Stuck in the middle of a riot; Part III; reliving my past trauma

BY SIMONE J. SMITH

When I looked outside and was shocked at what I was seeing. There were women running everywhere. Beds were being brought out into the main corridor and burned. Women were running up into the other homes, just like they had run up in ours. I stood back and just watched. What else could I do?

Reflecting and remembering these events have not been easy. Each week I am faced with different aspects of my past trauma, and in this moment, I am dealing with the fact that I do not trust people. To this day, I am upset with myself for getting involved with people who I know were not good for me. At that point in my life, I thought that I knew it all. I thought that I had it all figured out. Standing there at the entryway of my new home, I knew I had no clue as to what I was doing.

A young lady pushed past me and went to join the rioters. There was an actual bed fire that was beginning to burn bright. The billowing black smoke was overtaking the once blue sky. Me, I just stood there taking it all in. I knew that I had to do something, but what?

How could I have trusted him? Why did I not see that there was something terribly wrong with what I was doing? Did I just want to be cool? Was my aim to seem dangerous? Standing here, none of that mattered, but my mind was racing.

The one or two correctional officers that were left were trying to reason with the women, who were now brandishing other types of weapons. They get really creative in prison. You can make a weapon out of anything. A group of girls were surrounding an officer, but it didn’t look like a threatening situation. I saw her saying something to them in Spanish, and they all were yelling different responses.

Finally, one of them pointed towards the front offices, and the girls took off towards the administration building. I looked back at the correctional officer, and she was just standing there. She looked helpless, and she probably was. I looked around and did not see another officer anywhere. Where had they all gone?

Bewildered, I walked out of the doorway, and began to make my way around the grounds. It was pretty much the same where everywhere. There were little bed fires, pretty much one in front of every building, and the women were carrying on, some with weapons, others just seemed to be taking it all in.

I was trying to find someone who I recognized; a familiar face. Someone who could help me figure out what to do next. I turned back around, and saw one of the girls that I had spent the first three nights in holding with. She recognized me and waved me over.

She was standing next to one of the correctional officer buildings. I had seen them go in and out of there. When I got closer, I saw that she was standing in a line waiting. I walked over to her, and peered over some heads in order to see what everyone was lining up for.

It was the phone. My eyes lit up. The young lady that I knew was fourth in line, and there was one person after her. I waved at her, and took my spot in the line. As soon as I joined, the person on the phone hung up, and the next in line took her spot. “Great,” I thought to myself. “At least they are being considerate.” For the next 30 minutes, I stood there thinking, whom am I going to call, and what am I going to tell them?