What is underneath the surface. by Wesley

8/28/2014

A glance around at most times of the day at the 24 men who share this cell, seems like a happy lot.  Laughter is near constant.  Smiles and games, men engaged in conversations and prayer; activity is constant.

There are arguments, of course.  Any disagreement can lead to dangerous tensions.  The T.V. for example, is a serious source of conflict.  But most conflicts are full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.  I can hear Jane Goodall narrating the conflicts calmly in my head-"young male chimps displaying their anger and aggression with no harm done."  She would know just what to say.

Card games and dominoes are going on non-stop; laughter and bravado pour forth.  The same stories of capers past are told and retold daily.  Exploits with women, especially "dope whores", are relived to great laughter every day.

Today I watched a man laughing wholeheartedly while playing spades.  His face clouded during each lull in the action.  His smile was strained and his eyes sad.  A shadow passed over his face each time he allowed himself a moment to reflect.

The young man in the bunk next to me sits and stares into space and tells me he is off in the world.  He swears that he will no longer do or sell meth when he gets out of custody, whenever that is. It will all be different-he says- he is moving to Seattle.  I suppose he's thinking about Seattle when his eyes are so distant.  He is earnest: there is no greater penitent than the incarcerated.

The eighteen year old above me who is accused of armed robbery wept tonight after seeing his mother for the first time since his arrest.  Gone was the tough kid who arrived last night.  All that was left was a frightened child who'd disappointed his mother.

Earlier a guy got off the phone after an animated conversation with his girlfriend.  He told us she told him they'd been evicted.  That she'd told him she was not happy and then their time on the phone was abruptly cut off and he couldn't get her back on the phone.  His eyes were ringed with red while he considered what her next sentence was going to be.

I didn't shave for two weeks after arrival.  I couldn't look in the mirror long enough to shave, so I ignored that part of my hygiene.  Before too long the itching overcame my shame and I shaved.  Then I picked up my book again-any book- anything to keep me from thinking.

If you could crawl inside the cracks in the facade, you would see that the vast majority of these men are deeply sad.  Not proud of where we are, who we are, or what we have done to ourselves and to our loved ones. The shame is a shroud over everything we do.

Brush away the bravado and you can see the fear in us as well.  Fear of the present, of course, and also the retribution that will soon enough sting us all.

Also, the fear of being alone gnaws away.  Cast aside and away by families frustrated by our poor choices.  Shown the door by a significant other more interested in a relationship with a man who helps with the kids, the bills, and the emptiness. A man she can touch.

So we laugh, because that is better than the alternative.

Next: The importance of soup (really).