On 12th and Alder, just 10 blocks west of Garfield, sits a 16-year-old boy named Jake* confined by four concrete walls. He wears a white tee beneath a blue jumpsuit. On his wrist hangs a red bracelet plastered with his name and picture. Resting his forehead on balled fists, he begins to think of all the things he will no longer be able to do — graduate high school, join the Coast Guard, say he is proud of his actions.

Frustrated and disappointed, he searches the room for a distraction from his conscience.  Standing adjacent to a steel-plated door is a steel-plated sink attached to a steel-plated toilet and a single roll of toilet paper to match it. Hugging the far wall is a set of steel bunk beds. The mattresses are made of blue plastic, resemble cushions belonging on a lawn chair and are covered by a white sheet and two woolen blankets. There are two small windows that interrupt the steel theme of the 10 foot by 14 foot cell. One, made of fiberglass, is situated in the cell door and looks onto the common area of the hall. The other looks onto the courtyard — a depressing contrast of green grass against brown bricks. His eyes bounce from wall to wall, searching for spaces not occupied by gang signs.

It is Jake’s first day in the King County Juvenile Detention Facility.

The average day in detention begins with an 8:00 a.m. wake up call from the loud speaker followed by a 8:30 a.m. breakfast. According to Jake, the meal consists of “two soggy pieces of toast, some hash browns, and some other sh** that I [don’t] even touch.”

All meals are eaten in the common area of their hall on three tables that are nailed to the ground. After breakfast, the kids are put back in their cells until they’re released for lunch. After lunch, they are given an hour of free time to watch TV, read books, or play Dominos. When the hour is up, they are led back to their cells for two more hours until dinner. Some days, this time is spent in the library, which is provided and staffed by the King County Library, or in school, which is provided by Seattle Public School’s Interagency Academy. Following dinner, they go to the gym to play basketball for 30 minutes.  At 9:00 p.m. they return to their halls to get ready for bed and shower. “The shower has a button that says ‘Hot’ and you press it and it was like the coldest water I have ever experienced in my life,” Jake explained.

Lights out is at 9:30 and with the darkness come the thoughts of restless minds.

“The worst idea for me personally was the idea that if something went wrong in the prison that you could only get out if someone else let you out,” said Jake. “That’s when the reality that you don’t really have your freedom hits you.”

Despite being limited to a single brick building, the detainees are provided with the use of many services — the library and school are just two of many. 

Inside the secured building is a Health Clinic. Upon admission, the Health Clinic tests you for potential physical and mental attention in areas such as STDs/HIV, dependency to narcotics or alcohol, and pregnancy. Voluntary Alcohol/Narcotics Anonymous sessions as well as Religious Services are available for those who want them. 

Just next door to the Detention facility is the King County Juvenile Court where all the legal events for youth under the age of 18 are held.

Officer Benny Radford escorted me to the facility. After clearing through security, we headed to the third floor to sit in on open hearings of Family Treatment Court. FTC is a voluntary custodial program involving court participation in order for parents with substance abuse problems to reunite with their children. Through a series of urine analysis tests, counseling and treatment sessions, a judge decides whether the parent is ready to maintain a stable home for their child. 

A mother entered the room with the biggest black eye I had ever seen. In her hearing she stated to a roomful of strangers all the steps to recovery she had been taking — filing a restraining order against her abusive boyfriend, looking into facilities that could help her with her mental and substance abuse issues.

“The sad part is the only difference between me and these parents is our choices,” Officer Radford said.

Another mother was called to the stand. She walked to the table and sat next to her attorney with confidence. The judge asked her how see was and without hesitation she replied “I’m great! How are you?” 

After a multitude of questions, she proudly shared with the room that she had taken one of the five tests required to get her GED and passed with flying colors. She had also been sober for six months. The judge then said, “Just like it’s never too late to become sober, it’s never too late to get and education.” 

And with that, he led the room in a round of applause.

Although no statistics or demographics are released online about King County Juvenile Detention, studies show that convicted minors are more likely to find themselves back in detention than minors with no previous charges. For some kids, detention is the most stability they’ve had in their entire lives. 

“Kids do say that they get into the routine and it becomes a regular part of their lives. In my opinion, that’s part of the reason why some of those kids have been in and out of the facility so many times,” said Jake. “Once you’re in the system, they keep you in the system. It becomes a part of your life and it stays a part of your life.”

As night falls, Jake and his cellmate are locked once again behind a steel door. They lie motionless. The security their woolen blankets provide cannot protect them from the sound of teens suffering through their first night. The echo of fists meeting metal lulls the boys to an insomniac’s sleep — constantly interrupted by self judgments and “if onlies.” A full night’s rest will not come until they allow the clamor of the night to fill their minds with white noise, pushing their worries out. Because in Juvenile Detention you either have to learn to deal with the boxes the world has set, or be destroyed by them.■