PRISONER EXPRESS

The second point of no return came a few years (8) after the first. At that time even the promise of peace in death had lost its advantage. At the lowest level of human existence one finds the ultimate power of freedom, nothing to lose. It took the parade counselor three days of chasing me down, and his chase ended with a phone call to my supervisor (prison). Escorted by my supervisor, I soon found myself sitting in front of this bureaucratic carpetbagger.

Most inmates base their entire future on parole. I can understand this for anyone who has more than say thirty years. The majority of inmates I know are doing twenty five years or less. When their prospective parole dates come up, they spare no trick. Dressed in the clown's suit (starched bright whites) they nervously rush to their parole interview with anything from dancing bears to dog and pony schemes. Unlike the run-of-the-mill inmates I took a convict's stand that day when I sat down with the bureaucratic turn-key.

"Well..."he began thumbing through my jacket. GED, six vocational trades, nine O.J.T certificates from the metal fabrication plant and an associate's degree." He looked up. "You haven't wasted any time. You have a good chance at parole this time. All you need is an address."

"Don't bend my limb. Scratch your little notes. Give me my set off and let me get on about business." I countered abruptly, unemotional and cold. Seldom do you have the power to truly dictate your own future.

The counselor's fingers began to drum upon the open pages atop the desk. He looked up stricken with horror. "What?... Uh...perhaps you didn't hear what I said."

"I heard...I jus' ain' playin' your game."

"But you really do have a good chance." He paused in thought. "Not to mention the fact you could lose this chance and end up with nothing."

"Lose," I guffawed, crossing one leg over the other while giving the room a scrutinizing glance. I leaned back and took a deep breath. With confidence I continued. "Eight years ago...I had a wife, two kids, a ranch, and a life. I had put my nose to the grind stone, did all I could to become a better person. And you people said I needed to do another year. Seven years ago, I had an ex-wife and two kids. You people said I needed to do another year and a half. Five and a half years ago, I still had two kids that hoped I would be part of their lives; I had got a GED, six vocational training classes, nine on-the-job training certificates in the prisons metal fabrication plant. And you people said I wasn't good enough to be a part of society. So you gave me a two year set-off. Three years ago, I had nothing in the world to go to. But, I held out, got me a college degree so I could be a benefit to society. And you people said I wasn't ready." I swapped out legs without breaking my eye contact with the man. "I've got seventeen years on a twenty five. I got no people in the world, no place to go and I got nothing good to say about society. You want me to come in here and beg for something I no longer need. You got nothing to give me that I won't get in a few years anyway. I got nothing to lose and you got nothing to offer. So 'F' you and society in the ass. Now...since parole isn't a topic of discussion. What do you want to talk about?"

"Uh...uh..."He folded my jacket." You still work in the metal fab plant?"

"Yeah"

"How much does one of these barbecue pits cost. I mean I'd like one with a smoker and"

And so, for an hour and a half we designed his barbecue pit. It's interesting how people can communicate when you have nothing to lose.

"Freedom is just another word for, nothing left to lose."

-Jackey R. Sollars