Welcome Back, an essay by Gerard Roman
On the morning I was to parole, I found myself really anxious to get going and get off the prison grounds.
Instead I was to undergo one last torture before the gates were flung open. Every minute was an eternity waiting around to be taken down to the bus stop.
At times my mind was going places I’d rather not be--they changed their minds, we’re not going home, etc., etc., etc.
Then finally, H-hour arrived. I never felt so happy to board a bus in my life as I was that morning. Mere words cannot
describe the joy I felt as we went through the gate.
Once we were on our way, a passenger who had boarded the bus sometime before we did, gave us all a warm greeting and asked if we wanted to call anyone and handed us his cell phone. I tried the only number I had, that being for the Office of Restorative Justice, but was not able to make a connection.
About an hour into the bus ride, we turned off the highway and headed straight for this prison. I don’t remember which prison it was, but I felt a terror like never before because in my panic, I kept saying to myself, they’re taking us back to prison, oh no! I breathed a sigh of relief when I realized we were just picking up other parolees.
I stopped being nervous when we got off that bus and found ourselves at the train station. Freedom finally soaked in.
That train ride turned into another bus ride that eventually brought us to Los Angeles. At the bus depot a perfect stranger approached me and said, “You look like you need to call someone,” and handed me his cell phone. Once again I tried calling the Office of Restorative Justice, and again no luck.
It was getting late so I decided to walk from the bus depot (Greyhound bus terminal) to the Office of Restorative Justice.
I didn’t expect to find anyone there but I didn’t feel like spending the night at the bus terminal either. So I grabbed my bag and after asking directions on how to get to Santa Fe Avenue, I began my long walk.
I didn’t see very many people walking the route I was on but I did run into a young man who beamed when he saw me and asked me if I had just gotten out. When I answered yes, he said all right, welcome home.
I must have walked for a good couple of hours, or it seemed that long when I finally reached my destination.
I came to the door, pushed the doorbell not expecting an answer, and when I did get an answer I felt so relieved to have contacted someone who would be able to set things straight in the person of Sister Mary Sean. We talked for a while in her office and it was determined that the office was indeed unoccupied at the times I had called and that Sister Mary had
returned to finish up on some paperwork she had started earlier in the day. It was truly a Godsend that she had returned to the office shortly before I arrived.
Sister Mary basically gave me an orientation of the program in her office and afterwards she drove us to Subway’s where we shared a sandwich and after we ate, she drove me to the 45th Street House where I still reside to this day. Thank you, Jesus!
Instead I was to undergo one last torture before the gates were flung open. Every minute was an eternity waiting around to be taken down to the bus stop.
At times my mind was going places I’d rather not be--they changed their minds, we’re not going home, etc., etc., etc.
Then finally, H-hour arrived. I never felt so happy to board a bus in my life as I was that morning. Mere words cannot
describe the joy I felt as we went through the gate.
Once we were on our way, a passenger who had boarded the bus sometime before we did, gave us all a warm greeting and asked if we wanted to call anyone and handed us his cell phone. I tried the only number I had, that being for the Office of Restorative Justice, but was not able to make a connection.
About an hour into the bus ride, we turned off the highway and headed straight for this prison. I don’t remember which prison it was, but I felt a terror like never before because in my panic, I kept saying to myself, they’re taking us back to prison, oh no! I breathed a sigh of relief when I realized we were just picking up other parolees.
I stopped being nervous when we got off that bus and found ourselves at the train station. Freedom finally soaked in.
That train ride turned into another bus ride that eventually brought us to Los Angeles. At the bus depot a perfect stranger approached me and said, “You look like you need to call someone,” and handed me his cell phone. Once again I tried calling the Office of Restorative Justice, and again no luck.
It was getting late so I decided to walk from the bus depot (Greyhound bus terminal) to the Office of Restorative Justice.
I didn’t expect to find anyone there but I didn’t feel like spending the night at the bus terminal either. So I grabbed my bag and after asking directions on how to get to Santa Fe Avenue, I began my long walk.
I didn’t see very many people walking the route I was on but I did run into a young man who beamed when he saw me and asked me if I had just gotten out. When I answered yes, he said all right, welcome home.
I must have walked for a good couple of hours, or it seemed that long when I finally reached my destination.
I came to the door, pushed the doorbell not expecting an answer, and when I did get an answer I felt so relieved to have contacted someone who would be able to set things straight in the person of Sister Mary Sean. We talked for a while in her office and it was determined that the office was indeed unoccupied at the times I had called and that Sister Mary had
returned to finish up on some paperwork she had started earlier in the day. It was truly a Godsend that she had returned to the office shortly before I arrived.
Sister Mary basically gave me an orientation of the program in her office and afterwards she drove us to Subway’s where we shared a sandwich and after we ate, she drove me to the 45th Street House where I still reside to this day. Thank you, Jesus!