The Long Way Around (Home Run Edition)

Chapter 1: Locked Up

"Step inside." A prison guard grabbed my arm and pushed me through the heavy doors.

This can't be real, I thought. This can't actually be happening. I stared straight ahead.

I held my hands in front of me and the guard unlocked the cuffs. My right wrist was bright red. It hadn't hurt this badly since the state championship game.

I marched down the center of the prison. Angry voices bounced off the concrete walls. The noise came from the men behind the bars, my neighbors. I held back my tears and did as I was told, following the guard. We walked up a staircase to my cell.

"Stop here," he yelled. So I did. I was always a good listener. Every teacher and coach I'd had could tell you that. I learned how to listen from my Mom. She made a point of only saying things once. I don't remember much about Dad. He left when I was six. Mom said he wasn't real nice to us. We never heard from him again.

I stepped into my tiny cell. The door slammed shut behind me. I turned toward the back wall. Two beds leaned against opposite walls. The place was barely lit, but I could see that someone was in one of them. He was rolled up in a blanket sound asleep. I stared at him curiously. Then I looked above me and noticed that the ceiling was falling apart. Water dripped to form a puddle in the corner. I stepped away from the stranger's bed. I noticed a dirty toilet and a sink towards the back. There were no doors, no privacy. A light with a metal screen over it flashed and buzzed above my head.

Slowly and quietly I made my way over to a bed. I sat down with a loud creak. A deep sigh came rushing out of my mouth. I was facing seven years inside this room, four years if I got out on parole. How was I ever gonna do this? I wondered. I leaned back and closed my eyes.

In an instant, I was back on the football field. That was the place where everything was perfect for me. I was throwing a pass to the sideline. My best friend Billy was wide open. The sun was shining and the defense was in slow motion. I heaved a pass down the field and watched the ball spin through the air.

My cellmate let out a snore. The sunshine disappeared. The smell of freshly cut grass was gone. All I could smell now was the metal box I was caged in. I peeked over at him. He had salt and pepper hair. His thick moustache matched a shaggy gray beard. When he rolled over on his bunk I saw that his eyes were open. I looked away quickly, my heart racing in my chest. The man didn't say a word. Instead, he snorted a few times. Then he was back to sleep as if I wasn't even there.

I leaned back on my thin cotton mattress. The metal wire beneath me cut into my hip. I was taken to the New Mexico State Prison on a big black bus at dawn. That was six hours ago. It was a horrible ride, I was all chained up. And I was scared--as scared as I've ever been.

The ultimate humiliation came when I was issued my prison uniform. There was a number printed across my bright orange shirt. I was no longer Matt Devon, senior in high school. I was no longer a kid who loved football, his mom, rap music and cars. I was K763921. I was a number. I was used to wearing a number on my football jersey, number fifteen. This felt very different.

I laid there on the bunk trying to get my mind off of my surroundings. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. I tried to focus my thoughts on life before jail. Right away I thought of Amy. Amy Rogers had been my girlfriend since we were eight. We grew up together. We did everything together. The two of us had big plans. She was going to be a lawyer and I was going to play in the NFL. Tears started to roll down my checks. Our plans were over now.

I couldn't ask her to wait seven years for me. I knew it would be better for her if we broke it off. I'd already caused her enough pain. She had sat by my side through all of this.

Last night they told me I would move to the state prison at dawn. And I knew what I had to do. I looked Amy straight in the eyes and asked her not to come see me anymore. I asked her not to think about me. I told her to forget she ever knew me. That was the hardest thing I have ever had to do.

I was born and raised in Hobbs, New Mexico. Hobbs is a small town in the southeast corner of the state. We're right near the Texas border. We lived on the outskirts of town, but not on a farm or anything. I lived with my mother and my seven-year-old nephew, Kenny. My older sister, Katy, ran away awhile back. We only heard from her once, a year later. She dropped by to leave a baby boy on our doorstep. Kenny was just two months old when he came to live with us. I was ten at the time. Kenny always seemed more like a little brother than a nephew.

When Mom died a year ago, Kenny and I were all that was left of our family. I had just turned seventeen when I lost her. That was when everything began to fall apart.

All I ever dreamed about from the time I was five was playing football. Baseball and basketball were okay, but only to keep me busy until football season. I was born to throw the pigskin. People always told me that my right arm was special.

Most of the youth football teams developed their game plans around the run. But with Billy as a receiver and me throwing the ball, we mainly passed. Billy Bryant was my best friend in school. We were always working on our game together. I can still picture him running slants, outs and buttonhooks in my backyard. We'd practice until the sun went down. He was the fastest kid in school and had the best hands. We played together all the way through high school. We never lost a game together. Not even when we played those big Texas high schools.

A loud bell rang that jolted me back to where I was. My cellmate sat up, throwing off his blanket. He rubbed his face with his right hand. Our eyes met and he looked at me for a long time. "Chow time," he finally spoke in a gruff voice. "Is this your first time in the joint?" he asked.

"Yes sir," I replied.

He gave me a strange look. "They told me I was getting a new roommate. So you were some hotshot high school quarterback, huh? I read about you in the paper."

"I was a quarterback, but I'm no hotshot, sir."

He looked at me strangely again and shook his head. "Mind your own business while you're here. The less you say the better off you'll be. You're a big guy, you should be okay." He was right. At six-foot-three and over two hundred pounds, I was pretty big. But that didn't mean I wasn't scared.

My first dinner in prison went okay. In the movies, bad things always happened in the cafeteria. Luckily, nobody tried to take my food or mess with me. I did see two guys arguing. Although they nearly came to blows, a guard was on the scene quickly.

After moving through the food line I went to a table and sat down. I didn't speak a word to the strangers around me. The food was gross. I could barely swallow a bite of it. I left thirty minutes later, relieved that I'd made it through my first meal.

When I got back to my cell I felt safe. Then my cellmate sat down on his bunk and looked at me for the longest time. He had a creepy habit of staring at me before he spoke. "So I read about you, but I'm not sure I believe what I read."

"Which part, sir?" I said trying to speak in a strong voice.

"Stop calling me sir, will ya?" He reached back and scratched his neck. "My name's Al Pancano. Call me Al."

"Yes, si-" I stopped myself, "Al, I mean." I reached my hand out to shake with his. "My name's Matt, Matt Devon."

Al sat back down after shaking my hand. He shook his head with a smile on his face, "Why would a kid like you rob a liquor store?"

I didn't know how to answer him. "It's complicated," I said. "It's a long story."

He leaned back on his bed, "Well, you've come to the right place to tell long stories."