Final Bon Air Trip- “Don’t cry because it’s over; Smile because it happened.”

I keep thinking that I cannot believe our trips to Bon Air are over because I don’t want them to be. But, in a way, they will live on forever. I will always, always carry with me the memories of my trips, especially tonight’s visit.

I think an important place to start the story tonight is before we even got to Bon Air. Lena texted me, asking if she should go even though she was feeling under the weather. I encouraged her to go especially because this was our last week. Lena questioning whether she should go even though she was sick and my encouragement to go proved to me just how invested we both had become with these guys and our trips to Bon Air. Even though she was not feeling well, she still wanted to see the guys. I wanted her to come because our group has acquired a special dynamic, and missing even one member took away from our experience as a group. So, she came.

Another part of the story I wanted to include was the bus ride. My group has come to bond during these bus rides to Bon Air. We have even formed a relationship with the bus driver, who got to hear some of our most embarrassing stories last week. Today, when the bus got to a certain narrow road, surrounded by trees, I knew that we were close to Bon Air, and when we eventually pulled up to the center, the barbed wire surrounding the building appeared completely normal, in contrast to the shock and discomfort I felt from seeing it the first time we arrived at Bon Air, just five weeks ago.

When we got there we followed the routine of exchanging our IDs for visitors pass, getting patted down or scanned, and retrieving the chips and water from the cabinet, which lock combination I have memorized by now. The part leading up to meeting with the guys isn’t usually included in my responses, but it is a crucial part of the story, so I wanted to include it this time.

Walking into the room to see the guys was so different this week than the first week. I remember being so intimidated. Everything was so formal and stiff and awkward. I made sure to sit in between two of the girls. This week we walked in, said our hellos, and all sat down next to whoever, as we have all become comfortable with not only our partner, but also with all of the guys in our group. As a group, we caught up on our week and, of course, talked a little bit about the election. Then we got down to discussing our project with our partners.

Coming up with a story to write was certainly a challenge. I asked Vales what he wanted to contribute to the project, what he wanted to say about the experience as a whole, or what he wanted other people to know about him. But these were far too general. Sometimes the most important thing to know about someone isn’t a life-changing story, but rather one particular moment. Soon I realized this. So I proceeded to ask him to tell me a story about his week, or about anytime he was happy. To this idea, he more quickly responded with a story about a time he went to see the Governor, which I will say more about in my final project.

After I got what I needed for my assignment, we got to the good stuff. He told me more about his future plans to go to college, which I was pleased to hear because he hadn’t discussed these before, while so many other residents had with their partners. It definitely seemed daunting to him, but I am glad he has set a goal for himself. We talked more about his week, his love for books (which just makes me so happy because I love to read as well), and other things pertaining to his life. But something had been missing in our sessions. I hadn’t revealed that much about myself. When I brought this up, he told me to tell him about myself, but I couldn’t really think of anything. My entire life is a pretty broad topic!

But then I thought back to the first week, and I smoothly ended my experience at Bon Air exactly where I started. The first story we shared with each other was a story about a time you were scared. I can’t even remember what my story was, but I remember it paled in comparison to what his was on the scariness scale. So today, five weeks later, I told Vales that I’d tell him a story of a time I was truly scared. I told him the story of when I was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease as a ten year old kid. I told him about the struggles with meals, the tests I underwent, and the conversation on my living-room couch when my parents revealed that I had a life-long disease.

He looked at me for a while, and finally replied, “That’s sad.” A big, bad (not words I would actually use to describe him, now knowing him), juvenile delinquent criminal, sentenced to three years of prison for a felony, who lives in a jail and has grown up around gangs and violence told me, a privileged, college-attending, white girl from Long Island, New York that my story was sad. This moment marked a complete 180 in my experience at Bon Air. One of my preconceived notions, that was supported for the most part in weeks 1-4, was that his stories would be tragic and mine would sound privileged in comparison.  But today he told me a story about a great experience he had when we went to meet the mayor, and I told him about the time I was diagnosed with an incurable disease. I shared the “sadder” story. I wouldn’t venture to say the roles were reversed. Instead, I would say that we both have our sad stories and our triumph stories. Today was my turn to share my sad story, which I think showed Vales the more complex person I am and not just the privileged, white girl I may appear to be.

Finally, we returned to the entire group. I had become so comfortable with the people that now surrounded me. I loved hanging out and laughing with them. They were my friends. We all went around and shared with the group what our partner had shared with us. I can’t honestly say I know how the next part of my story happened, but to borrow from Ashley’s terminology, I know it happened “organically.” Somehow Vales’ dancing had come up, and the next thing I knew we were all encouraging him to show us a dance he often did called “The Elbow.” Vales had always been shy in group discussions, so he was reluctant to show us his moves. But with some bribing, cheering, and background singing, we got Vales to get up in front of the group and do “The Elbow.” I was so proud of him. From there, so many of the other guys started to show us their dance moves, and soon we were all on our feet learning “The Elbow” and singing songs as each of the guys went around showing us their dance moves.

Looking around the room, each and every one of us were smiling, laughing, and enjoying ourselves. We were comfortable joking and dancing around, making fools of ourselves, not even slightly embarrassed. Ten minutes past the time we were supposed to leave, Abbie interrupted our jam session (shoutout to the best mom/teacher/authority figure, thanks Abbie) to announce that we had to go. Our time together ended abruptly in the middle of Kristin’s partner and Shanard showing us their dance. 

So, my story ends in the middle of things. Its a little unsatisfying. I wish I could continue to go back week after week and get to know Vales and the rest of the 62 guys better than I already do. But I know that I can’t. So, as a consolation prize, I take with me my memory of this experience. I take with me all of the lessons I have learned about judgement and identity, and I also take with me all the much sillier memories I have of joking around with the guys. With these I can revisit and relive Bon Air whenever I want to, and that makes me feel a little better about leaving.