The last 24 hours have been bookended by two encounters. One, with an new friend, and one, with a old friend. (I use that term very loosely. It’s more poetic than “prison acquaintance” but somewhat less accurate.)
First, the new friend. Lynn is a recent arrival in an adjoining wing. Although a biological male, Lynn has breasts, and in my book, tits trumps a penis every time. In “the streets,” Lynn self-identifies as a woman, and even stripped of make-up or female dress, her demeanor and hairstyle (always the hair) is unambiguously not that of a man.
Not that Lynn is glamorous in any way. She looks to be in her 50’s, and is missing some teeth. Her hair is gray and swept back and braided behind her. She has high cheekbones, but her complexion is sallow and she is overall, extremely pale. She looks how what you’d imagine a 20-year using hard-core drug addict drag queen without makeup and dressed in male inmate garb would look.
Two nights ago, when I saw her eating alone, I resolved to make friends with her. Even though she clearly has been down this road before, it doesn’t mean it is not brutal every time. (I have been eating alone as well. but I have not been made fun of my entire life).
Earl actually met Lynn first, and as we ate lunch yesterday, filled up a cup of our “Ramen Surprise” and suggested I bring it over to her and introduce myself. I found her sitting alone on her bed, smoking a cigarette. She was clearly touched by the offer. (Earl, for all of his eye-rolling and “whatever” smirks, is actually a big softie) and grateful that I offered to be her cafeteria companion. I still doubt we have anything in common in the traditional sense, but in these circumstances the idea is somewhat turned on its head. We only need to have in common that we are both, ultimately, put in the same category by the majority here. Yes, I can “pass” as “normal” and Lynn can’t. But she is brave enough to risk all manner of abuse to be who she is. I just have to be brave enough to associate with her, even though the 3 wings of the dorm that do not know me just enough to make assumptions about me will now have doubts as to what I like to do in bed and then some. (They will assume just because Lynn has a penis, that as a gay man, I might be attracted to her. In fact, they are much more likely to be attracted to her, and it bothers them.)
So Lynn came over at breakfast time and wondered if I had a cigarette, and I told her I didn’t smoke, and my bunkie graciously rolled and offered her one. We walked together to the chow hall and chatted amicably, and neither of us had to sit alone. I was aware of more than a few eyes upon us, and realized I could be more protective of someone else than of myself. If anyone made a remark about my association with Lynn, I think I would simply tell them to “get over it.”
I have some ambivalent feelings about trying to base this new friendship on different criteria than those I usually do, things like having stuff to talk about. Lynn and I can barely sustain small talk. Making friends with her though, is an opportunity to challenge my own discomfort, the part of me that internalizes the judgments of those I profess to dismiss.
As for the second of my bookends, after leaving Lynn to go to Pill Call, I ran into Shadow, who couldn’t be the more opposite in appearance to her. Lynn is so light as to be ghostlike, Shadow, true to his name, is so dark I first assumed him to be Bengali, not Latino. Shadow was my neighbor in the adjoining bunk in Cedar Hall, the orientation dorm that directly preceded my stay here. We were dispatched to different dorms so engaged in a quick catch-up of “where did they put you?” etc.
Shadow is memorable for three reasons. First, because he is so dark; second, because he limps (he only has a stump of a right foot and I don’t know how he lost half of it); and third, because he has a crush on my mom.
For some reason or another I had shown some family pictures around at Cedar—oh, yes, I remember, my sister visited when I was there and requests were made by my neighbors to see how pretty she is. I showed this photo of my mother at our summer home in Massachusetts, flanked by my two sisters. It was generally agreed upon that both sisters were attractive, in fact either of them could have now had a slew of pen pals if they wanted. But Shadow, who is probably between 38 and 45, noted that there was “something” about my mother, who was 76 in the photo, that was “hot.” I thought maybe he was pulling my leg, but he seemed eminently sincere.
When I met him in front of the infirmary this morning, he asked about my family, and when I said “they’re fine, my sister is still posting the blog” he interrupted to say “—your Mom, how’s your Mom, she was one fine lady!” What could I do but smile and tell him I would pass along the compliment?
Mom, you’ve still got it going on.
MCO 2004
P.S. Security update: I got a lock so my valuables are safe. Despite how close I feel to all of you, I cannot share the combination, but it does add up to my age, 45.
P.P.S. Just had a talk with my Lynn, fresh from the shower. She managed to get in and out with only one other inmate in there, so she escaped mass-ogling of her silicon breast implants. Her sharing of this tidbit broached a few topics of conversation, and I found out that when not in prison, Lynn is prostitute in Ontario (CA not Canada) and is 51. She is considering “getting out of the business” and getting sober, but I got the distinct feeling that when she gets out in 28 days, she will hit the pipe and her resolve will go up in smoke. She told me a story or two that would ruin my PG rating and open me up to a slander suit from a B-actor or two who have been her clients. My overall impression from the conversation was that she was thicker-skinned than I thought, having dealt with for years on the outside much of the same shit she deals with in here. Though, just like everybody, she still needs friends.
