Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. A Prison Story.

Originally posted  January 09

He is standing in the chow line. A small framed , twenty something black guy. He is wearing his clothes backwards. His coat, his shirt, his pants, all backwards. The only thing pointed in the right direction are his shoes. The thing I found odd, even more than his 180 degree apparel is that not a single guard seemed to notice. He steps up to the serving line, they slap spoons and ladles full of starch laden prison food on his tray, the guy in line behind Mr. Ass Backwards gives him his three feet and then some. He manages to make it to a table, sits down, then just stares off in to space.

I'm sitting a few tables directly behind him, every prisoner in the chow hall is focused on the guy. Everyone just knows something is going to happen, the anticipation on their faces, waiting for something out of the ordinary to break the monotony of another day filled with instant mashed potatoes, mystery meat, and sameness. One of the guards finally notice the guy is clearly not dressed to code. He nudges a couple of the other hacks and they approach the table. I can't tell what they are saying to him, but the biggest of the three is leaning down in to the guys ear. I'm pretty sure he is saying something like " You are in violation of rule number something or another".

By now the chow hall has gone dead quiet, everyone is watching it unfold, something in the air tells you that something is going to happen. The big hack reaches down to take the guys tray, the other two step forward, one has his cuffs out, and then it happens. Backwards guy reaches over the table, grabs a perfectly round ball of mashed potatoes out of another guys tray, and smashes it in his own face. The guards step back for just a split second, not wanting to get taters and yellow congealed gravy on their too snug poly uniforms, it's the break he is looking for. He jumps up from the table, deceptively fast for a guy wearing his clothes backwards, and he bolts for the exit.

With the precision and oneness of swimmers doing a routine in one of those old Esther Williams movies, the chow hall empties out as Mr Backwards and the three hacks run out the exit. The little guy is fast, faster than the hacks, two of whom are pretty fat, the third guard, a young rookie is purposely hanging back, reluctant to reach the guy only to find he is on his own, which is understandable given the unpredictability of crazy convicts. One of the guards is talking in to his radio and by the time the chow hall has emptied, a crowd of several hundred convicts as an audience, several more guards come running out of the other cell houses.

The guy sprints out to the middle of the yard, alone with at least 40 or 50 feet of space between him and the nearest hack, then he stops. He is standing in the center of a closing circle of seven or eight guards, grinning his crazy ass off, smashed taters and yellow gravy clinging to his face, his chest heaving, then it starts. As the hacks close in, inmates start cheering the guy, egging him on. He stands there basking in it, taking it all in. Three guards rush him at once, with the agility and speed of an NFL kick returner, he lays down a couple of moves, and breaks past the guards, he sprints another 20 yards and has nothing between him and the razor wire encrusted fences except 50 yards of air and opportunity.

All the hacks are now running straight at the guy, the PA is blaring that the yard is closed, everyone return to your cell immediately, nobody moves, all eyes fixed on this crazy little fucker covered in shitty prison grub and backwards prison garb. Then he does it, and it all makes perfect sense, he starts to run backwards. He never loses that crazy grin, you can tell he is living in the moment, savoring every second of what can't last much longer. They close ground on him fairly quick, but he doesn't try to turn and sprint to gain some ground. He just keeps running backwards and grinning.

The hacks finally catch him, a couple of the real hard ass types tackle the little guy, manhandle him a little rougher than need be. But the little guy never stops grinning, he doesn't resist. They cuff him up, head to administrative segregation, a tight circle of corn fed guards and this one little crazy black guy. Applause, cheers, whistles and a litany of derogatory heckling of the red faced, slightly pissed guards follows him all the way to the hole, where he will probably spend a few weeks, probably get some psyche evaluation, or more meds. But the grin on his face tells you it was all worth it.

Everyone heads to their respective cell house, the mood is light for a change. It won't last, the air will grow thick and oppressive soon enough. There will be moments when the monotony will be broken, but they will end violently, a beating, a stabbing, something violent, most likely ending badly, Memories that you take away from prison are selective, all you have are these little vignettes of time, brief flashes, the majority of time just melds together, uneventful, mundane, long, and drawn out. I could recount a hundred moments like that, things turning out bad or worse for some convict or guard, but whats the point. Random acts of violence are commonplace in the joint. most of the guys doing time and most of the guards, just want to get through the day unscathed. Everybody just wants to go home. Unless you are especially fucked up, seeing someone beat or stabbed, or worse, just leaves you feeling a little sick to your stomach, there is no pleasure in it. But that little guy, harmless, grinning, and running backward, for a few minutes he was beautiful, and he knew it. For a few minutes he beat the system, he was free, and so was everyone who saw it.