Day 261 Exit D-Roll

I knew it was unlikely that I would not personally witness some violent eruption at least one more time before I got out of this place. Let’s hope that quota was filled tonight.

I was in my "driveway," (the area next to my bunk) shooting the shit with Jimmy, the “King of the Woods” who has taken quite a liking to Earl and me, (in fact they've dubbed our bunk“Gaywood”). Jimmy's attentiveness is a very good thing. It means there is zero probability of any untowardness directed at either of us, as long as we don’t incur debt or have sex with a black inmate; neither of which, I guarantee you, is a remote possiblity for either of us.

My neighbor D-Roll, however, has overplayed his hand with several inmates, borrowing from Peter to pay Paul one time too many. A big black inmate wanted soups owed him by D-Roll back, now. It was less a question of the debt itself, which was a minor amount, than of D-Roll’s endless reneging on the date of repayment. If promised on a Saturday, it would be delayed until Monday, and then on Monday, he would have only half of it, promising double the other half on Thursday, etc. etc. He also made the mistake of badmouthing the competition, which let it be known in the bathroom (while I happened to be mopping up) that this sort of dishonor among thieves was crossing a serious line.

So back to hanging out with Earl and Jimmy in “Gaywood.” Suddenly fists and epithets started flying in the driveway next door. D-Roll was slammed into his open locker, literally inside of it, though somehow managed to wriggle out, jumping across his bunk, then pitifully scrambling back and forth over several lower bunks, ducking and weaving like a frantic crab until the attack subsided. I am sorry to say my heartbeat barely increased its rate. I’ve witnessed such altercations enough times now to know they don’t usually last. The aggressor can ill afford the marks on his own knuckles that would identify him to the guards. Finally, he withdrew, spewing threats behind him.

As much as I sort of liked D-Roll, (he told me I was "square"--a huge compliment) and as much as I abhor violence, the fact is that he has been in prison 9 times, and knows the score so well he could sing it backwards in his sleep. He constantly pushed the envelope, and had to know he was skating on thin ice. And things had been even more difficult than usual for him because his bunkie was none other than Adam, "the Ketchup Kid," and the bizarrest person I have ever met in and possibly out of prison. Adam, the Bush-Republican-arsonist-rich-kid, made no secret of his class-based contempt for D-Roll, and such enmity in such close quarters can be dangerous, as who knows what Adam was reporting to others about his bunkie's well-stocked locker.

This contretemps occurred minutes before chow, and we left D-Roll behind to recover. When we returned, to everyone’s great surprise, D-Roll had rolled himself up, yet another refugee to complete his term in the hallowed halls of Birch. This was especially shocking because D-Roll is virtually guaranteed to return to prison, and everyone keeps telling me that once you've been in Protective Custody, you need always go back there when you return to jail. I guess D-Roll would rather take his chances with an uncertain future than a present in which he’s certain to get his ass kicked, and maybe worse.

This level of violence here isn’t too much different than what millions see every weekend watching football games. I’ve come to the conclusion that men are violent by nature. Which doesn’t make it okay, but perhaps defines civilization as that which is capable of restraining and harnessing this basest of human impulses.

MCO 2004