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I spend every moment I can with my mother and my friends.īeing free is a truly sublime feeling. I can hike through the mountains, and I can get in my car and drive-just go-whenever I want to. I can do things like go camping, and roast hot dogs and marshmallows over an open fire. every morning to make sure I don’t miss even a moment of the day, starting with the sunrise. I get up in the middle of the night and walk around in the pitch dark-because I no longer have to wait for the prison wake-up call. But I consider myself among the beautifully lucky. And homecoming has certainly not been without its challenges: obtaining legal identification, medical care, and employment, among other things.
But in 2017, an Arkansas law was passed that allowed me to be resentenced because I committed my crime as a minor-and by that December, suddenly, gloriously, I was released from prison. They sent me an attorney named Clayton Blackstock, who over the next 25 years helped me place my son with a good family, got me decent medical care when I became sick, and ultimately fought for me to get a second chance in society. He changed my whole understanding of who I wanted to be: I started to see that I was a person who could grow, and change, and live again.Īnother life-changing figure also appeared in my life during this time, after a prison guard contacted the ACLU and told them about my case. Suddenly, I had a little human to care for, and I became consumed with ensuring that he had the best possible life. He completely changed my life.Įven though my son was conceived in the most traumatic possible way, his birth was my saving grace. Join the community that keeps criminal justice on the front page.Īgainst all odds, I gave birth to a healthy baby boy.
In solitary, I had no mattress and was fed only bologna sandwiches. But I refused, and was put into solitary confinement for lying about who had fathered the child, and for having had “consensual” sex with an officer. Meanwhile, the prison staff tried to force me to terminate the pregnancy, claiming that as a ward of the state, I had no choice. He continued to be employed at the prison for another year, at which time he was terminated not for my assault but for an unrelated infraction: bringing drugs into the facility. I did, but eventually the true identity of my rapist was revealed he took an extended leave for back problems but continued to call me by phone and tell me what to say and do. He threatened my life and told me that I had to point the finger at another guard who had also been sexually harassing me. When the officer found out, he attempted to induce an abortion by making me take quinine and turpentine. In the following days and weeks, he regularly threatened me, telling me to keep my mouth shut or else. Then he told me to “get my ass back to work,” and left.
One day, he came into the office, which was located in the back of the barracks and had brown paper covering its windows. For the second time in my short life, I found myself with a man who was verbally abusive and aggressive, constantly calling me and other female inmates an array of sexist names. In this role, I interacted regularly with a male supervisor, who was 6’4” and over 200 pounds. It had been built in 1916, and by the time I got there the walls were riddled with massive holes and streaked with feces.Īnd even though I was only supposed to be supervised by female officers, I was assigned as clerk to the field major who ran the prison farm. In 1993, the women in my facility were moved to a more dangerous prison that housed both male and female inmates and employed both male and female officers. Most of all, I was a hopeless person: Adults in my life, including my lawyers and the jail staff, told me that I would certainly die behind bars. My brain, according to scientific research I’ve now learned a lot about, was not yet fully developed. In hindsight, I was misbehaving not because I was a bad person, but because I was a very young person.
I continued to act out, like the teenager I was, by committing all the standard rule infractions, among them insolence to staff and possession of contraband. Once I got to prison, I was dealing with extreme guilt over my aunt’s death, and fear, because I was still a child and felt desperately alone.