The Steel Miracle
Inside a Texas prison.
This piece is by Danny McDonald, my friend who is currently incarcerated in the Michael Unit in an East Texas prison. I started writing to Danny via email through my Aunt; he was in our family for a short time through marriage: another Aunt years ago. She let me know that he was interested in writing, that he loved to read, and did what he could to help others inside. Would I like to reach out? That was almost two years ago. He and I have exchanged many emails. Danny didn’t need me as a writing teacher, that’s for sure, but I share prompts and craft lessons with him. I know the communication is everything to someone who has nothing but time, someone who should have been dealt a better hand long long ago.
WEEK 1. In my first Administrative Segregation cell after the failed escape attempt, and after reaching Michael Unit, I notice things I wish I could avoid. I cover my nose, and face for a moment. Peeling paint. It’s hot, in February? Unwashed body odor, feces, urine, and the must rising from black mold. How can dirt be unclean? The caked floor has a sour earthy smell. On the stainless steel wall where the light and sink/toilet combo are affixed, a small horizontal plate is welded directly beside another one electrical sockets show through. Similar in size, with key differences. The left one is a but thinner, outlined in solid welds, and the face has a bit more sheen. The welds don’t form perfect rings, but start and stop with blobs, leaving charred areas, spatter, and a bumpy surface. No sharp edges exist.
Shades of gray before me smothered in water marks and dried soap trails. A battlefield of filth to navigate. One rag, barely. 5 tiny bars of soap. Unlimited water from the sink. Grime stains in both bowls. Crusted feces awaits me in the toilet. I mutter in disgust, deciding to start here. Peeling and stained yellow-white walls, rust and dust, webs, mold, and the floor I’ll save for later. I begin to clean. I hate it. I hate where I am, who I am, and the need to clean up filth left by others. Maybe it’s a good thing I retain enough sense to want to be in a clean area? Means I still fight to live? I guess some part of me still wants to.
WEEK 2. I’ve learned I’m on rotation and will be moved weekly. Jooooyyyyy. New cell but same filthy circumstances. I’m now next to Sir Bang All Day, as well. Eerily, the welded on plate looks exactly the same. When I finally clean it, does it seem to shine a little more? I’m a month into this hate-filled journey of move, clean, repeat. Kills my knee because the ACL is blown. At least I’ve upgraded from Level 3 to Level 2. Now instead of only 12 cell options (because they refuse to put me in corners linked to outside pipechase access), I’ll get to explore five sections worth. I can’t tell you how many roaches and spiders I’ve slaughtered. This latest cell looked like the floor was covered in a minefield of mouse turds. I hope less feces will be smeared on vents, or oozing down walls. I limp up the hallway behind the flatcart my meager property is piled on. I made Level 1. Yay me. Now I’m up to the big leagues of cell-rotation options. A through E have 84 in each. At least I’m “free” of F-Pod for the time being!
I’ve been up and down this hallway many times. My first day. Then afterwards, for medical issues -- mostly regarding my knee. By the time we reach B pod my knee is basically cussing me out. Must endure. On the pod it’s like stepping into a different world. Same structural design, but painted. A smile on a guard’s face. And is that bleach I smell? They actually clean up here? A wonder. This cell smells decent. The aura is calmer, but I noticed a change upon leaving F Pod. Hardly spotless here. Some trash and dusty, but more than manageable. And regardless of how things appear, I’ve conditioned myself to clean before anything else. Both sides of the sink work. Nice!
Steel smells like shampoo, and is free of grime, stains. A shiny toilet? Huh. Even so, I soap up a rag to begin, but for the first time I decide to start with the welded on plate. Why? I don’t know, just a feeling. It looks the same but it’s alone. The electrical outlet has a plastic cover instead. Maybe it’s the shared solitude calling to me. I formed this routine I don’t like, but it helps me meditate, focus, and perhaps remain sane. The plate is small, easy to clean, and if I’m being honest, it likely didn’t need it. In a way it’s like visiting with a friend who is dependent on, and I believe appreciative of, my efforts. It doesn’t complain. It shines, though, appearing more reflective than ever.
Not quite mirror quality, my image is distorted but recognizable. As are other things.
Crisp air. With each breath, a plume forms, I laugh, and snow crunches beneath my feet, which are smaller -- my whole body is!
Where am I? What is this? A radiant light surrounds me. A doorway blinks away, in a flash, and I’m left to fend off, snow balls, and form my own with gloved hands. Small ones. I see through bright eyes, feel free and alive. It is Christmas in Nebraska. Snow covered rescue. Shelter, love and kindness in the home behind me.
It’s clear now, a reminder.
The cool air kisses my skin in a way I’d forgotten was possible.
Bangs tickle my forehead as my full head of hair dances when I spin, run, get hit by snowballs, laugh, and then tumble to the ground.
The earmuffs fall free and a rush of air chills what was warm, but I’m smiling, spitting out snow tasting of dry air and earth.
I’m alive! I get to my knees and see my brother bundled up, stumbling about.
Mom is on the sidewalk, watching, smiling. So young, bright eyes, beautiful smile. I run to her crusted in powdery snow and clasp her in a fierce hug.
I’ve lost the edge of despair that lingered. Anger at myself and so many other things -- what kept me up for days. I feel reinvigorated by the youth here, the love, under a bright, overcast sky. The tactile crunch of snow is soothing.
I exhale thin plumes through numb lips, out of a dry mouth, but that doesn’t bother me. I do not feel any pangs of hunger or thirst, or for any other desire than to be present right now with those I love.
While pelting them with snowballs! Tears are in my eyes.
Back in my cell, sitting on my bunk, I stare at the shiny piece of steel that became a miracle. I don’t know how much time passed. I feel cold. My ears tingle. My lips are numb. And my mouth is dry. But I don’t care. The memory lingers. There is frozen rain like powder in my mouth. Fresh air. The Diamonds perfume my mother was fond of.
Over fifteen years have passed. I stopped moving weekly a year ago, but the plate is ever present. Time and circumstances have changed how things run here, so I’m housed on the Pod I began in. Two steel plates. One fully welded, the other in spots. One shines, the other is dull. When I see the plate that once became a door, I taste snow. A chill runs through me. I smile. And I swear the faintest impact from a snowball reaches me through time. I can look into the semi-reflective plate and remember clearly the scene. But most importantly I’m reminded of how that day my heart began to heal and change.
I hated cleaning, but after the steel miracle I was at peace with what was necessary. Eventually I learned to appreciate getting to serve whomever would move in behind me. I knew there were men older or in worse condition than I was, and I knew what a relief it could be to move into a clean place. I would never know everyone who benefitted, but often enough I was thanked. I needed to break, and I did.
The door revealed I could be more than glass shattering on a floor.
Falling into snow and chilled into a different way to perceive the moment was just as effective. Or could be if I allowed. I learned how different possibilities always existed, and how effort towards mindful intention would cultivate a new sense of wholeness.