Behind the Bars

The first time I ever saw Bill was in a grey room, sitting cross-legged on the floor, hunched over a book. In any other circumstances, I wouldn't have missed the irony of our first meeting. But the Gary in my memories hasn't developed a sense of humour yet; all he had learnt to draw from life was its emptiness, much like the bunk bed he would be occupying for the next `one year. Hit by a sudden wave of exhaustion, I had flopped down on it and stared at the floor blankly. All this while, Bill had continued reading on without sparing me a glance.

The room was small and bare; the sink and toilet stood out, reminding me of the lack of privacy. But what self-respect was I so desperate to defend anyway that I haven’t already lost. With that thought, I turned back to the man with the book. He had one of those strange half-smiles, the kind that promises a secret that only you are supposed to know apart from its bearer. 

“First time?” His voice told me he was old, much older than my 19 years. I was afraid to answer his question, scared that he might see me for what I was- a rookie. I had heard stories of what they do to younger men in places like these. So I dodged the question with a half-truth.

“Once before I have been arrested for shoplifting.” I did not add that I was only 16 at that time, and they let me go with just probation. After that, I have been smart enough to stay out of the clutches of the law for two consecutive years. But things had gone downhill for me once again as I started community college, I had got in with the wrong slot and had begun selling drugs. 

“That’s how it started for me too.” Something about his statement felt like a premonition. 

“What are you reading?” I tried to change the direction of our conversation.

“Meditations by Marcus Aurelius.” He laughed at the scepticism that overtook my features, showing a set of yellowed teeth “ Bet you didn’t expect your cellie to be a stoic.”

After a pause, he added, “ I found this in the prison library. I was curious to know what drove people, in general, to live right. Perhaps, I may want to try out that life someday.”

His enthusiasm was contagious; I couldn't help but ask, “ Any words of wisdom ?” He was a bit surprised by my interest. But I knew that if I wanted to survive my time there, I would have to get in his good books.

“All in good time, all in good time.” He repeated these words to me as if they were a promise of something beautiful to come- freedom perhaps.

The first month was the most dreadful. I would lie in my bed and stare at the ceiling, tracing shapes with my eyes. I would wonder about the person who had occupied it before me, and the person before him and so on. Perhaps I was succeeding a murderer, or worse, a rapist. I thought of crime and punishment and of individuals who deserved what they got. But every once in a while, I thought of those who didn't. When the system is out to get you, innocence is a punishment in itself. If guilty, you at least had the consolation of having done the crime. Those were the times I thought of my father, in the bleakness of the light that flickered all night, and amidst my roommate's snores, somewhere in between nightmares and waking up, I would watch him being handcuffed all over again for a wrong he didn't do. I would watch my mother try to tell the cops that there must have been a mistake that they need to investigate further. I would hear the neighbours whisper lies about my family. I would feel the thrill of breaking the law for the first time, and the sense of victory that comes from outdoing the justice system. I had let my imagination run wild within those grey walls, and it had started to haunt me worse than the reality itself. I had lost track of everything.

It was while I woke up with a hysterical scream in the middle of one such night, that I finally got to know Bill better. He was awake, with the book on his lap. He had looked over at me, flippantly and then commented, ”Good thing I wasn’t sleeping.” 

It was all too much for me. I muffled a sob as I had felt the room close in on me slowly, while he sat there reading a book on philosophy- a picture of absolute ease. 

“How can you pretend to be like that?” I had demanded quietly.

He looked up from his book a little confused and then smiled at me. The same rueful smile from my first day here, as if we were sharing a secret.

“ Four years ago, I got involved in a big drug bust. Previously I had been involved in minor thefts, but I had never been caught. Expect I wasn’t so fortunate the last time. And the funny thing is I wasn’t even guilty for this one. The people involved in the drug deal were using a warehouse as an outlet for storing illegal stuff. They needed more employees, and I needed some cash. It seemed like a perfect match. I didn’t bother to find out much about the firm since I only intended to work there temporarily. That’s when the bust happened. You know how it goes- I pleaded not guilty, but my word held no value against all the evidence. I ended up with a ten years sentence.”

He paused for a moment as I slowly let his words sink in. All I could think about was my father.

“You get my point, don’t you? So maybe I am a scoundrel anyway, and it doesn’t matter much if they got me for one thing while I did another. But there are people out there doing time for things they didn’t do. Poor people were being employed by that firm who got stuck in this drama, people who were just trying to make money the honest way.”

“Like my father.” I whispered.

Bill’s eyes caught on a sympathetic look as if he understood my story. He probably did it better than I understood his. 

“ The system can get its hands on you, but don’t let it dig its claws inside your skin. Don’t let it tell you that you are not worthy of living. Take it for what it is- just another one of life’s little jokes. So, when you are out there in the world, the air will taste that much sweeter and the possibilities that much more infinite.”

It was close to dawn, and I could see a light streak in the horizon. Strangely, his little speech made me feel more rested than the actual process of sleeping.

“Remember you asked me for words of wisdom. Here they are, ‘Reject your sense of injury and the injury itself disappears.’ The trick is to not succumb to all of it." He gestured around the room, it's grey walls, the patrolling guards outside who were possibly eavesdropping in on us at that moment and laughing at us. " If you see your time here as an opportunity like I do, you would be all the stronger for it. “

I sat quietly and heard him read though passages from the book in his deep voice. Every word stirred something long forgotten within me. They baptized my soul and left me holy. After all these years, it occurs to me that it wasn’t perhaps what he read, but the pure belief with which he read it to me, and the goodwill with which he shared his hope with another lost soul; that convinced me otherwise. Mostly, it was just pure awe at the way Bill didn't let the circumstances turn him bitter. If he could do it, perhaps it was possible after all.

In the following week, he got me kitchen duty. I knew it was Bill's way of pulling me out of my gloom, and it came as a welcome relief. He told me about the other prisoners and their stories, the ones to steer clear off and the ones that were snitches. And every once in a while, out of nowhere, he would read me phrases from that book.

“Dwell on the beauty of life. Watch the stars, and see yourself running with them.”

“Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth.”

“Here is a rule to remember in future, when anything tempts you to feel bitter: not "This is misfortune," but "To bear this worthily is good fortune.

On the rough days, his words shone like a lighthouse in the storm. On good days, they made me rethink my actions and the person who I want to be. So when I got out of there a year later, I was a changed man.

All that was five years ago. I stood expectantly outside the institution that once housed me, my hatred for it long gone. He didn't see me initially, but it was hard to miss at close quarters. I was waving at him for all I was worth. He walked over to me, his pace slow as if trying to gauge my intentions.

"Hey there, kid. Didn't expect to see you here after all this time. Tell me you are here for someone else."

"I came here a few times before. It took me a while to convince the officer in charge, he eventually gave me the day of your release. I brought a gift."

I handed him the new copy of Marcus Aurelius's Meditations awkwardly. For a moment he didn't say anything. Perhaps, I shouldn't have come here today. Maybe he didn't really want to see me again. But I didn't want to give up yet.

"I had bought it with my own money. You know, I got a job now. It doesn't pay much, but it keeps me honest."

And then he looked up at me, his lips curved into that same secret smile from all those years ago. I could see it in his eyes that I have done him proud. In that moment, I realized Bill had been right all those years ago. I had to go behind bars to know the true essence of freedom.