A story by Nicole Lund from 2025
Buddy and I were so excited to see each other for the extended family visit preceding Christmas. My friend, who was visiting her son, and I drove down together to Maine State Prison in spite of the snowstorm the night before. The roads were still choppy and my friend drove while I kept her company in the front passenger seat. I had woken up with a headache and the bumpy drive was really getting to me. By the time we arrived I was so nauseous I was afraid to open my eyes. I hadn’t felt car sick like this since I was a little kid going on long drives with my parents. My friend dropped me at the front door so I’d have an extra couple minutes to freshen myself up. I thought it best to stop at the desk to show my ID and sign in before using the ladies' room. I leaned over the desk while juggling my purse and trying to lean on the clipboard so it wouldn’t slip while I signed my name.
“I hope you brought a spare top because you are not going into the visit room dressed like that,” said the officer at the desk.
I looked up at him surprised, confused by what he said. “I don’t understand, I’ve worn this outfit to visits before.”
“I don’t know how. You will need to wear a sweater buttoned up or something that covers you up. Nothing can be shown below your collarbone.”
Stunned, I excused myself from the desk to use the ladies room. As I leaned over the sink I realized the issue. In my disheveled state, the front of my dress had slipped down and when I leaned over to write my name on the sign in sheet the officer had clearly seen more of me than I intended. I was embarrassed, but sure he would understand once I went back to the desk after straightening my outfit.
“I already told you,” he said. “You need to change or cover up with a sweater or jacket.”
My friend had come in at this point and heard the situation. She gave me her wool button down blazer to wear, not wanting me to miss the visit. I thanked my friend. At the same time my friend was saying she would probably freeze inside without it, I was thinking how I would be sweating the whole time wearing it. The officer approved me to go in with a warning to keep the blazer buttoned.
When I went inside, Buddy was there with his mother and her partner. They expressed their concern over whether or not something had happened as they had been waiting a while, having expected me to arrive earlier. I explained what happened. Buddy, knowing how conservative I dress, took my hand and walked me up to the officers desk in the visitors room. He then relayed the story to the officer and unit manager present. The officer asked me to show what I was wearing under the blazer. I did and he also seemed confused as to why I was given a difficult time. The unit manager confirmed my outfit was fine and I did not need to keep the blazer on. He allowed me to give my friend back her blazer and stay for the visit in my original outfit. My friend was elated since it meant she would not be shivering for four hours and I was grateful I wouldn’t be sweating.
We had a lovely visit together after that. They served dinner, we had our picture taken by the Christmas tree, we laughed and caught up on what we had both been up to. It was the first time Buddy sat down to dinner with his mother in twenty years and I was filled with joy to be witness to it. Buddy introduced me to some of his friends as well as the deputy warden whose hand I shook.
My friend and I left afterwards and talked about what a great event it was. We were both so happy to have had that time with our loved ones. Those moments of connection, sharing a meal and laughing together at a dinner table, are so special and so rare, especially for our incarcerated family members.
Later that week, Buddy and I were talking on the phone. He suggested I file a complaint on how I was treated while coming in to visit. I felt that was excessive. I didn’t want to make waves for fear I’d get labeled a troublemaker. I told him we should let it go and joked I would be sure to wear a turtleneck next visit. Not an hour after I hung up the phone with Buddy, my phone rang. It was an Augusta number I didn’t recognize. When I answered I was surprised to hear it was the deputy warden whom I had met at the family visit. He told me he was not calling with good news, I was being suspended from visits for two months because I failed to comply with the officer's request regarding my outfit. I tried to explain that another officer told me my outfit was in compliance with the dress code and I could remove the blazer. It didn’t matter. I should have complied with the first officer's request, he said.
Compliance. This wasn’t about whether or not my outfit was appropriate. An officer wanted to body shame me for my dress, a dress I had worn several times inside without issue. Buddy refused to let him. A second officer overruled the first officer's decision and we were still being punished. Instead of looking at their policies and trying to understand their own inconsistencies and the subjectivity of the situation, they were punishing me and calling me noncompliant. So, two weeks before Christmas, I was suspended for two months from seeing Buddy. Even in my efforts to not make waves or get labeled a troublemaker, here I was in trouble. Denying Buddy time with his family on the outside during the holidays was punishment for asking a second opinion.
Because of my experience as the loved one of a person incarcerated, I feel like I am serving the sentence with him.
