Part 3 - The Cell Next Door

The recreation yard at Dodge was very large.  There was a big gravel track to run around.  Three and half times around equals a mile.  There is a baseball field and three basketball courts.  There is a weightlifting area with some pull-up bars and some dip bars. 

Chris and I were both walking around the track.  He was far ahead of me while I was talking to some people from our unit.  It was hot outside so most of us had our shirts off.  I jogged ahead to catch up with Chris and I noticed something was off with him.  Most people couldn’t read Chris the way I could.  He was so level no matter what.  However, spending 17 or more hours each day talking with him really help me to learn how to understand him. 

“You good bro?”  I asked once I caught up and was walking beside him.  His face was flushed, and he continued to look down while clenching his jaws tightly.  “It’s nothing really,” he replied nonchalantly.  “What happened?” I asked.  I knew he was holding something back.  “Just some guy yelled some stuff out the window,” he finally admitted as he looked over at the windows behind us.  “What did he say?”  Chris said, “He called me daddy killer.”  I had never heard that name before that day, so it took a minute for it to click with me.  “Those windows that are open when we walk around that bend?”  I asked, pointing over to those windows.  I notice there was a flock of birds flying passed.  I began to wish I was a bird so I could fly out of Dodge. 

As we passed the weight area, I told Chris to remain silent because I would take care of this.  “See, that’s how it’s done,” I said.  He just looked at me with raised eyebrows.  “Geez man,” was all he managed to say at that moment.   Chris was in prison for the long haul.   He was going to have to learn how to handle these situations, even more so than other inmates because of the attention attached to his name.   After we went around the track without any more disturbances, the guards’ voice came on the loudspeaker to announce that rec was over.   We were at the far end of the track, so we had to cut across the field to reach the gate quicker to go back inside.   We walked slowly because our 40 minutes or less outside was precious to us.   So, on the way inside, this old, short, bald CO told me to tuck my shirt in.   I decided that I wasn’t going to do it.   So, he kept yelling that order as we walked further away from him towards our unit.   As we entered unit 11, I was again told to tuck in my shirt, and I again refused.   We were headed to our cells anyway.   Dodge was so petty.   Who tucks their t-shirt in to some short ass gym shorts?   I went into my cell next door to Chris.   

There was nothing but a cot with a mattress, a pile of books, and a sack of paperwork.   I had some canteen and a little bit of clothes that Chris had given me.   It really sucked living the way I had to live because of my non-prisoner status.   I heard a light tapping from the wall coming from Chris’s cell, so I grabbed my chair and posted it up by the electrical outlet on the wall.   This outlet in my cell was connected directly to the outlet on his wall in the adjacent cell.  The walls were damp from the humidity.  “I appreciate you telling that guy off for me,” Chris said. “What he said was highly disrespectful, so no problem” I replied.  “What if we do see that guy again?” He asked me. “Then I would do like Jesus would do” I replied.  “And what would Jesus do?” Chris asked, almost expecting my next response.  “He would slap him on one cheek and put his nose on the other cheek,”   I confirmed.  “I am certain Jesus said that way differently,”  He laughed.   “Well, that’s how I interpreted it as it is written, let it be done.   

“Ya know, I had thought all of this stuff was in the past until that guy yelled that.   I remember my first forty days in Dodge. I was all over the news.  That had to move me into that back cell hall, and they kept me separated from everybody," he explained.   “Well, you graduated to the big hallway and as long as I am here, you’re straight.   You’ll have assholes, but some solid people will embrace you.  A lot of bad characters will try to embrace you too, so it’s better to stick to yourself sometimes.”  I informed him.  “I have a question that is sort of off-topic.   What was it like being a dad?  Because I don’t have kids.”  I asked Chris.  “It’s great, you know.  The best thing.  You go about life for them.  You get to buy them gifts and see the look on their faces. You bring them cheer with something as simple as ice cream. Being a dad is a big responsibility.  A great accomplishment overall,” he expounded. 

I wonder how he could kill as he felt as he did.   I know I never could, no matter how I felt about some woman.  “Yeah, perhaps someday I’ll find that special someone that I can build a family with, or I'll just start knocking up hoes when I get out,’ I said.  “Yes and no.  Yes, to finding a special woman, but no to knocking up hoes,” Chris corrected me.  “Look, I am a B O double S no less, so I f*ck with bad bitches.” I informed him.   He chuckled at this. I am seventy percent serious.  “Seventy?  You’re a mess and may the Lord rebuke you in the name of Jesus Christ,” Chris replied.  I laughed, “ok Chris, I can’t argue when you bring Jesus into it.” I replied.  Chris and I came from very different walks of life.  However, we clicked like one spirit.   That reminds me of a prayer I wrote.  It’s called “Sweet child of mine”, he said.  “Wait, that’s a song”, I informed him before he read it to me.   He said, “I know, Guns and Roses, but that’s the name of this prayer.   Check it out.

The blessings of this life I have taken for granted.  The miraculous I have deemed ordinary.  The supernatural I have received as natural.  The birth of my new life into my life upper cedes as an everyday part of life. As he read, my mind wondered for a quick minute, thinking about the blessings he had in his two daughters and a baby on the way.  He continued to read the prayer.  These blessings grew up as a green olive tree in my house with a sparkle in their eye and a smile that would shine in the darkest room.   Their energy would last for days on end, sometimes their questions too.   They even picked out a book about a train just to hear me say “choo, choo”.  My mind tried to wonder again, but I continued to listen intently.  Their kisses I thought would last forever.  Hugs that would melt my heart.  Never in a million years did I think we would be apart.  O’ sweet child of mine.   Those blessings are gone now, taken in the blink of an eye.

I was a bit put off by how he could think that way if he killed his children.  I continued to listen as he read the rest of his prayer.  I think to myself what happened as I wonder about the cold night.  It wasn’t until you called me, oh Lord, that out of a dead slumber I arose.  When you touched me, you quickened me.  Making through concrete grow a rose.  I know love now, love that I never knew before.  Love that I wish I could have shown because you dwell at my core.  I was totally focused on his words while at the same time thinking about his children again.  My hope springs eternal because my hope is in you.  I will see those blessings again because I have given my life to you.  You are my eternal father, a love that will stand the test of time.  Oh, how I yearn for the day you say welcome home sweet child of mine.  In Jesus' name, Amen.

“That’s deep bro, I like that one.  It almost tells a story without telling the story,” I told him.  “The Lord put it in my heart to write,” he explained.  “Except that the Lord stole it from Guns and Roses,”  I pointed it out, and we both laughed at this.  I was trying to lighten the mood.  Laughter is the best remedy for depressing times.  “I am sure that was not the Lord’s intention,” Chris said, as he stifled a laugh.  I realized that he vented about his girls in the entry he wrote and read to me.  People are going to see this soon as it would be in the book I was publishing for us.  How could he have murdered them in cold blood and written such a prayer?  I was an enigma.  Next, our doors popped open for the day room.  I stepped out and on my left was Chris with a photo album.  “This is my parents, this one here is my sister,” he said, pointing to a photo of a pretty woman.  He had her picture with the other ones on the page.  “She’s sexy bro!” I admitted.   

Chris told me that lusting is a sin and all of that with it.  He continued to show me pictures of his people.  “These are my daughters, this is the younger one and this is the older one.  This one here is my wife.”  He pointed to them in his photo album, half proud of them, as if he didn’t kill them.  Chris spoke of them as if they were still alive.  “You have a beautiful family bro, I envy you.”  I said, actually half meaning it.  He had a beautiful wife and kids, so that part I envied.  I certainly did not envy the part where he killed them.  Chris got on the phone and called his parents, while I got on another phone call to call Christa.  I told her I would think about talking to her friend, Armchair Detective.  I was also going to have Chris send her the manuscript, but because we wrote all of it on my legal loan paper, if the CO saw it, then they might confiscate it.  For almost 7 months we put our mind, heart, body, and soul into those books.  Christa promised to get it published.  All she had to do was be my feet out there. 

If she’d let me guide her, then we could make all of this happen.  I decided to trust her, so I gave Chris the manilla envelope with her address on it.  He had to be the one to send it out because I didn’t have the funds in my account to do so.  After the day room, we locked back into our cells or our cages.  We were going to send out our book to be published soon, so I clung tightly to that hoe.  She would either keep her word or bash all my hope into little pieces.  We had to have faith because we didn’t have much of a choice.  They say that time heals all wounds.  In that case, I should have been in top condition.  However, my arms were killing me on the preacher curl bar.  Chris and I were working on bi-ceps and tri-ceps.  I weighed 165lbs, compared to his 207lbs, but I was lifting everything he could.  I was still strong from all of my time in prison lifting weights.  A lot of other inmates just stood around looking confused.  Most of the crew in our unit had never been to prison before and didn’t know how to use the weights.

They watched and observed how we used them and then would attempt to imitate us.  There was a big window that separated the guards from us, but they could, of course, watch our every move.  I was waiting for my turn at the universal pull-down bar when this guy walked up to me and got close.  He was almost in my bubble staring me down.  “You have about 2.3 seconds to get out of my face and tuck your belly in before approaching me.”  I said to this pot-bellied biker-looking dude.  Suddenly, Chris was beside the guy.  “Yeah, or I’m going to wrap this cord around your neck and not let go.”  Chris threatened.  “Woah”, referring to the pull-down bar hanging down loosely.  The guy looked at both of us and walked away without saying a word.  “We scared him bro”, I nudged Chris.  We both looked at each other and laughed.  I didn’t necessarily need his back-up, but it was good in the knowledge that he had my back.  It seemed as if Chris was getting a spine, finally.  We finished our workout and walked back to our unit drenched in sweat.  The walk back down the long hallway in Dodge to unit 11 seemed like miles away.  My body was solid though it felt like jelly now.  When we got back to our cells, Chris decided he was going to do push-ups.

That meant I had to do them too or that would mean Chris would be the one who out did me in the workout for the day.   After our workout, Chris and I both worked on the books we were writing.  It was our “Gods Plan” series.  I felt led to write a poem called, “Who can I trust.”  It was for my book, “Poetic Knowledge.” I called Chris to the outlet and read him the poem.  Who can I trust?  When the enemy closes around me, real life experience proves my flock will flee.  Leaving me to those who wished me six foot deep.  Who can I trust?  I guard my heart and closed the gates to my mouth to the one whose household was above my head.  It began with Eve, to establish every un-saved soul to inherit sins and reward the dead.  When the ones I put my life on the line for are not there for me when I need them instead.  People give me empty words with their lips, for they say and not do, and I’m misled.  Who can I trust?  In this time of greed, this time of deceit, this time of need, how about this time to give free? 

Everybody seems to have an ulterior motive if they act kindly, by way of Satan’s seed.  Whether it be faith on earth, when our Lord comes to collect debts and to be, who can I trust?  I only put my trust in God and serve to the end until onto himself he comes to collect me eternally.  I put my trust in God, in Him, I can trust.  In His glorious name you all know it, confess it, Amen.  “Amen!” Chris said.  Little did I know then that four years later that I would realize I wrote that for him.  This got us talking about trusting those close to us.  “You know that poem really hits close to home for me,” he said.  “How so?” I asked.  He exhaled loudly and with a sigh he admitted, “I can’t always trust my parents.” “Why not?” I asked him.  “Because they talk to the media a lot.”  He said hesitantly.  I understood this.  There were certain things that he couldn’t talk to them about just in case they told those things to the media.  Chris despised the media.  There was nothing he hated more.  “Is that all?” I asked, trying to dig deeper.  I just felt there were more reasons than just that.  “Just things like trying to open the medical files that have been sealed on my daughters.”  He sighed again.  “Why have the medical files been sealed?”  I asked.  “Because of the DA and my wife’s family.” He replied.  “Is that all?” I asked.

I didn’t really understand it.  A couple of unimportant things that are not really important to the subject of your poem.  “Just the fact that we can’t fully trust anyone but God.”  He observed.  “I definitely concur.”  “What did you write bro?” I asked.  “Well, nothing really, just another prayer.  "Do you want to hear how it goes?” Chris asked me.  “Of course.” I replied.  “It’s called Rescue Story.  I started working on it in March but decided to finish it.  Check it out.”  Chris began reading.  I have back slid.  I am like a sheep gone a stray from the flock and I have fallen into a pit.  The snare of the enemy has entrapped me.  The words of a Hartlett have brought me low.  Her flattering speech is like drops of honey that pierce my heart and soul.  Little did I know all her guests were in the chamber of death.  “Damn,” I thought.  "He was talking about the mistress.”  He continued reading.  The lust of the eyes, and the lust of the flesh and the pride of life.  How did I not see it?  "How did I let this happen?

The blessings you had bestowed upon me were right in front of me and still I followed the perfume of a strange woman.  He was talking about what he had with his family.  His wife and two beautiful daughters.  He was blind to it and only saw the mistress and saw it now, I thought.  He continued to read the rest of what he had written.  The web of the enemy squeezes around my heart and is cocooning my soul to the point of suffocation.  The enemy and his jezebel mocked and scrouched.  They mock me as they celebrate another capture.  But, oh that men would praise the Lord for His goodness and his wonderful works to the children of man.  You, oh Lord, did not leave me captive or condemned.  You heard the prayer of the destitute and of the prisoner appointed to death.  You opened my eyes.  You made my ears ready to receive, and you said come forth.   The web of death loosened its grip, and I walked into the light of your presence.  As I humbly knelt before you, you said, “Go and sin no more; Your faith has made you whole.”  He finished.  “Bro, that’s about your transformation, your testimony.” I pointed out.

I didn't speak of noticing everything he was venting about, but it had to do with escaping the death penalty.  How he came to Christ when the filth of the world was heavy upon him.  He kneeled and gave his life completely to God and felt his hand on him, he told me before.  There was a lot more that I read into, but I let it be for now.  “You know, people are going to be reading this with a microscope.  They will learn stuff that they are looking for.  However, they will also receive something they're not searching for, and that is the message of Christ,”  Chris explained.  It was actually a genius way of telling the truth about his case.  He didn't want to come out and say it, rather give the message with a message.  Genius.  “The truth shall set you free, right?”  I said, knowing this was going to be very interesting.