I eventually arrived to the jail and was thrown into the booking cell. As I arrived in there, I saw a few other people who are waiting to be booked. The cell felt cold and musty. The smell was horrible. The bricked walls of the cell were etched with gang signs. As soon as I saw a phone, I made a collect call to my sister and explained to her that I was in jail. She thought I got in trouble with the law again, but I clarified that I have done nothing since. I asked her and my the rest of my family to bail me out. She was enraged and did not believe that I was arrested for that same incident that happened eleven months ago. After a short talk, my sister told me that she will not bail me out but will tell the rest of the family about the situation. They kept moving me from cell to cell, each more horrid and crowded than the last. I was eventually strip searched, and was ordered to put on my jail uniform. The correctional officers ordered me and the other cellmates to bend over and open up our buttocks, then pull back the foreskin of our penises. I felt dehumanized. That afternoon, each one of the cellmates were given an old, burnt pocket along with fruits and milk. I did not feel like eating and gave my meal away. After about eight hours in jail, a correctional officer pulled me out of the cell and sent me to another cell. I did not know what was going on because I was the only one that was ordered to move to a different cell. After waiting about thirty minutes in the final cell, I was given my street clothes back. I was relieved because that can only mean that I was being released. Turns out that my parents did post bail after all. My father picked me up after I was released. We did not say a word to each other the way back home. I took a hot shower immediately when I got home and went on to sleep on my queen sized bed with my fluffy pillows. It felt good to be home.
I went on to go to court about four times after my release from jail and pleaded guilty for possession of narcotics with the intent for sale. I took my plea bargain which agreed to sentence me to three years probation, serve ten days of public works, and complete a three day a week drug class for a year. There was too much evidence against me to fight the case. The lawyer fees, bail, drug classes, public works and revenue and recovery fees all added up to $6,000. Seems like I had to pay back all the money that I earned from selling marijuana.
I always seem to learn things the hard way. My mother has been suffering from depression ever since the day the police officers searched my apartment. Although she is much better now, she never fully recovered. That fact hurts me more than anything. I am now 22 years old and have changed my life around as of late. I now work at Land Rover Miramar and am going back to school, with plans to earn my Master degree of Business Administration. I am currently behind in school. Many of my friends have transferred to universities while I am playing catch-up. Playing catch-up is no fun, but I am working extra hard to make everything work. I now have my priorities straight and do not want to go back to my old ways. I am serving my final year of probation. The mistake I made taught me a lesson in life. My arrest and persecution is the biggest reality check I have went through in my life. I do not regret what I did because I know that it has molded me to be a better, humbler, and wiser man.
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