Looking Through the Glass

So Thursday is here yet again. I must say, this past week flew.  Much of that was due to you. Every prisoner eagerly waits to hear his name at mail-call.  You try not to show the let down when your name is not called.  Guys pretend to read a book. They turn the volume down on their head-phones, but still pretend to be rocking out.  It’s all a front.  Every man behind this fence is waiting for his name to be called.

(Photo by Mike Simons/Tulsa World, borrowed from "Oklahoma Watch") 

Your name is called and you try to casually grab your I.D. card and pace your footsteps to the guard station where your ray of sunshine awaits you in the form of a small envelope.  On that walk you run the possibilities in your head.  Could it be my best friend, my little sister? Will it be my J.J. update, my mom or my daughter?  Is this an old friend of mine who looked me up to say hello?

Who took time in their life to think of me? That’s the questions every man here will ask himself on that walk to get that special package.

(Photo by Craig Dilger for The New York Times)

Somehow those simple marks made by someone’s hand on a simple piece of paper have taken on the weight of gold.  That envelope that holds those handwritten pages and now bears a stamp has a prisoner’s heart missing beats, dying with anticipation. Who could it be? Who had me on their mind?

And then the letter is in my hand.  I look at the name and smile.  :) So it was you who had me on your mind! You took time out of your day to say hello to me.

I even try to picture it. Were you at your house, sitting at the kitchen table? Maybe you were at an appointment, sitting in a waiting room with some time to kill.  Riding passenger on a long car trip, or maybe you were on a train. Perhaps it was a subway.

I picture you there.  Sometimes you even tell me where you were. “I’m at my kitchen table, socks off...sunshine pouring through the window...” And I see it. I see you holding your pen over that paper, making the very words that I will sit on this side of the fence and read. The words that will make me laugh, perhaps cry.  The thoughts of yours that will touch this man’s heart...because they are you.  You are now in my world. You are in my life. I hold your thoughts, emotions, your feelings in my hands. That simple letter has taken on life.

(Young Woman Writing a Letter, from a poster for Encre Marquet by Eugene Grasset, 1892. 

Image courtesy Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division.)

You forgot all that with your text messaging.  E-mail and modern technology took and knocked the wind out of the Pony Express. Today’s gadgets have taken ‘personal’ out of communication. Truthfully, a letter to me is so special. It’s really quite ‘intimate’ if you think about it.

A friend traced their hand on a letter to me the other day.  It made me smile. Then it made me think.

Have you ever seen a prison movie where two people sit on opposite sides of the glass? They reach out and touch hands - it’s all they have. I can tell you from experience, there is an energy passed between.

Think about it. Technology has taken the beauty of anticipation and replaced it with instant gratification. We’re so lazy anymore even sex lives suffer. Skip the foreplay, let’s do the deed. And men are the worst on that tip! When was the last time you just gave your partner a long, passionate kiss, and nothing more? Build the excitement. Let the anticipation build. Or did you just jump for instant relief?

I’m still learning new things every day. As I placed my hand over my friend’s traced hand, it hit me.  Like a spark came off the page and gave me a jolt of electricity. My friend stopped and put their hand right here. Even though it was 4 or 5 days ago their energy still lingers. And, crazy dude I am, I have since touched that hand dozens of times.

One of my favorite bands is Stone Sour. They sing a song, “I’m looking at you through the glass, don’t know how much times has passed. Still seems like forever”

It’s been forever since I last saw you. The man who sits here today has changed. That old guy you once knew is dead and gone. That man was a drug addict. I lived for instant gratification. That’s what drug addicts do.

The other day as I put my hand over yours for the hundredth time, I realized just how much I changed. I will never pass up the chance to simply steal a passionate kiss. Or hold a hand while walking down the beach. …Perhaps even during something as simple as grocery-shopping. Rolling over and realizing just how beautiful your partner is as they lay there sleeping softly.

Prison is a dead end for many people. That which doesn’t kill us, makes us stronger. I’m not dead. Very much alive instead. Every day I learn more about myself. How strong are you? How far can you bend before you break?

I was weak once. Very shallow. Now I’m looking through the glass. You ‘beautiful’ dear friend. Nice to see you. My hand is on the glass...

~Do you see me?

Tattoo’d Hooligan