PRISONER EXPRESS

These are but some of the simple pleasures an old convict misses most. Haunted memories take me from my pain; carrying me to a lost past where freedom rings. Mine was a past taken for granted until the gates of prison slammed behind me for the last time. In these ghosts I find strength to continue my struggle, resolve to survive that my memories might live yet awhile, and hope that if ever, by some miracle, I am returned to freedom I hold to it evermore.

These are also the demons of my weakness. The roiling pain of my memories makes incarceration a torment. Looking back and seeing all that has been thrown away, unappreciated until it was lost, brings tears to eyes long tearless.

A time comes when we need to compensate for what is no more. For prisoners who have hope of release their memories can be an incentive to change; that never again will they have to suffer such a loss. Those, like myself, who never expect to be restored to the freedom they took for granted must be vigilant if they are to find new memories to maintain their purpose. Contrary to what most believe of prison life there are moments of sublime joy if you are observant and don't expect too much. Where so much is lost simple pleasures can make time's weight bearable and ease its passage.

Let me share a few of the experiences that have made my time less of a burden to carry. Never is it easy. But, neither is it always terrible. As with most situations in life, it is up to each of us to decide whether we will make lemonade or just such our lemons and pucker.

Sweeping the sidewalk, as two officers watched and horse played, such a simple pleasure fell in my arms. Officer Louder shoved Ms. Black, harder than he had intended, in my direction. She was falling toward the concrete when by pure reflex I dropped my broom and caught her. There I stood with a lovely lady lying in my arms like a lover, looking deep I my eyes. It was a beautiful moment until I realized how many rules we were violating and reluctantly set this beauty back on her feet. Undoubtedly she has forgotten. I never shall. She is the only lady I have held in twelve, long years and very well may be the last.

Cell windows have often brought me delightful sights. My transfer to high security Ad-Seg cost me that privilege. Late one summer night an undeniable scent in the air drew me to look for the culprit. As I scanned the brightly lit prison grounds from the concealment of my darkened cell's window where I witnessed a special threesome gamboling along. Mama Skunk must have weighed fifteen pounds; her glistening coat, fluffed and silken, made her look twice that size. The little stinkers were just balls of fluff. Joy engulfed me as the little ones chase bugs in the grass. For a long time I sat watching them play till finally they were out of sight. Even those long years later they are not out of my mind. Have you ever watched a spider spin a web? It is one of the wonders of nature. That same window provided me with a big, black, fuzzy one, which came to my attention one lonely morning. Unfortunately my cell partner at this time was one with a bully mentality. Not easy to get along with. Seeing me intently watching my window, smiling, he couldn't resist disturbing me. When he asked me what I was watching I foolishly told him. He was indignant, all spiders must die. He reached across me, where I lay on my bunk, intending to kill mine, I told him that if the spider died so would he. He was just a bit upset. Luckily for all of us he made the right decision and left my spider alone. Instead he got moved and the spider made a much better companion. You have to draw a line somewhere. But, I'm glad I didn't have to explain that to a judge and jury. My fellow prisoners would understand; no one else ever could.

The first time I got released from Ad-Seg they put me outside for the night because they didn't have a proper cell for me. That may sound horrid to you; to me it was wonderful. Bats were out and the stars were shining bright against a black velvet sky. Hours I lay and watched the midnight acrobats. If I had gotten angry I would have missed one of those moments of simple pleasure that make memories.

It's rather easy to forget your position with a certain type officer. Mr. Olson is one of those good and friendly types. Whenever he was assigned to work the hall where my crew worked I would promptly volunteer to stay during noon count and let the rest go home early. The work was done and the only reason anyone had to be there was in case of some accidental mess being made that needed cleaning up. Count could last for hours and it was time spent talking to "Big-O" about hunting, fishing, shooting, and other free world activities. At times we would share a companionable silence. It was one of those quiet times when "Big-O"'s tendency to nap was showing itself. In his company I never felt like a prisoner. For that reason, as we kicked back, I never thought twice about what to do when an oversized, kamikaze mosquito divebombed onto his kettle drum size stomach. It was an irresistible situation. With a thump of my hand that mosquito was history. "Big-O" had no way of knowing there was a mosquito. He opened one eye and gave me a quizzical look that said very plainly I had a short time to explain. Worlds wouldn't come, it was too funny, so I reached over where this critter still lay and lifted it up by one wing. With a nod of his head he returned to his nap as if nothing unusual had occurred.

With most officers I'd have been rooting for the mosquito. These stories, and many more, have been added to my memories. They can never replace the simple pleasures found in freedom. Children, pups, and the warmth of a hug. A soft bed with room to stretch or a walk along a woodland path. There is in every memory a reminder of the simple pleasures lost because I didn't appreciate freedom's worth. Now I know it is the most priceless of treasures. It is probably too late for me to save my squandered fortune. Is it too late for you? Hopefully not.