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It was just another typical day in jail when word arrived. As soon as my name was called and the paper handed to me at morning muster, mixed feelings of surprise and anticipation began welling up inside. “This is unexpected today,” I thought, before quickly turning to “Who's it from I wonder?” Flipping over to the sender it leapt off the paper: the letter was from a distant friend.
And like so many of my fellow inmates, I felt a sudden fear I was about to be rejected.
Memories instantly flooded my mind: the last time we had seen each other; the last time we had spoken; the last text. I had been quietly hoping for this, yet had pushed it deep and far away as it had been ages since there was any contact between us. I retreated to my cell to reveal what the letter had in store.
It was just another typical day in jail when word arrived. As soon as my name was called and the paper handed to me at morning muster, mixed feelings of surprise and anticipation began welling up inside. “This is unexpected today,” I thought, before quickly turning to “Who's it from I wonder?” Flipping over to the sender it leapt off the paper: the letter was from a distant friend.
And like so many of my fellow inmates, I felt a sudden fear I was about to be rejected.
Memories instantly flooded my mind: the last time we had seen each other; the last time we had spoken; the last text. I had been quietly hoping for this, yet had pushed it deep and far away as it had been ages since there was any contact between us. I retreated to my cell to reveal what the letter had in store.
Separating the photocopies, I eagerly started reading. An update on how my friend had been and everything he'd been doing was there, as was a good sense of what life was like on the outside. But ahead of all that one thing struck the heart strings most: “Sorry for taking so long to write, you've been on my mind though,” the opening lines read. “How are you? Hope you're doing well.”
Just a few simple expressions said more than a couple of pages of detail ever could.
The feeling that I exist and am cared for by someone I thought I had lost carried meaning far beyond words. I buzzed with happiness, glad that making the first move to write to this distant friend all that time ago had paid off.
It didn't matter that there had been uncertainty about whether there would ever be a reply, or when the reply might come, or how long it might be. That all faded into the background. Because when it arrived, quality was better than quantity.
Separating the photocopies, I eagerly started reading. An update on how my friend had been and everything he'd been doing was there, as was a good sense of what life was like on the outside. But ahead of all that one thing struck the heart strings most: “Sorry for taking so long to write, you've been on my mind though,” the opening lines read. “How are you? Hope you're doing well.”
Just a few simple expressions said more than a couple of pages of detail ever could.
The feeling that I exist and am cared for by someone I thought I had lost carried meaning far beyond words. I buzzed with happiness, glad that making the first move to write to this distant friend all that time ago had paid off.
It didn't matter that there had been uncertainty about whether there would ever be a reply, or when the reply might come, or how long it might be. That all faded into the background. Because when it arrived, quality was better than quantity.
I put the window down, and the wind rushed through my hair, and, as if by magical happenstance, How to Make Gravy came on the radio. His voice rolled out like it was coming from someone familiar, telling the story of Joe, writing home from prison before Christmas.
I had repeated this phrase to people so many times to emphasise how incredibly unbelievable it is that I failed English and am now going to be a published author.
I remember Christmas in prison fondly. I was with all my closest friends – my only friends. When they send you to jail, everyone and everything you have goes away.
I’d never have guessed at the amount of movement happening within the prison system. Not just within a particular prison – that in itself was eye-opening – but movement between prisons.
Help keep the momentum going. All donations will be vital in providing an essential resource for people in prison and their loved ones.
All donations of $2 or more are tax deductible. If you would like to pay directly into our bank account to avoid the processing fee, please contact donate@abouttime.org.au. ABN 67 667 331 106.
Help us get About Time off the ground. All donations are tax deductible and will be vital in providing an essential resource for people in prison and their loved ones.
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