JULY 13, 2016: You can never count on a "routine" day in prison, but today is about to become shockingly divergent from the normal. I’ve eaten my 5 a.m. bran flakes, written two letters, and sent an email to my wife, Tensie. It’s nearly eight o'clock, and I am sitting on a stool outside my cell writing down some reflections on an essay sent to me by my friend Doug. “Apel!” a woman’s voice yells from the common area. “Get dressed, and bring your ID.” I go into my cell, take off my shorts and sweatshirt, and put on my khaki pants and shirt, making sure my ID is in my breast pocket. I head up to see what this is about.
In the common area stands a guard who, after asking if I am Apel, escorts me to the hallway just off our unit where we wait to be joined by the woman who had called me. “What is this about?” I ask the guard. “You’ll find out,” he replies in a tone that tells me he is not in the mood for questions. When Ms. “B” joins us, we step into the elevator, and she casually asks me, “Have you ever been in the SHU?”
“No,” I reply, hardly believing what I’ve just heard. The Special Housing Unit is where inmates who are being disciplined are taken. “Why am I going to the SHU?”