On Air with Zoe Washington: Chapter 26–Eight Months Later

The cookie was
soft and decadent, and the filling was sweet and addictive.

“Right now?” I asked, looking around the theater.
There actually weren’t a lot of people in here, probably
since we were at a matinee, and it was nice outside.

“So...you’re okay?” I asked.
Hannah nodded tentatively. “I think so.”

We didn’t have many customers, so I
spent a lot of time refilling napkin dispensers, restocking our folded boxes, and feeling like I was a lopsided three- tiered cake about to topple over and splatter everywhere.

It
was super quaint, like out of a movie. It could only fit
one lane of cars, and had brick sidewalks, townhomes on
each side with flowers in window boxes, and lanterns
instead of streetlamps.

One of the trail landmarks was the
Phillips School, one of Boston’s first schools to integrate
its student body after segregation was abolished in Massachusetts in 1855.

He was
both serious and sincere when he said, “You’re the epitome of Black Girl Magic.”

I gave Marcus a doubtful glare.

Even better, I could interview
more than one person, like as a panel.

“First,
we’d need to find a venue. Maybe we can see if the library
will let us rent their event room?”

I felt so antsy
that I ended up taking a walk around Beacon Hill to get
my nervous energy out.

“I know, but since this is a panel, I thought she could
bring a different perspective. She has a lot of insight to
share about what it’s like for people after prison.”

There’s a big misconception that people cannot
change.

And a huge stigma about being in prison. Even
I’m dealing with that stigma, and I didn’t even deserve to
be in there.

A picture materialized in
my mind, like on Kids Bake Challenge! when they showed a
professional sketch of a dessert on the screen while the
contestant described what they were planning to make.

I ate my lunch, and then since there was time left, I
went on a walk to get my anxious energy out.

Whoopie pie and cake recipes weren’t the same, but
they were similar enough. So, when I got home from
work, I used what I knew about red velvet cake to modify
the chocolate whoopie pie recipe that I’d made with Dad.

When the whoopie pies were done, I took them out
of the oven to cool. Then I got started on the last component: the toasted pecans.

The building looked like a church,
with its tall windows and arched doorways. It also had a
big clock at the top.
“Apparently the First African Methodist Episcopal congregation went on to buy this building in the 1870s,”
Marcus said, reading from the trail website on his phone.

“Some people
say rain before an event is good luck, so this bodes well.”

“I started this podcast and we’re having this event
today because I want things to change. I want...”—I
started to say “exonerees” but then remembered that
wasn’t the sole focus of our event anymore—"...people who’ve been incarcerated to be able to get back to
their lives, without having to struggle to meet their basic
needs. They deserve that.”

Sometimes they
commit crimes to survive. Our job at Fresh Start is to
help these folks, to show them that there are alternatives.

“What do you do at Fresh Start?”
Daniel took the microphone from Christina. “I’m a
community advocate.”

“I help
Christina with everything she mentioned, but I also act
as a mentor.” He paused. “I want to show people that
there is life beyond what they knew before they went to
prison.”

“As someone who was in prison for a crime that
you didn’t commit, what do you think about the people
who were guilty of their crimes?”
“I don’t have any bias toward them,” Marcus said after
taking the mic from Daniel.

My body was so pumped full of adrenaline by the
time our event ended that I could barely process the
applause.

She was also funny and personable and had waitressing experience from before
prison.

After months of preparation, using the Kickstarter
funds to rent a truck, get it wrapped in vinyl with our
branding, plus pay for permits, licenses, and supplies,
we were finally ready to start serving customers.

When I got back to the truck, Marcus was closing the concession window.

I was proud too—of Marcus for making it through all
his hardships after prison, and of the two of us for making this dream happen.