I have been reading books to mentally escape from the walls which seem to be getting smaller and smaller with every layer of paint. Since these cells haven't been painted in years, it is an illusion. But as time goes on, the stark reality of the situation begins at times to remind me of time passing, opportunities lost and memories un-had. I know "un-had" is not a word, but it certainly defines time in solitary. What may have been is un-had. The reason I discussed reading earlier, was a subtle and psychologically revealing bit of advice I received this morning from one of my resident correction officers. I returned two 500 page paperback mystery novels. As I asked him if there might be any more novels around, he calmly and as a representative father figure of this institution or maybe our present society, told me, "to read slower!"
Read slower and we may let you go. Read slower and your family's pain will be over. Read slower and stop telling others what's wrong with our governmental trading system. Read slower and you can kiss your grandchildren and children again. Read slower and we will embrace you. "May I please have 5 more books?" Unfortunately, reading slower is not an option. It's like telling a fish not to swim or a bird not to fly. "Read slower", no, you people start reading faster. God damn it! These young men and women need you to read faster!
Chapter 10 – Shaking Out Memorial Day
It's quite interesting to observe the ups and downs of solitary. Depending on multiple factors, some days you can rise above the negativity and laugh at it, and some days it hits you directly and you can feel all of the emotions that this destructive human creation can do to you. My visits with attorneys do nothing more than remind me of the cause, the price one has to pay for it and my responsibilities to all of those counting on my perseverance.
The correction officers (they hate being called guards) have all started to appreciate my low maintenance requirements. They are amazed at how fast I read books. They may start monitoring my toilet paper ordering to ensure that the books are actually being used to read and not "other uses" for that paper.
I have decided after shaving a few times to now grow a beard in prison. This is not because I have decided to burn the flag, although at times I must confess a disappointment in the judicial system. Not shaving is because the last razor given to me had been used before. I know they are supposed to dispose of used blades because of HIV possibilities, but in a system "not that exact", I have decided not to take any more chances. We had sixty-eight prisoners in solitary and over forty have been transferred today. There are no familiar faces staring out the door windows yet. No conversations. No late night serenades. One new inmate across the hall is unfortunately a drug addict. He is regularly administered methadone. The thought of us exchanging razors has caused me to go for the Don Johnson look of Miami Vice or the white full beard look, if necessary.
I don't like weekends because of the mystery meat meals in general, but also because of the one CO Grant. She's a very sweet lady, but has the loudest piercing voice I have experienced here or elsewhere. Her voice is explosive, happy, mad, argumentative but relentless. As I read or do anything, her voice just penetrates. No complaints - just an observation to continue to try to capture the sounds, moods, up and downs in case you ever are invited to visit. If you really want to visit, disagree with a Federal Judge, take out a full page New York Times ad on his actions, be unable to pay his ludicrous fines and you too can experience this vacation paradise. After all, many have gone to France, the Hamptons, Florida, and Italy etc. Have any of your friends ever raved about the mind altering experience of solitary confinement in a Federal prison for weeks upon weeks? That will help you gain control of the conversation. "Oh, so you saw the Leaning Tower of Pisa but have you ever had a toilet paper center roll in your mouth?" Have any of them lost as many pounds at any other spa? Or have they ever met such memorable characters and group showered as often?
I certainly have too much time on my hands. Well, I guess that's to be expected. I just wanted to touch on two simple topics tonight, as I dig in for a long weekend. Tomorrow I will be doing the twenty-four hour in the cell marathon added to the time after today's legal visit. I'm looking at as much as sixty hours before I speak with anyone. I am remindful of the monk who entered an order of silence, but every nine years he was permitted to speak. After nine years, he was called in to the head monks’ cell (it probably was a room, oh my God, have I been here that long?) And the head monk said, “Is there anything you would like to say?" The monk said, "Could I get a new mattress, mine has had the springs sticking out for the past five years." After the next nine years, and the same dialogue, the monk said, "Could I possibly get a pair of sandals as I have not had any sandals for seven years?" After another nine years, he announces that he had decided to quit the order. The head monk said "I am not surprised, you have been complaining ever since you got here."
So I guess today I'm complaining. My toilet bowl sometimes flushes for five minutes after flushing. I hate to waste the water, but to get on the plumbing "list" and to have that "crackerjack" repair crew that did the shower repair could possibly destroy any sense of humor or objectivity I may still have left. So with apologies to my fellow earth conscious "Green" friends, I can't risk it. I am so close to the end of my stay, I hope.
I will leave a note for the next guest when I fill out the "comment card", or when I visit the prison gift shop to purchase some of those orange suits or orange sheets as I leave. I'm sure they wouldn't miss these gift shop branding opportunities. Do you think they steal the sheets? Maybe that's why there are no pillows. The bathrobes probably went in the first few years. Now the towels are without absorption but the size of three washcloths and despite my weight loss I cannot tie it around my thigh, let alone my waist. My waist I may add is not a 30" but it's not that much more than that - so these towels are quite small. Because I have the time today (do I sound bored?), I'm going to measure it "by eye" right now. The measurements are 12" x 32" (approximate), but they are orange and that appears to be most important factor.
I experimented tonight. I decided to ask another CO how do I put my toilet paper center on the outside door knob. This has really been a keen issue with me over the past forty hours. The guard came by to ask me why the hell I would want to put a toilet paper center on my door knob. Obviously, this CO did not read the manual the other guard read. Rather than get the first guard in trouble and then, in turn, me; I decided to answer that I thought one had to do that so a case worker would know to stop when making "rounds". He walked away saying, "We don't have case workers, you mean counselors". It's going to be a long weekend for me, and I'll try to not take it out on you.
I've written long letters to every family member to avoid this diary becoming even longer than "War and Peace".
The early sounds of morning are the initial noises coming from the Day Room. Like robins on a quiet summer morning, you might hear "you get the fucking food" or just the noisy pre-delivery sounds of that same breakfast of milk, cereal and ½ an orange. The sounds of toilets flushing can be best described as engines at a NASCAR race. Each toilet is truly an eight or nine on the decibel scale similar to a motorcycle starting up next to a baby carriage and revving for a few minutes. Each flush has its own life span. Noise discretion in the middle of the night is simply not possible unless you fear flushing because of the noise and in my case the length of flush.
After arising in a damp chilly room, I awoke again before breakfast service. Remember breakfast service is a 4" x 12" slot that opens with a key and a conditioning bang. The food is coming through that slat or slot or slit. That noise is my morning alarm clock, or my robin singing in the forest. But today I wondered do I flush before the food service arrives? What if it continues "flushing" like last night’s five minutes? What if they find out it is broken? Will they send the repairmen? Will I be moved to another cell? I just got this one paper Mache′d and cleaned! My decision was to wait and then monitor the button (yes, a button because a "toilet flush arm handle", I guess, could be used as a weapon) or maybe too many inmates would get confused over whether to hang the toilet paper center on the toilet arm or the outside door knob.
One can only hypothesize on the high level executive decision which went into the button selection. Or more simply, some politically connected brother-in-law had the specifications