This Thing of Ours by Cammy Franzese

Author:Cammy Franzese
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, book
Publisher: Thomas Nelson
Published: 2011-11-22T05:00:00+00:00

I was relieved when Michael was finally transported to Terminal Island. It would be my second home. The visitation process took some time to get used to. The biggest inconvenience was the endless waiting. Visitors had to wait in a long line outside the main prison doors until the guards chose to let us in. We’d stand in the rain, the cold, the sunshine, and in unbearable heat. And we’d stand there for hours, hoping nothing eventful was happening in the prison that would force the guards to put the inmates on lockdown. For instance, if a fight broke out among the prisoners, visiting privileges were revoked for the day. But no one would tell the women and children standing in line until the last minute, so there were many times we waited only to be told to go home.

The line wasn’t the friendliest of places. Most of the women were rough around the edges and looked like they were going to flip out if you so much as looked at them the wrong way. A lot of scuffles broke out, mainly because people were protective over their spots in line. Every time I waited to see my husband, I heard a combination of “Who’s standing here?” “You move, you lose your place.” “You just got here; get in the back of the line.” “Sorry, you moved three inches to the left. You forfeit your spot.” The women guarded their positions as if their very lives depended on it.

And no way were you able to take a potty break. If you left, you risked losing your place. Sometimes it wasn’t worth relieving yourself because of the extra time and hassle it took—walking back to the parking lot to your car, driving a few miles to find the nearest bathroom, driving back to the prison, finding another parking spot (usually farther away than your original spot), and getting back at the end of the long line. I never felt comfortable asking a stranger to hold my place in line while I ran to take one of my kids to the bathroom. I once asked a woman if she could do me that favor, and she answered me with a silent stare. I assumed that was a no.

In hindsight, I can understand why the ladies seemed hard-shelled. Most of these women worked full-time jobs, had children who always came with them, and had significantly more difficult lives than I had. I was blessed—and never once did I take that for granted—that I didn’t have to work or worry about where I was going to get gas money to see my husband. Life wasn’t easy for these women. They were probably just exhausted and overwhelmed by the stresses of life, including having a husband or boyfriend behind bars.

Through the years, I noticed the line dwindling. Many of the regulars I had seen the first day I came to Terminal Island stopped coming. I expected that. Things happen. Many women get to the point where they give up.

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