The Hilltop Unit

Three and a half hours north of San Antonio you will find the little town of Gatesville. It's a typical small Texas town as far as I can tell. It doesn't seem to have changed much over the years. I had to drive to Gatesville on Saturday, and I noticed this abandoned church on the edge of town. I was fascinated by the pile of crosses lying by the front door.

Just outside of Gatesville is a large system of prisons. I have a cousin who is incarcerated in the Hilltop Unit for women. Every couple of months I drive up and visit her.

J. and I were not close as children. I can't say we have reconnected because we never were connected. Our families rarely see each other. Because of this tragedy in her life, we have become friends. I like J. and have come to enjoy our visits. I especially like the quiet drive up highway 281. Nothing but beauty and small towns all the way.

I've written about my visits with J. here and here and here. Saturday we had a very nice visit. We talked about therapy, humanity, religion, Ayn Rand, and all sorts of other things. She gets one two hour visit a week. She's so desperate for conversation that there are no dead moments. I prayed with her at the end, leaning into the wire mesh between us and whispering.

Once I wrote a story about a strange encounter I had while sitting at a picnic table in the visitors' parking lot. Here is a picture of that table, the guard tower, and a strange chapel that sits on the prison grounds, surrounded by razor wire. The shadowy item by the table is the back of the "Employee Smoking Area" sign that you cannot read while sitting at the table.

The world of prison is a world that is strangely disconnected to life as I know it. To visit is to step back in time and to step out of all my familiar relationships.

Everyone is no one in this place.

rlp

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