Corrections in Ink: A Memoir

by Keri Blakinger

Wide-eyed, I just listened in wonder. In prison, the stakes were so high, it was one thing to take a risk for yourself—hoarding contraband makeup or smuggling cinnamon from the kitchen—but it was another thing entirely to take a risk for some free-world concept like justice. So many people lost the will for it. I sure felt like I had. For a year, I’d been living my life in fear of solitary. I wouldn’t do anything to attract attention lest the Powers That Be decide to retaliate. Even when the jail had cut off my hair, I hadn’t filed any grievances, formal complaints, or lawsuits—mostly because of the unspoken threat of The Place. It loomed over everything, unpredictable and terrifying, like a sea monster rising up from the deep, ready to lash out with a slimy tentacle and drag us into the dark waters one by one. I wanted to hide in the cabin. But here was Stacy, standing on the deck, hands on her hips in defiance.