Lifer Story

I almost missed the comment. Waiting in another cellblock was as familiar as breathing – guys playing cards under the glare of fluorescent lights, chipped paint on the steel bars in front of the large room, the stench of dirty bodies detoxing drugs and alcohol, and the blare of the TV.

I was oblivious to all of it and then the door to Cellblock C clanked open. You know, curiosity. You always go up to the bars to see what’s going on. Outside the cellblock bars, a CO entered the caged-in area to deliver mail.

I’d been in the Vigo County Jail for several months so the Correctional Officer might have something for me. He sorted through the letters, handing different guys a piece of mail. He started to walk past, then stopped. He looked in my eyes and said something I’ve never forgotten.

“Costa, you don’t have it in ya to be a lifer.”

Lifer – career criminal. Likely it was true. I didn’t have it in me to be a career criminal because you need a sense of identity to be a career anything. I had no idea who my true self was and no vision for the future. I was 21, no skills, no future, and already two and a half years of my life spent behind bars. Now I was looking at four more years in prison when I transferred out of this cellblock.

I used to tell people I wouldn’t make it to 21 and I did everything to make it happen. Yet here I was, still alive. Worse than that, the CO, the guy on the other side of the bars, just told me I was a failure as a criminal.

That’s how I heard it then. Now I realize it was a prophecy that I would do so much more than watch hopelessness bleed the life out of me.