On the Row
As I wake up to start my day, still hare on the row, which I hate
to even say. Here on the row our days are a lot different from
others in the free world. Our days, months and years are all the
same, day after day, in this same place.
As I brush my teeth and wash my face, another day on the row, is
about to take place. Looking through a little hole in my door, I
can see the sun is out, but I'll only get one hour of it and that's
something to think about. Here on the row we only get 60 minutes
outside a day and the years I’ve been here its always been the
same way.
Standing outside by a fence, that's letting us know that, that's
as far as we can go, as I take a look around at some of the
others on the row, it seems that everything and everyone is
moving so fast. But yet, so slow. It’s hard for us on the row to adjust or be at ease in these surroundings, even though you may know one another, there are still boundaries.
Five minutes from now, before everyone is headed back inside, to a
place that everyone in their own way, have put out many tears and
cried. Headed back to my cell and all I hear is the steel doors
opening and closing, and in my cell it echoes like loud bells. I
take a look around and this is not where I want to be, and I
think I can speak for everyone else on that and not just me.
Looking around my small, unpainted cell, everything is still the
same, steel bars four white walls and a concrete floor, it never
changes. On the row our cells are not big at all, in reality these
cells are so very, very small. It's where I got to live, where I
got to stay and the only thing I have to come to each and every
day.
As I wash my hands, getting ready to eat, thinking about home and
how things use to be. The food here, it never change, every single day it's seems like the same old thing. We can't argue or
fuss, even if we do try, it's still going to be the same old
stuff.
Dinner will be coming soon, I'll still be In this room,
daydreaming of happier times, hoping that they arrive soon.
Dinner has come and gone and now the lights are on, a guard holla
shower time and doors start to roll. They start in the back so
neither door is mine, and finally my door opens, and it's my
time.
It's only going to take 10 minutes off the hour, tighten up
Wimberly one guard hollers, while another person is waiting for
his turn in taka a shower. On the row it's always this way, on
their time, their schedule, no matter what we say.
Laying in my bed looking up at the ceiling, fighting myself with
all these lonely, sad and depressing feelings. It's very hard on
the row, a lot of people just don’t know, every day it's the same
thing with no where to do. As I pray for a better day for
everyone on death row, I slide under the covers, close my eyes,
knowing another day like this is on the rise.
On The Row…
Shaber Wimberly
Holman 3700, 5-U-2
Atmore, AL 36503
Written July, 2002
Something to think about
Words from death row......
For a full list of articles written by Juveniles on Alabama's Death Row, go to the complete list of titles at
Stories.
