Reflection
by Antoine “Aziz” Brown
As I stood on the fifth tier of San Quentin housing unit over looking the Marin Bay, vivid images of cars and people moving along the streets of my neighborhood engulfed my thoughts. The sound of laughter vibrated my eardrums. It’s been 19 years since I was in a position to really enjoy the freedoms of life outside the restraints of bars, concrete walls, and gun-towers. The aroma of hotcakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon use to wake me in the mourning. I’d find my mother or stepfather preparing plates to be eaten. Being that I am Muslim now, the consumption of bacon is haram (forbidden), but at the time it was halal (permissible). My family roots run deep, and the interaction we have with one another is intimate. Special occasions such as birthdays, family reunions, and holidays enhanced the intimacy we shared. Reflecting on my childhood experiences fills my entire being with pure joy, memories that I often tap to stabilize my spirit from being shaken by my current circumstances.
July 2, 1995, life for me took a drastic transition, a transition the led me to explore the depth of my soul. You see! My need to please and be seen and accepted amongst my homeboyz led me to and through the gates of Hell, where the seeds of murder were germinating within the hidden chambers of my mind. Around my family I appeared to be an angel unaffected by the negative influences of my environment, but around my peers I assumed the role of a mischief maker eager to prove myself. This unstable identity was a contributing factor of a life being taken, two families been torn and devastated, and a community thrown into the realm of uncertainty and fear.
Al Haqqah, which in Arabic means “The Sure Reality,” had just begun. Handcuffs decorated my wrists as I was chauffeured to the precinct in the back seat of a squad car. Mug shots, fingerprints, and intense interrogation awaited my arrival, which eventually led me to juvenile detention.
A world entangled in confrontations stemming entirely from gang rivalries. My allegiance to a false “hood” doctrine determined this to be my fate. Mean mugs and verbal disrespect were the debris that set off human landmines. The counselors applied violent force to disengage violent altercation young men such as myself participated in to uphold images we acquired from growing up in the streets. After a few demos, respect was earned until a new challenge appeared. The added stress of attending court every 30 to 60 days made it difficult to smile knowing that life in the penitentiary was a possible outcome. Dreams of being acquitted were my temporary relief along with receiving mail and visits. The sound of “Guilty” been said by 12 different people echoing through the silent courtroom sealed my fate. What I feared became reality.
As I sat in the holding tank occupied by thoughts of defeat, a momentary feeling of depression overtook me until I mustered the strength to fight it off. When the bus transporting me exited the underground parking lot of the Compton Court house, I began to record familiar images of streets, stores, and houses that were once my reality. What awaits me? I silently asked myself as the big green sheriff’s bus wove its way through traffic. Relieved of the hand and ankle bracelets, the walk back to the housing unit where I would be housed gave me a glimmer of hope. The stillness of the night accompanied by a light breeze whistling in my ears and the expansion of the heavens decorated with shining silver ornaments entertained my intellect, only to be disturbed from the sadness of my mother’s voice as she spoke through the telephone.
Damn!
This was only the beginning of my journey.
Antoine Brown is a writer currently incarcerated at San Quentin State Prison.
