Prison Pals

There's a saying prison: "The deeper the sleep, the deeper the nightmare." So you never really get complete rest, part of you must stay awake 24/7 just to keep the monsters out, perpetually pushing against the door they keep trying to beat in. Some fail, of course, and the monsters come in and take over. Those are the scary ones and you wonder where God is. So every scrap of friendship is a lifeline not to be ignored.

Some take advantage of that, buddying up to you to see what they can wrangle. Self-doubt creeps in when you're in a place like that, surrounded by animalistic creatures, guards and prisoners alike. Cut off from the outer world, it turns into a distant dream becoming more unreal every passing moment. The overwhelming desire is to rebuild a semblance of life like you had on the outside, seeking out your own kind. The system, of course, only wants to crush you - because it can.

Men talk of the bonding that comes from wartime. In here, we're also under siege. Two or three at the most you'll come to trust. Once the suspicion passes, you see the mutual fear and there lies the foundation. You talk about things: normal things, outside things, future things. I had people say they were glad to of met me, that our paths had crossed like they had. "Dude, we're only meeting because of my crimes!" What purpose does it serve to make relationships in prison? Shouldn't I be hanging with the fellow shining stars like I was meant to be?

These unfair questions crossed my mind.

Afterwards, in the real world you find out how real things were inside. In there I could hide what a loser life I lead, so easy to appear to be more than you are. Oh, sure, I'm going to do all these cool things when I get out. But in the daylight I cannot hide. A few of the guys really do go one to do cool things, having a life and family. I remember sitting there on this guy's couch wondering if he knew how miserable I felt seeing him and his family living their lives. That was hopelessly out of reach for me.

He showed no hint of rejection or being ashamed of me. Friendly as always. Maybe he figured prison had done something to me and it was understandable I was still broken. What he didn't know was I was this way before I ever got in. I mean, were I functional person I'd have never of committed my crimes in the first place. I never went over there again or even made contact. I felt I was merely soiling the carpet with my presence.

Other guys are fuck ups like me. They are genuinely happy to see you, excited to meet someone to whom they need not explain their past. They like to bring up old bullshit that doesn't interest me but still they are better than nothing. In the end, I don't see a future with them, either. The last group is those whom you immediately avoid on sight - and they you. No one wants their shame revealed.

So all of them and none of them are my friends. I think of the Beatles hanging out with the Stones and other rockers in that Swinging Sixties London scene, colleagues and collaborators. Then I think who Lennon might have met stuck in prison when his actual soul-mates were worlds away. I feel like he could of made some genuine lifelong friends - but no Paul McCartneys. He'd of led a shadow life, at times pretending it was his real one, but only he knowing the truth.