Dear Reader,

This week’s subject is release. When I first stepped foot in prison, it felt like my life ended. What would release feel like? Would leaving prison be like a new beginning? Prison has a way of distorting time. Days become weeks that feel like years. Waiting on your release date can be excruciating—sometimes for everyone around you. 

“Curtz, man, if you mention going home one more time,” Murder growled. “I swear on everything I love.”  

The man everyone called Murder didn’t have a release date. He was never going home. Curtz was going home in two days, 23 hours, 36 minutes, and 54 seconds. Seriously, he was counting it down.

“I’ll take him for a walk, Murder. Breathe, bro. Don’t stress,” I said, rushing Curtz away from the impending disaster he nearly caused.

“Keep his short-time ass away from me, Trumbo. On my mama, I’ll send him home in pieces.”  

Prison is a trillion tiny explosions waiting for ignition. 

“What’s his problem?” Curtz huffed. “He should be happy I’m leaving.” 

Fact: No one is ever happy someone else is leaving prison. Everyone wants to be the one to leave.  

“What’s the countdown now?” I asked. Curtz looked at his watch and frowned when I smacked his hand. 

“What was that for?” 

“Stop looking at your damn watch. Stop telling everyone you’re leaving. Stop focusing on it,” I said. 

I know it was stupid for me to say because release was all Curtz could think about. He likened it to sitting in class watching minutes tick by before he could go home. 

“This has been one hell of a long class, Curtz.”

“Trumbo, I’m going to miss you,” Curtz laughed. 

Cutz wasn’t going to miss me. He was going to put this place completely behind him the moment he walked through the gates. I know this to be true. I’ve witnessed countless releases over the years, and very, very few people ever so much as wrote a letter to say how they were doing. I’ve received less than a handful in nearly 19 years.

“I know what everyone promises. But I’ll be different,” Curtz said. “If it weren’t for you, Murder and a hundred others just like him would have killed me by now. I’m not cut out for this.” 

Curtz and I walked around outside in the bullpen. I listened to him talk about the clothes his parents bought for him, all dress slacks and button-down shirts for job interviews and church. Not a single pair of blue jeans or a concert T-shirt. He told me about the used Prius his mom was going to let him borrow and the spare bedroom in his parent’s basement he was going to paint black the first chance he got.

“I’m so sick and tired of white concrete block walls and white tile floors,” he said.

As far as Curtz’s plans beyond the countdown, he said he planned to take things one day at a time. I changed the subject to video games, and we talked until the horn sounded and we had to go back inside.

Murder asked me if I had a minute. We sat down to talk in one of the game rooms.

“Trumbo, I swear, I was so close to clocking out on Curtz’s stupid ass.”

“No worries,” I said. “He’ll be gone soon, and that’ll be that.” 

“Why can’t they stop reminding everyone how perfect their lives are going to be? If I was going home, the last place I’d want to be heading back to would be the same situation that led me to this damn place. You feel me?”

I did. Murder and I came from poverty, gang violence, and drug addiction. The set dressings of our childhoods were piss-scented hallways, mattresses on milk crates, and roaches in the fridge. We grew up less than two blocks apart. Murder caught a life sentence, and I had 25 years to serve.

Guys like Curtz come in here with a few years because they’re white, and mommy and daddy could pay a good attorney. Then they have the nerve to rub it in that they’re going back to mommy and daddy, their video games, and living in their parents’ basement. 

“That shit burns me up,” Murder said—angry because he didn’t have parents, money, or anywhere to return to. Prison was the only place that mattered to him now.

“The only color that matters is green, bro. We both know that,” I said. “Curtz being white is just a symptom of the issue. He’s scared to death of heading back out there. That’s why he’s counting every second.”

“He should be scared. If his parents have any sense, they’ll make his ass get a job the first day he’s out.”

“They bought him slacks and button-downs,” I said.

Murder sucked his teeth and said he imagined Curtz working a drive-thru window at some fast food place. 

“I hope they break his PlayStation and force him to attend church seven days a week.” 

I knew Murder wished he were the one going home. Wished he hadn’t allowed a single decision to affect the rest of his life.

“Why us? When are we going to catch a break?” Murder asked. “Don’t they know this shit isn’t humane? Why does one guy get 10 years for a body, and the next man gets a life sentence? It don’t make a bit of sense.”

“Would you do it again? Would you still want to get your revenge?”

“No,” Murder said. “That was my biggest mistake. I felt like I had something to prove. Everyone wants to be the hero of their own story.” 

Murder stared down at the table. “Can you call me Demetrius from now on?” he asked. “I don’t want to be known as Murder anymore.” 

For the rest of his time in captivity, Curtz kept his countdown to himself. Despite his promises, when he was released, he never contacted anyone on this side of the fence.

Prison ledgers control the narratives of the lives of those who become numbers. However, that doesn’t mean the ink has dried yet. Murder could have beat Curtz to death. I could have minded my own business. Curtz could have served out without anyone knowing he was going home. These things happen every day. But as long as we’re alive, we have the chance to change the direction of our tales. 

Though he was sentenced to life, Demetrius found his release when he came to understand that his life wasn’t over just because he was behind bars.

The Right to Write (R2W) project is an editorial initiative where Prism works with incarcerated writers to share their reporting and perspectives across our verticals and coverage areas. Learn more about R2W and how to pitch here.