​​I encountered Melissa during my time in jail. A black woman with Southern charm, she exuded a seemingly normal demeanor, yet beneath the surface, one could discern the weight of oppression experienced by people of color. There was an indescribable residue, as if the echoes of slavery lingered.

Her story  was profoundly tragic. Starting out in Mississippi, she ascended from a bank teller downtown Chicago to bank manager. Her family took immense pride in her achievements, viewing her as a beacon of success. Melissa's best friend, involved in dubious dealings, frequently visited Jamaica. Despite the questionable nature of her friend's activities, it didn't impede their friendship. Invited to join her on a seemingly innocent vacation to Jamaica, Melissa agreed, anticipating a carefree escape.

During the seven days in Jamaica, they indulged in yacht parties, and rolled around in a Benz. However, on the last day, as they prepared to leave, Melissa's friend nervously disclosed a troubling request. She needed Melissa to transport cocaine back, claiming she couldn't carry it all. In a cloud of euphoria and reluctance to spoil the memories, Melissa agreed. Her friend assured her that concealing it in a maxi pad would prevent detection.

Upon landing in Miami, Melissa breezed through customs until, just as she exited the airport, a customs officer intercepted her. The friend, Who she was traveling with and had encouraged her to bring the drugs in a maxi pad pointed to Melissa saying they were traveling together . They stopped Melissa questioned her and then took her for a thorough search. The concealed cocaine was discovered, and Melissa found herself in jail awaiting sentencing. Her friend 

To her shock, her friend, who managed to smuggle the cocaine in her suitcase, evaded charges. She had put liquefied cocaine in her shampoo and conditioner bottles. Where is Melissa had put them in between her legs, so her friend went home, Melissa went to jail

Melissa, scared and unwilling to disappoint her family, kept silent about her predicament. The bank that she worked for a new her to be dependable and reliable and were concerned about their missing manager, the prestigious bank she worked for initiated a search, raising funds to locate her. Unbeknownst to them, Melissa was sitting in jail. After two months of searching in Jamaica, the truth emerged.

Melissa also did not tell her family that she was in jail. She was too ashamed. We had a really good personal connection you know when you meet people that are kind of cut from the same cloth of the same tribe as yourself that was Melissa. We sat together throughout the days strategizing how to make it through the next day and talking about our time in Jamaica. Funny enough we knew some of the same people that she had partied with while she was in Jamaica. Looking back I think the stories retold of our fun times in Jamaica got us through the day and lifted our spirits.

We forged a connection, both cognizant of our mistakes, we acknowledged our accountability—an uncommon trait among fellow inmates who often denied their culpability. Melissa received a five-year prison sentence, and we lost contact. Years later, she reached out, but our paths remained unconnected. At the time she reached out- I was struggling I felt I had nothing to offer, not even my enegry. Today Im sorry for that choice