EVER BEEN TO JAIL?

This is a first for me. I’ve never known anyone who’s been to jail. I guess there’s a first for everything.

For the last couple of months I’ve been to visit my friend at the Central North Correctional Facility. It is hard to describe, but for the next few paragraphs I’ll try to put my feelings and observations into words.

My friend did something he shouldn’t have done. He knows that. He made a couple of bad choices and now his life is in limbo in jail as he waits for sentencing at a hearing that has already been remanded four times over the last 9 months.

Upon arrival at the jail, I am required to remove everything metal and anything sharp. No cell phone, no camera, no pens, no keys, no coat, no necklace. Nothing. I’m given a key to a locker to hold my stuff during my visit and I exchange my driver’s license for a visitor pass.

Inmates get two non-family visitors a week. And each visit is 20 minutes. That’s it. They’re not made aware of a scheduled visit until two minutes before.

From the waiting room I’m buzzed through a heavy iron door and it closes behind me with a deep thud that echos a few seconds in the acoustically poor cement room. I’m brought to a screening room where I walk through an airport-like metal detector. Fortunately I don’t have to remove my shoes. While I’m being searched by the screener, a second employee is watching from behind glass in the adjacent room.

The screener buzzes the second door open but there's no directions given and it’s a bit confusing because the unit number where I’m headed does not match the floor number and there is no escort. I’m on my own.

From the elevator I’m expected to follow the numbers posted on the walls to my destination. It sounds simple but the long beige corridors are maze-like and I wonder what would happen if I got lost with no visible guards to ask for directions. I notice the eye-in-the-sky cameras - ah... "somebody will find me", I think. Sunlight comes into the corridors but since the windows are just above the 6-foot level, I can’t even get a perspective of where I’m headed.

Once I arrive at the door of the visitation room, still without an escort, I’m buzzed in and my friend is escorted from somewhere I can’t see. I walk in and take a seat on a round, cold metal stool. There’s 12 of them but I’m the only visitor.

There’s glass between us. We can’t touch, hug or shake hands. My friend puts his hand up to the glass to touch mine. I remember thinking, "They actually do this just like in the movies". The first visit was ok - a bit surreal and trying to process everything took my mind off my emotions.

The twenty minutes blew by in five.

My friend is wearing an orange jumpsuit with no logos or words. And there isn’t a personal number either. Under the jumpsuit is a matching orange t-shirt. His hair is messy. His black running shoes are plain. He’s permitted to exchange the t-shirt and underwear every couple of days but I notice the jumpsuit hasn’t been washed yet, and he’s been there two months.

He motions to me to pick up the phone so we can chat. Just like in the movies.

He is allowed $60 for the canteen each week, if someone drops off money. His weekly allowance cannot exceed $60. Because my friend has not been sentenced, he is not entitled to Coke. Apparently, inmates will smuggle stuff in a Coke bottle or Coke can while travelling between court and jail while the sentencing is happening but after they are sentenced, they can have Coke.

My friend buys chocolate bars, a deck of cards and a magazine. There are no Christian books. There was no Bible. I called the Chaplain and asked that one be delivered. It was.

The meals sound ok. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. I’m not sure about the quality of the meals. All I know is that inmates are overfed in calories to plump them up, because many who arrive have drug addictions and are underweight. My friend was never keen to workouts, but his cellmate has encouraged him and they invented a daily cardio and weight routine, using each other’s body weight for resistance. In the visitation room today, he demonstrated standing-on-your-head pushups. Not bad from a guy who never worked out.

He has no TV or radio or newspaper. He has no idea what’s going on in the world, so I share some news with him. He hears no new music. He doesn’t know who is in the NHL playoffs. Every day is the same. Eat, workout, read a magazine or his Bible, and once a week see a visitor for 20 minutes. (More if a family member shows up.) He gets 30 minutes of fresh air every other day but is still surrounded by walls so all he really sees of the outdoors is the sky.

During my visits I bring in photos of stuff - my dog, the band, my bike, etc. As we do the show and tell, he looks through the window and listens to my stories.

Beep. That’s the three minute warning.

We talk about the sentencing. The "what-ifs." We talk about how it all happened and how it can be avoided when he’s released.

Through this I have learned the definition of remorse. I hear his words and I see it in his eyes. To me, that’s the first part of the fruit.

Through this experience I have begun to learn the definition of boredom. Sleep, eat, work out, read, repeat. Fortunately he has another Christian cell-mate to pass the time with.

Through the visit I am faced with the incredible reality of how lucky and blessed I am. Today, on the way home, I will pick up dinner at a drive-thru wherever I choose. I’ll run an errand at the mall, then go home, take the dog for a walk and flip on the TV. My friend will be led by a guard to his cell, locked in, without a TV and without any food choices. He’ll wear orange again tomorrow, eat when he’s told, shower every second day at the time he’s told. He has zero responsibility. He makes no decisions.

Beep. That’s the two minute warning.

I haven’t even seen the cell so I’m connecting his words with scenes from the "Prison Break" TV show. (I’m trying to find a shred of humour.) His bunk bed is metal. The table is metal. There is a toilet and sink. He cleans his own cell. He and his cell-mate hang a "sh*t sheet" for privacy when they want to use the toilet.

Every day he waits for a social worker or the chaplain to visit - which is unlikely. Or, the phone to be brought to the cell so he can call his lawyer for an update. Sometimes he calls me.

Beep. One minute.

We look at each other, wondering if there’s a point to starting a new sentence when the phone is about to be shut off.

We chat about my upcoming plans for the weekend. At first I thought it would be cruel to share with him all the fun stuff I’m doing while he sits in the hole, but he wants to know. He’s happy for me, and he longs to join in once he’s released. Generally, he’s upbeat and happy. I thought he’d be a wreck. The boredom alone would wreck me.

The phone goes dead. He pushes the "repeat" button for an extra 20 minutes. Sometimes it’s granted but not this time. Sadly, we hang up the receiver under the table and try to use hand signals to communicate but after a few seconds we give up. There’s an uncomfortable moment of realization that he’s staying in his cement room while I go back to freedom. We wave, push our palms on the glass and then I head for the door as he watches. He smiles until I’m out of sight.

I brought nothing in and I take nothing. I have no recent photo of my friend. No souvenir to show where I’ve been.

How easy it is for us to live our busy, wonderful lives while other people, who may have made bad choices, are locked in a cement room, away from us. Out of sight and out of mind, because we choose to not inconvenience ourselves because we have better things to do.

In the parking lot before the hour-long drive back to the city, I snap a photo of the outside of the facility and post it. Almost immediately a Facebook friend throws up his comment.

It says, "Matthew 25:36". What is that? I google it. "I was in jail and you visited me".