I live in Module 1, which is for violent offenders. There are 70 inmates in the dorm. At any given time there are 3 to 5 guards watching us. We all wear blue and white uniforms and bright orange Crocs(stupid) When we move between rooms we walk through barred doors and metal detectors. The walls and floor are cement, the bed is a narrow metal bunk, the toilet steel. The mattress is thin, the sheets worn and sheer. There’s a small window next to my bed that looks out onto a brick wall. It affords me the proper amount of State required sunlight. Sunlight does not help pass the time and the State is not required to provide anything that helps pass the time. And Trust me, the State isn’t going to do anything more than what’s required. Ever.
My life is routine. I wake up early, brush my teeth, eat breakfast, maybe. Then I sit on my bunk and go into a meditative state. Lotus pose, eyes closed, breathing soft—.
I try to feel and remember because to be me is to forget—-
beauty in all its forms. Forget ugliness too. Forget the fingertip sensation of fur, velvet, and cashmere sweater, and a smooth green chip of beach glass. Forget the moist texture of raw meat and dry brittleness of dead leaves crushed in the hand.
Forget the taste of ripe mango. Roasted garlic. Skittles. Krispy Kreme. Cinnabon. Sausage egg McMuffins. Appleby’s.
And smells—forget them as well. Crushed lilacs and the harsh scent of hot tar. A baby’s neck. Moist earth. Chlorine in a swimming pool. Fresh baked Apple pie.
Forget your senior year of high school. Forget driving at night.
Forget what you used to argue with your parents. Forget your little brother’s teenage years.
Forget watching tv at one in the morning.
Forget what you think is right. And wrong. Forget Fair. Forget enjoyable.
Do all this and you might know What It’s Like To Be Me. Maybe.
I know what you’re thinking….man, you sure are a gloomy Gus.
I try not to be, but it’s dark in here.
