I’ve lived in 26 cells over 27 years of incarceration. 

During that time, I have lived with more than 50 different cellmates. In prison, you and your cellie make up the world for one another. You figure out how they sleep, clean, whether or not they share food and if they’re emotional about their family. 

Life in a cell is hard at times, especially if you’re living with someone who doesn’t clean up after themselves and can’t see anything but their own existence. Most cells I’ve lived in were painted white and smaller than a walk-in closet — and that’s where we did everything, including eating and using the bathroom. 

Here are a few of my cell memories from the last three decades.

Using the bathroom

One of my first memories of being in a cell was using the bathroom. I was in Buckingham Correctional Center, a state prison west of Richmond, Virginia. I was anxious about using the bathroom in front of my cellmate, with only a hanging sheet to separate us. Eventually, I learned that using the bathroom in prison comes with a set of rules and guidelines. 

First, flush repeatedly while using the bathroom. Purchase prayer oil from commissary to cover the smell. Afterward, make sure you check the toilet so you do not accidentally leave anything behind. Next, if you don’t trust your cellie, strip naked so that if he attempts to attack you, you won’t trip over your undergarments. Finally, wash your hands with soap after using the bathroom (this may sound like a rule that doesn’t need to be said, but some need the reminder).

Another time, one of my cellies got drunk and puked all over the floor. This happened while an officer was making nightly rounds. I scrambled to get my cellie back on his bunk. Then — with no cleaning gloves — I used a rag to scoop up the vomit and deposit it into the toilet. The pungent smell made me feel sick, but I was thinking more about how a charge for prison wine would implicate me than my bare hands covered in chunks of what my cellie had for dinner. 

Sleeping in a cell

My second memory was falling asleep. When the prison locked down for the night, it was eerily quiet. You could hear televisions murmur from cells adjacent to you. This was nerve-racking because I was used to sleeping alone in a bedroom. It took me weeks to finally allow exhaustion to win out, but not before learning how to sleep, which also has its own set of rules.

First, sleep on your back, never on your side with your buttocks to the door, because someone could be staring at you. Keep one hand free from under your sheet, in case your cellie attempts to tie you down and attack you. Keep one foot free from under your sheet for the same reason.

Threats of violence

I’ll admit, I’ve also had some scary times in a cell. The pressure of being trapped in a cell has caused people to explode. Because of this, fights were common, even over small things. Once, I had a cellie that wanted to fight me because I moved around too much on my bunk.

At the start of my time at Buckingham, I was told by a guy who transferred to the facility with me that I would be robbed on commissary day. My cell partner had recently been transferred, so I was living alone. I didn’t tell any staff members, even though I was scared. I placed my bag of commissary at the cell door’s threshold and waited. I sat on my bunk for an hour. When they didn’t show up, I spoke with an old-timer and asked why nobody came to rob me. He said, “You showed them you weren’t afraid.”

But sometimes there is tenderness. We pass deeply emotional times in our cells. I was in mine when I read my pre-sentence report, which contained the victim impact statements from those I hurt. As I read one letter after the next, I considered what I did to so many people. My cellie, who I hadn’t been housed with for long, hugged me as I wept like a baby.