Eva Santiago -  In a State of Oblivion to the Sounds of Our Laughter

 

 

I get a request on Facebook, “You don't know me, but my brother knows you, and he asked me to reach out to you to see if you'd write me, but unfortunately, he's incarcerated. His name is Christopher. And you ran around in similar circles over 20 years ago, and you refer to him as old school.” I remember Christopher. He was cute and he had a nice smile. I did refer to him as old school, because he always wore a tank top underneath his shirt even though it was like 90 degrees outside. 

 

I wrote him a brief letter, “How are you doing under the circumstances?” A couple of weeks went by, and I really didn't think anything of it until I went to my mailbox and there was an envelope, and across it, it was stamped Sullivan Correctional Facility. That's when it became real to me. We wrote for months. We talked about worldviews. We talked about many systems that oppress our people. We talked about how the city once was, how we were influenced by hip hop, when poets wrote words of substance. We talked about our families, and we drew beautiful pictures for one another. And then, he asked if he could call. 

 

A week goes by and the phone rings. Collect call from inmate Christopher, so and so, from Sullivan Correctional Facility, “Would you accept the call?” I say, yes. And all of a sudden, I hear, “Hey, Eva. It's me, Chris.” And I say, as if the automated message didn't give it away, and we start laughing. We spoke all the time since that phone call. And then, he asked me if I would come and visit him. 

 

The night before the visit, I told him that I was scared, nervous, anxious. I had never been to a maximum-security prison before. The next morning, a white van drove up to my building. A gentleman stepped out and I said, Nollie, going to Sullivan? And he said, “Eva?” And I said, yes. The door opened, and there were gray seats and they were worn from usage. There were about eight or nine women, some sleeping. I got into the van and I thought, what am I doing? What would my family think, as if being a single mother wasn't enough. Before I knew it, we were in front of the prison. 

 

There was a young girl who was standing before me with a young child. She went up to the desk, and the correctional officer said, “What is his number?” And she said, I don't know his number. And he said, “Well, if you don't know his number, I guess you don't really know him.” And I thought, oh my God, I don't know his number. It was my turn, and I nervously said, hi, this is the first time I'm here. I don't know his number, but I know his birthday. And the correctional officer, the CO, looked at me as if I was an idiot and said, “Put your jewelry, your shoes and your money in the tray and go through the metal detector.” I went through the metal detector as if I was walking on a tight rope, not wanting to touch the sides, so that it wouldn't beep. We then went through two heavy steel doors, and they banged shut behind us to remind us that we were securely locked in. 

 

I was at the visiting room. It was cold and sterile and lifeless. I looked at the door, and the door opened, and our eyes met and Christopher's smile warmed up the room. It was as if we were the only two people there. The visiting room was very crowded that day. I felt as if there was a magnetic force that was pulling us together. He walked up to the table. We hugged for a minute. He held my hands and we proceeded to see. I asked him how he was doing, and he told me that he was working with the mentally ill and that he was preparing a banquet because he was the head of the African Caribbean Unity program and that he was really excited, because he was going to start school. 

 

We laughed, we joked around. I looked at the clock and it was a quarter to 03:00. We had 15 more minutes left. He could see that I was sad and he said, “Don't worry, babe. We'll see each other soon.” I made sure that I saw Christopher at least once a month, so that we had regular visits. 

 

The next visit was a beautiful sunny day. I asked Christopher, if we could go out into the courtyard. And we did. He stood behind me, holding me. We looked up at the sun and we felt the heat on our faces. We would close our eyes and imagine that we were somewhere else. He slowly turned me around, and we looked into each other's eyes and he said, “Eva, will you marry me?” And I said yes without hesitation. You see, Christopher and I were engaged before to other people. But it just wasn't right, and this was right. The visit was over. 

 

Our wedding day. My mother-in-law, sister-in-law, Christopher's niece, Olivia, drove upstate. We were in the visiting room. All of us hugged one another, and Christopher's best friend and his wife made sure that they had a visit that day, so they participated in the wedding. The reverend came and said, “Are you ready?” Christopher held my hands as I cried. He said, “Babe, don't cry.” It was bittersweet for me, this was the man that I love. And he had done 22 years of a 34-year sentence and I knew that he wasn't coming home anytime soon. 

 

It was his turn to say his vows. I knew that he was more nervous than he said he was, because he was massaging my hands so intensely. We kissed each other quickly, because we looked down. And queen Olivia was looking at us. We decided to take Olivia out to the courtyard. Christopher took one hand and I took the other, and we played tag with her until we both got tired. We ended up coming back into the visiting room. And I went to the vending machines. I got my usual plantain chips and coconut water, Christopher's favorite barbecue chicken wings and apple pieces, and of course, chicken McNuggets for Olivia. We went back to our table with my mother-in-law and my sister-in-law. 

 

My mother-in-law spoke of how Christopher was, as a child, in Jamaica, and how he was so rank functions and that he would ride his bike everywhere, and then how him and his friends used to try to ride the goats. And my sister-in-law said, “Yeah, that's my brother, Mr. Adventurous.” We both laughed. I wish that day was just a little longer. I know what people think, why would you marry somebody who's incarcerated? Are you that desperate that you can't find anybody out here? 

 

Let me tell you what Christopher has taught me. He has taught me not to wear my heart on my sleeve all the time, because it doesn't work for me. He has taught me to strive to do the best that I can, and he has taught me to live my life to the fullest. So, even when the system tries to dehumanize him, and tries to devalue him and tries to break him down of his identity, he still stands. 

 

So, I think about that first visit when the CO had said, “Well, if you don't know his number, then you really don't know him,” I'm here to say that he's not a number. He's a beautiful man and he is my husband. There's a song that I dedicated to Christopher by India Arie, The Truth. Let me tell you why I love him. Because he is the truth. Yes, he is so real, and I love the way that he makes me feel. If I am a reflection of him, then I must be fly. Because his light, it shines so bright. Thank you.