Prison During a Pandemic —after “Sonny’s Blues” Mychela Chittenden I’ve been in prison for years now. I find myself losing track of time while I’m in here. We wake up at the same time every day, have breakfast (which by the way, is usually cereal or toast), get showered, exercise, and do whatever work is assigned to us that day. Some days it’s beyond exhausting, other days it’s tolerable. I do have to remind myself that it is because of my poor decisions I am stuck in here. I always find myself wishing I did things different or used music as my main coping mechanism. I love music, don’t get me wrong. But I got too caught up using heroin, and the instant relief it gave me. The feeling was just indescribable, almost like nothing mattered and everything was okay for a little bit. But I do miss playing the piano so much. My fingers are itching to play again. I also wished I could be more like my brother, Giovanni. I haven’t seen him in years. I wonder how he is doing, and how his wife is doing, and how his daughter is doing. Do they even remember me? Do they even want to remember me? I’m sure I have caused them so much pain. They believed in me, and I let them down. It is March 20th, 2020. There has been talk about there being a deadly virus called Covid-19 affecting the world. What does that even mean? All I know is that we are now much more isolated, especially from the newer inmates that come in here. I can’t help but wonder how my family is doing, if they are affected by this, if they are sick, if their work shut down, and how my brother Giovanni is adjusting. I imagine schools aren’t in session, how is he teaching his students? I had so many questions. I can’t imagine what the world must be like right now. God, all I want to do is get out of here. Something that really got me through the tough days here is reminding myself what Giovanni used to always tell me, “It only goes up from here.” But was that true? I liked to think it was, but I guess only time will tell. On March 25th, 2020, I decided it was time to write to my brother, Giovanni. I had his address memorized. I’ve thought about writing him on multiple occasions, but I always figured he wouldn’t want to hear from me. But I just had too many questions and spent too much time wondering. Here’s what I wrote: Dear Giovanni, I don’t know if you want to hear from me. I can’t imagine how much I’ve hurt you, or how disappointed you are in me. Can’t blame ya, I would be too. I don’t really know how to tell you how I ended up here. I guess I was just afraid and I was trying to escape. But what I can tell you is that I would rather blow my brains out than go through this again. But like you said, “It can only go up from here.” Anyways, I feel like I have too many questions and I spend most of my days worrying about you and your family. Well, our family.
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