I almost refused.
Then Lily said.
“You complain that people don’t understand.”
“Here’s your chance.”
She was annoyingly logical.
Like my grandfather.
So I went.
The meeting took place in the community center.
About eighty people attended.
Some knew me from before prison.
Some had only heard the story.
My mother sat in the second row.
Samuel sat beside her.
Mark came too.
I stood at the podium.
I did not tell them prison saved me.
It didn’t.
Prison punished me.
Sometimes fairly.
Sometimes unnecessarily.
It took years from my daughter.
It changed my body.
My mind.
My relationships.
I did not romanticize it.
I told them something else.
“When someone leaves prison, we say they paid their debt.”
“Then we keep collecting.”
The room went quiet.
“We deny housing.”
“Jobs.”
“Trust.”
“Family.”
“Then we act surprised when people fail.”
I told them about sleeping behind the chapel.
