I despise flying.  Not only am I in a constant state of anxiety, waiting for the engines to fail or the inevitable plummet to the earth, but I make everyone around me nervous as a result.  I wasn’t always this way – I remember a few flights to Boston which I enjoyed – but ever since the first time I landed in Dallas in a thunderstorm, I’ve sworn off flying unless an emergency is involved.  And as far as I was concerned, going to prison was not an emergency! 

Instead, I booked a one-way ticket with Amtrak, from Dallas to New York (with a 9-hour layover in Chicago, where I would switch trains).  I considered Greyhound instead, but the train ticket was only about $20 more, and from far too much experience I can tell you the train is a much more enjoyable experience altogether.  I’d actually ridden this route once before, round trip, but on that occasion my company was paying for it so I’d secured a private berth and meals.  This time I just took a regular seat and no meals.  I figured I could eat before I left, and easily grab a bite in Chicago.  With some snacks on hand, and a hot meal waiting for me at my parent’s house in Staten Island, I couldn’t see the point of paying for a meal on board.

The night before I left Dallas was very emotional for me.  Here I was, in love with the most wonderful woman in the world, and I was going to have to kiss her and say goodbye for what would probably be nearly three years.  As perfect as everything seemed, I had to wonder if anything would ever be the same again.  Would she change her feelings for me once my memory had faded?  Would she meet someone new?  Or would we be different people when I came home, and discover the true love we had shared has dissipated into the distance between us?

One thing was for sure: I wasn’t going to let Heather take me to the train station.  Saying goodbye like that would simply be too hard on both of us.  Instead, she stayed home from work to see me off, and I drove the car I borrowed from my job back to the office, where my boss and friend Patty would drive me the short trip to the nearby commuter station.  From there I would catch a local train to downtown Dallas, and switch to the Amtrak that was destined to take me away from my own world, and deposit me one step away from the BOP’s. 

Heather and I tried not to get too emotional, but watching the sad face as I turned to walk down the apartment stairs, with tears streaming down her cheeks, nearly tore my heart in two.  As bad as I felt about the situation I was in, the realization that I had unwittingly unleashed this misery on Heather too was simply another ten tons of guilt on my shoulders.  At the time that Heather and I met, it seemed that the justice system had decided not to pursue the case against me.  My lawyer hadn’t heard any true confirmation of that, but he had expected an indictment of some sort four months earlier, and never heard a word.  In typical Kent fashion, four weeks after we met I discovered they were proceeding with an indictment after all.  Wonderful!  If I’d felt that was still a possibility, I wouldn’t have bothered trying to meet women or develop a new relationship.  Of course, in the long run, I’m glad it worked out this way, but back then it just seemed like another of my typical screw-ups and a perfect example of my absolute lack of good timing.

While I was afraid of what life in prison might be like, I was able to accept my fate without too much resistance.  There wasn’t anything else I could do; I had to go, and that was that.  Once I left Heather it wasn’t that hard to avoid crying, because I found myself generally numb to everything that was going on.  I drove to work, caught a ride with Patty, boarded the commuter train, and soon found myself climbing aboard the silver Amtrak train, bag and ticket in hand, ready to head off on the adventure known as federal incarceration. 

But first, I had to spend two days on a train.  To some people, that’s almost the same thing!


(watch for Part Three in the near future)