“Chow time!” the guard yelled as the door to my dorm opened.
While everyone rushed to chow hall, I hesitated to leave my bed. For years, no one wanted to sit with me because I was a gay man. I tended to avoid the dining hall.
But I would not be deterred. “It’s chicken day,” I said to myself. “I can do this.” So I wiped the sweat from my palms on my pant legs and headed out.
Baked chicken is one of the best meals in my prison, after pizza. The aroma alone is captivating. Some people try to sneak through the lunch line again just to get their fill of the warm, crispy chicken bites.
I waited in a line of over 400 residents that stretched as long as a football field. As each person’s turn came, they called out their bunk number and picked up their tray.
As I got closer to the front of the line, my anxiety swelled, and my arms stiffened as I thought about where I would sit.
I gripped my orange tray tightly and walked to the closest empty table, where I could wolf down my lunch. I preferred to sit alone to avoid any rejection or awkward conversation. I didn’t want to hear hateful remarks.
Most straight men say they have an image they must uphold: If they are caught hanging out with me or any other gay or transgender person, they will be made fun of by their friends. So, in general they choose to avoid me altogether.
Once, I heard someone whisper, “Why is this dude trying to sit with us?” Onlookers laughed.
I quickly stuffed my mouth with rice and mixed vegetables. I unraveled the warm sandwich wrap containing the breaded chicken pieces and consumed every morsel. Within minutes, I got up from the table and left before anyone else could sit close to me.
As I walked through the recreation field, heading back to my building, I heard catcalls and whistles. At some point in the past, I had declined sexual advances from some of those men. I am not an object of sexual gratification.
My chest tightened and I had trouble breathing. I kept my head high and tried not to let the comments get to me. “I can say ‘no,’” I told myself. Rejecting them did not give them the right to torment me.
This day I just described happened four years ago.
Today, I am a peer facilitator and an advocate to my peers. I walk with a smile and greet everyone by name. People come to me for advice, guidance and support.
When I grab my tray and turn to the tables in the chow hall, I see hands waving, inviting me to sit with them.
