Free as a Bird

I took the leap.

Image courtesy of kmw

This was something I’ve wanted to do my entire adult life. To fly. Or get as close to flying as I could.

In my younger days, I dared to try. I gathered a group of friends and we drove out to Long Island ready to go up in the air and come down without a plane. But the skies weren’t agreeable. We couldn’t go up.

My wife at the time was furious that I ever tried. We had young children and little insurance. She resented the idea I’d take such a risk. She didn’t speak to me for at least a week before my friends and I went out. She didn’t speak to me for three weeks after. This despite the fact I didn’t jump.

I pretty much gave up on trying after that.

Image courtesy of kmw

Sitting in prison I came to the realization there was so much of my life that was nothing more than nothing. That I’d spent too much time not doing anything, much like you’re forced to do in lockup. I couldn’t stop thinking about all the things I should have done when I had the chance.

There’s no more sobering way to consider what you’ve done with your freedom than having freedom taken away. You’re left with nothing but contemplation. The realization that you weren’t grateful for the ability to walk free and go your way … to fly … settles in.

I spent the vast majority of my prison time trying to figure out how to not make the same mistakes. I spent as much time ascertaining how I made so many mistakes to begin with.

I came to realize that if my life was going to get better I had to do and be better. More importantly, I had to give myself a reason to fully appreciate my freedom. I had to learn to be grateful. There was no other way to make sure I never again took for granted that I could walk left or right, that I could play with my grandkids every day, that I could watch the TV shows I wanted to see, not prison faves like Jerry Springer and Ridiculousness.  

I wanted to spend the rest of my life promoting the idea that I want to do what I want. That I could fly.

Image courtesy of kmw

The plane went so high up, you couldn’t make out anything below. It was all flat. Big patches of green with splatters of blue, a few yellows and reds threw in. You couldn’t make out roads or houses anymore. Humans no longer existed

Then we went into and above the clouds.

This would be the first and only time I’d ask myself if I was outta my friggin’ mind.

Image courtesy of shutterstock

I cannot tell you how much time I spent looking into the sky in prison, watching the occasional plane go by, realizing there was an entire world out there that I had no access to.

You go to the yard and stare up at the sky. Or if you’re being transported, you look up. Of course, when you’re transported, you’re shackled at the wrist, waist, and ankles. It’s a quick reminder you’re not free.

Image courtesy of kmw

I never felt so free as flying through the sky. The rush … was … indescribable.

Air got into my goggles so the damned thing kept coming off my eyes. With the wind battering my vision, I was blind during freefall. I was so upset. I couldn’t see a thing as the wind blasted my eyes shut. I kept resetting the goggles but it was too late. They kept flying off.

I wanted to see everything…

Once the chute opened, the world cleared. I could see. I was flying.

You’re not allowed this type of freedom inside the wall. You don’t get to decide to go up or down, left or right, north to east, west to south. Every day of your sentence you walk the same amount of steps in the same direction with no deviation. You can get sent back for the most absurd reasons. (I’ve been sent back for walking too slow.)

Prison is about controlling movement.

Image courtesy of Google Maps

I can remember the first real moment of freedom I felt after I was released. I was in Manhattan for an appointment. Walking at a snail’s pace. Not really thinking about where I was going. I passed a CVS and decided to go back and buy toilet paper. After a moment, I was suddenly struck by the idea I’d turned around of my own volition.

You don’t do that in prison.

In that moment, standing outside a CVS, I realized I was in the clouds when I was once kept on the ground.

My freedom. I could make a choice. Standing on Seventh Avenue — I realized freedom had been given back to me.

Image courtesy of kmw

Now, I fly whenever I want.

Prisoner K celebrated his birthday earlier this year. He did so by kicking off a task at the top of a bucket list he compiled during lockup. He did the jump with his two sons. One of the other things on that list was reconnecting with his sons.

Prisoner K was a member of the first cohort of the first workshop John Proctor facilitated at Rikers Island. He was recently released from his sentence in an upstate facility, and is a working technical writer. He values his and his family’s privacy and like John has read Kafka’s The Trial, thus the pseudonym.