A Prisoner's Professor

The handcuffs make a clicking noise, as the guard removes them, and I feel the tension in my arms quickly vanish. I roll my wrists back and forth in circles, easing the feeling of freedom into my limbs again. The guard nods towards the door ahead, and I lead the way. 

Let me just start this off by saying- prison is not like the movies. We are not all bald, ripped, and covered in tattoos, and riots are not a part of our daily regimen. Not all of us our murderers, arsonists, and leaders of mass genocide. Some of us are here for mistakes we made to try and get out of the hole we felt trapped in but mistakes nonetheless. A lot of us stick to ourselves, including me since I didn’t see myself making top quality friendships behind bars. Prison is not as exciting as the blockbuster films make it out to be. No matter the picture that moves paint, they can never seem to capture the pure boredom and stillness you’re surrounded with as a prisoner. All of my days look the same, and the last memory I have of my real life in the real world is looking over my shoulder to see my mother sobbing, as the guards ushered me out of the courtroom. People tend to believe there’s never a dull moment in prison because it is believed to be the land of bad guys. I guess there’s some truth to that, but I never expected that mistake I made to stick its label on my forehead for the rest of my life. Yet here I am, and if you asked me one year, two weeks, and three days ago- this is the last place I would guess I would be. 

“You gonna tell me who this visitor is?” I question him, drawing my brows together. The guard simply flexed his jaw and shook his head over slightly. I knew they had to be someone on my visitor list, but I couldn’t possibly see who would come visit me at a time like this. I got out in three days, so what was the point? If someone had something they needed to say to me, they could swing by my apartment. While they’re at it, they could check out my new shiny ankle monitor that the judge promised me. The visitation room was quiet, and I surveyed the area trying to find this mystery person that had news so urgent it couldn’t wait. 

The guard gestures to the seat behind the glass divider. The seat on the other side remains vacant. “Your visitor will be here in a few minutes.” The guard steps back to resume position behind me, ensuring I don’t try and pull anything - not that I would. Then, I see him. For a moment I think he’s here to see somebody else. There must be a mistake, but as he gets closer and closer to the chair, I realize there is not.

The man sports a brown, tweed jacket, with dark jeans and a wrinkled button-up. He looks older- much older than me, maybe in his late sixties. He has soft, kind eyes, with deep wrinkles along the sides of them. His hair is a gray mess, matching the scruff on his face. He looks like someone who spends his free time writing poetry on napkins or sitting at a bus stop for hours, with no real ride to catch. He looks like the wise mentor that shows up thirty minutes into the movie, to inspire the hero and send him on his way- like Yoda. Man, I loved Star Wars. I decide to give him a name before he can tell me. I settled on Guy. Simple and to the point.

Guy takes the seat across from me. I continue to survey him, and I reach for the phone without breaking eye contact. He does the same. I hold the phone up to my ear. I speak first.

“Do I know you?” 

“Likely not, but that’s not the question I would’ve started with.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, why would you ask me if you know something? If you know, you would know. You know?”

Maybe he’s not as wise as he looks. 

“Huh?” I couldn’t decide if I was pissed off or confused by his riddling. 

“The better question to ask is, ‘Do you know me?’ That is a question that is actually worth my time.”

“Well?” I ask. 

“Well, what?”

“Do you know me?”

He waves a hand, brushing the inquiry away- the one that he himself had prompted. “We can get to that later. How are you?”

I shrug, raking a hand through my waxy, greased up hair. The shampoo here did not do it justice. That probably sounds stupid, but when you grow as bored as I have, all of the little inconveniences grow just a bit more inconvenient. 

“Confused. You’re not on my visitor list. How did you even get in here? Never mind that. Man, who are you?”

The man moves his jacket off of his chest to show me the ‘Hello! My name is’ sticker stuck to his shirt. According to this sticker, he was my uncle. James Gladstone. According to the looks of the man in front of me, he was a complete stranger. Yet, there was a familiar look in his eyes that I couldn’t quite shake. 

He covers the name tag once more, and his eyes glisten as he stares into mine with intent. “How’s the prison life?”

“I’ve never seen you in my life,” I say, declining his attempt at casual conversation. He simply laughs, further irritating me. “Why are you here?” 

“According to your visitation records, I am the only person who’s swung by in months. I suggest you soak up contact with someone who hasn’t committed a felony while you can. I might be the last piece of entertainment you receive in your final days here,” He smiles, with a hint of humor that lets me know he’s not entirely serious. 

I take a breath and let my shoulders relax, giving in. Why not? I fiddle with the telephone cord in my hands. “It’s boring. It’s sad. My celly is a sloppy thug who sleep talks, and the only thing worse than that is the fact that when I’m here we are on the same level. The sloppy thug and I are the same. In this place, I am just as bad as anyone else. It doesn’t matter who’s getting out sooner and who’s getting out later because the mistake I made that night was bad enough to land me in the same cage as the man who killed his cousin and the man whose tax evasion left his entire family dirt poor.”

“What do you think about that mistake now?” Guy questions. 

“I regret it. Of course, I regret it. More than that though, I wake up every day and it’s like I have to learn what I did all over again. There’s those few moments of peace before I remember. Then, it hits me like a ton of bricks. I remember why I hate myself, and I remember why everyone else hates me too.”

Guy nods. It’s quiet for a few moments. Awkward. 

“December 11th? Was it?”

“Yeah- How did you know-”

“I remembering hearing about it. I was shocked. Definitely. In total honesty, I was heartbroken, and I think I was heartbroken because I see things like this on the news all the time. I just never thought that it would be the name of a kid like you. I bragged about you constantly, to anybody who would listen. I said, ‘This kid is amazing. This kid is going to be something. I know it. Just watch.’”

I still couldn’t tell how he knew me, but I hung onto every word Guy said. “Well, I’m definitely something.”

“You were the kid who made me excited to teach. I got to witness the rise of this amazing kid. Then, one day, I-I saw this kid in the papers, and I thought, ‘Well, ha. That’s funny. This man looks just like Collin. He looks like that fifth grader that everybody wanted to be friends with. He looks like the fifth grader who’s world came to an end whenever he missed a letter in the spelling quiz- which was very rare.” He laughs quietly to himself. When his eyes meet mine again, they shine- a sheet of water glossing over them. I notice mine have begun to do the same. 

“Collin, it’s been seventeen years. Seventeen years since those spelling quizzes. I don’t know what happened in that time, but that doesn’t matter. What does matter is that you have more time. You have time to do the things you said you wanted to do. You have time to build from the ground up, and then after you will still have time to peacefully enjoy the roof over your head. You’re not done. Not yet. Never really.”

I inhale a shaky breath, as a single tear slides down my cheek. The words knock on a door in my mind that I could’ve sworn I had locked and boarded up, hidden away forever. I know this man. Of course I do. 

“Happy New Year.” He says with a smile. “May this one be much different. May this one be your new beginning, Collin. Make that fifth grader proud.”

I nod, “Thank you, Mr. York,” and I hang up the phone.