"It came in a red envelope, postmarked December 27, 2010. It was addressed to me at Menard Correctional Center, cell 546 in the south uppers. The return address stunned me when I read it. It came from Sacramento Street in Vallejo, California, 94590. The sender's name was Gramma, Aimee Bell. I examined the handwriting for a long while, trying to remember if I'd ever seen it before. It did not spark a memory."
"I carefully removed the staple put in by mailroom staff after they sliced it open to inspect its contents for dangerous contraband. I pulled the envelope open, then quickly put my nose to it and inhaled deeply. I was hoping there would be remnants of a scent that would transport me back to my preteen years and the time I spent watching her expertly weave her long black locks into this strange donut she told me was called a bun."
"I smiled when I caught the slightest scent of perfume. I took another long, deep inhale, this time hoping to commit it to my olfactory memory. I'd been incarcerated for the past 20 years of her life and hadn't seen her for 23 years - the last time being at the burial of my father."
All personal mail at Menard Correctional Center will be scanned under a new Illinois Department of Corrections policy. A red envelope postmarked December 27, 2010, arrived addressed to cell 546 in the south uppers from "Gramma, Aimee Bell" in Vallejo, California. The handwriting suggested a 77-year-old woman who retraced letters on some characters. Mailroom staff sliced the envelope open and stapled it after inspecting for contraband. The recipient inhaled the envelope hoping for a scent that would evoke childhood memories of a grandmother braiding hair into a bun. The inmate had been incarcerated for the past 20 years of her life and had not seen her for 23 years since the father's burial. A cartoon card of the three wise men elicited laughter.
Read at Truthout
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