I walked into this small supply closet and was told to “get in.” I looked back at the person who said this command and it was Tami, the deputy that was guiding us through this profoundly deep and heavy experience. After I “got in,” I immediately turned my flashlight on as I was told that all of the lights had gone out in the elevator but not to worry because it would still indeed work. As soon as I squished into the miniscule space that would take us up to the old jail I began to look around. Directly in front of me was a thick iron gate that was once used to separate a convict from law enforcement when they had to use this very elevator that took them to the jails that would hold them until they had paid their debts to society. I could not stop thinking that while Earnest Gaines wrote a fictional story, A Lesson Before Dying, it was based on a true story and there was a sixteen-year-old boy that had the exact same experience I was having. Yet, this boy knew that there was no chance that he would ever see the outside world again. This was his life. 

As soon as the elevator reached the top floor, Tami swung the metal gate open and as soon as we had stepped onto the concrete floor a thud sounded strong enough to ring my ears. A metal door that concealed the elevator had been shut and Tami was on her way down to get the next batch of us. I began to tip-toe around the quarters as I felt that if I was too strong in my stride the floor might give out or I would trigger something to break. I walked into an old cell and looked at my surroundings. The ceiling was cracking and peeling from the intense heat and humidity. The toilets were metal and looked like a diseased chair. The showers were covered in mold and the cell doors were so rusted that you could practically pry them open with your hands. 

These cells had not been updated once in the near hundred years that they have stood here. These grounds have been walked by convicts that spanned over ten decades. The longer I stood in this concrete box, the thinner the air became. It felt as if the wind had been knocked out of me and it left me gasping for a breath. I could not imagine being locked in this cell for a whole day let alone months if not years on end. These were some of the most inhumane conditions one could think of. The light did not even pass through some of these concrete blocks leaving its inhabitants in the dark for days at a time. This was one of the cell’s that young boy, not even a boy but merely a child, was forced to spend his final days. This cell was his whole world. 

After letting the inside of the cells imprint into my mind, I was guided out into the recreational area that inmates were given for 30 minutes a day. I expected something different than what I stepped into. I expected grass, maybe some tables and chairs, possibly athletic equipment. But what I was met with was heat. Heat seeped into my skin as I stepped onto a white roof blocked in by all sides so that no one could see in, or most importantly so that no one could see out. The sun reflected off of the stark white ground and hit you in the face like a frying pan in an old movie. This was seen as a reward to the prisoners, and I couldn’t help but think that this is what hell would be like. I envisioned Jefferson from A Lesson Before Dying being dragged out of a cell, bound by chains and forced to sit in the blazing son as a reward. It is an overwhelming idea to think that a human being can be trained to think of this near hell experience as a reward. 

My next stop was the women's cell. I heard Tami over and over again explaining that this was the only cell that had a bathtub as if it was some type of praise for the construction of this cement death wish. As I approached the cell and we all gathered around Tami, we listened to her stories and her knowledge that explained some of the elements around us. Suddenly her words started to blur, my heart sank, and I began to feel queasy. Right above me was the hook, the hook where people stood just like I am today, and awaited to be hoisted into the air, fighting for every last breath until their bodies gave into the rope around their neck and every last ounce of oxygen had been expelled. 

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get over that sight. It was the closest I could get to experiencing an ounce of what Jefferson was feeling all along. The feeling that life was not everlasting and that one day we would all meet our maker. Yet we all hope that when this time comes we are old enough to make peace with the final chapter of our story. We hope and we pray that we are not 16 when the time comes just like this young child was. He was just 16 the day that he walked to the electric chair and held his head high and went out like a man. He met his last chapter with dignity and self worth. This is something that is unfathomable to make peace with and I hope and pray every day that this will never have to happen again.