states, a woman prisoner delivering a baby is shackled during childbirth and most often does not get to see her baby after delivery.

I type these things because I am disgusted by the way our society treats prisoners. I am disgusted with myself for my lack of knowledge on this subject. For my own stereotypes of prisoners. For how easy it is to not think about it. To lock them away and out of place in society and in our minds. So much money pumps into the prison system that could be used in other ways--education, reform, mental health, prison release programs. 

We had a discussion in class after Piper's presentation (try saying that ten times fast.) We talked about our disgusts with the prison system, our feeling of helplessness (How can we help? What can we do?) We talked about how Piper is not the face of prisoners, but somehow because of her class and race she gained readers and viewers. She shares her story with millions of other prisoners, but somehow hers is the one that stands out. Is this fair? Is this righteous? Sure, Piper is opening up a lot of ears and eyes about the prison system and the need for prison reform. It's a Catch 22. She is the face. She can't help it. People love the show. People are curious about what is happening behind bars. She might as well take the chains and do something about it. But what about everyone else? What about all the other stories?

All this is muddled up in my mind as Apacha and I walk to the bench. The air is brisk and the wind keeps slapping my face. I tuck my naked hands into my pockets for warmth and listen to everything moving around me. We take a new route today and walk around the ball field, where little boys, age nine or ten are playing baseball. 

They keep yelling, "Ball."

Apparently the pitcher is not that accurate. The kids keep walking bases. I stand there for a couple of minutes and watch them play. I am in awe of their innocence--young and running free with dirt and dust on their sweatshirts, bending over bases, eager to sprint.

Innocence. Guilt. My mind keeps going back to the prisoners. I wonder what games they play in prison. I wonder what they do all day long. What they think about. How they survive. All this wondering, I do from afar. Outside. Under an open blue sky with clouds billowing about. I wonder if I'll do anything with these thoughts. Or if they'll just disappear. I wonder if I'll get lost in my own silly worries, like not sleeping at night and all these pages I must write.

We keep walking. 
We hug the treeline. Branches still bare.
The birds chatter about. We listen. 
Apacha runs ahead. I watch and step over dirt.
It clogs into my boots. 
Apacha shits in the woods. 
I don't pick it up. It belongs there.
Natural fertilizer. 
Apacha meets a poodle and a St. Bernard 
They sniff each other's butts and move along.
I am cold, but free. How come I am free?
I've made countless mistakes. 

At the bench there is a family of three.
A little girl in a pink puffed jacket bends over rocks.
She picks through them and stuffs some in her pocket.

They are weary of me and move along.
I sit and scribble, nothing important just observations--

Yellow running shoes highlight the ground
French couple talking about the trash--déchets.
Slow tick of wind - 
Sun powdered eyelashes cause the eyes to set.
Apacha's tongue too big for mouth. 
Wonder if awkward for him. 
Send Tony First Day of My Life video. 

In the distance is the land of barking dogs (the dog park.) It is strategically placed a couple hundred feet from the bench. Apacha is eager to get there and bounce around with new and old friends. My body is cold from sitting so we get up and climb the gravel piles and get on the path to the dog park. 

There are two black lab mixes, a husky and Apacha. They run and play for about a minute until Apacha gets bored. Then, the gate screeches and all the dogs stop and tilt their heads to check out the new arrival. She is small and white and wears a little vest. Her name is Lola. She is a Bichon Frise. She probably weighs twelve pounds. She prances in. Her white hair curly and trimmed. She looks out of place.

All four big dogs gang up on her.
She isn't scared. 
She is faster and runs away. 
Once they catch up, they corner her.
The big dog owners grab collars. 
Teeth are flashed. 
The little white dog gets scooped up
and exits. 
Her time shorter. 
She didn't fit in. 
But she held her own. 

Everyone staggers off and says their goodbyes. Apacha and I run across the dog park and exit out the back. The gate is rusty and makes a shriek as I open it. There is another gate. For a moment, we stand surrounded by rusting fence. Confined. Just for a moment. I think, again, back to the prisoners. Back to their surroundings. A 6 x 8 steel cell. 

I open the other gate and step onto the path canopied by winter's bare branches. Sunbeams pour through. They hit my face. I absorb the sun. Apacha runs ahead. I watch him sniff out the path. We continue on.



Check these out --

• http://www.motherjones.com/politics/2013/11/23-petty-crimes-prison-life-without-parole

• http://piperkerman.com/justice-reform/justice-reform-organizations

And the video I need to send to my friend Tony. It's lovey.