No, You're Crazy by Jeff Beamish

Author:Jeff Beamish
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781803412177
Publisher: John Hunt Publishing
Published: 2023-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

The threats from Lou’s group continued, though I did my best to ignore them. I moved with all the defiance I could muster for what it was worth, even trying to emulate Raymond’s saunter when he left class. But my true strength amounted to more than some false bravado in my step and a fake fearless look in my eyes. Each day I turned inward for power, never once looking to a feeble group that only weakened each person who joined. High walls weren’t only helpful in keeping people in. They could keep people out too.

Even if I tried to make myself look untouchable, it was clear Lou and his gang would come for me. When they did, I would fight with all I had and hope it would be enough.

I also continued to lean on the power of good karma, helping other prisoners when possible. So, when the first 12-week reading program ended, I signed up to teach another. Raymond and Jody both asked if I saw any value in them taking it again, and I said there was.

“I’m getting into this reading shit,” Raymond said, cradling the worn hard-cover copy of The Color Purple that I would sometimes help him struggle through.

I wound up with a class of six, including Raymond and Jody and four beginner students. Strange as it seemed, when the four newbies sought individual help, their two “advanced” classmates would sometimes pitch in, their faces unable to hide satisfied grins as they teased, “C’mon fool, this shit’s not tough.”

I even embraced my role as teacher by trying to learn all I could about reading and writing, finding a special attachment to a book called Associated Press Guide to News Writing, whose unmarked condition suggested no one else had ever picked it from the shelves of the prison library. In my spare time, I used the book to write short news stories about what was happening in the prison, keeping them to myself, of course.

Spring arrived, and on days I worked outside the prison walls, the island’s beauty lifted my spirits. I longed to find a deer trail and sneak deep into the forest like I was back in Bellingham or wander onto one of the empty beaches and strip down and wade into the gentle surf.

One day I received notice of a visitor scheduled to see me that weekend, and Tim Kolchuk crept in on a bright Saturday afternoon, greeting me with “Holy shit, I can’t believe the security in this fucking place.”

He sat across from me at a table and talked about our hometown and its people.

“Kimberly sends her best,” he said. “She wishes she could have come, but you know…”

I did know.

“She gave me this.” He held up an envelope. “It was sealed, but the guards opened it, not me, so I don’t know what it says.”

I took it and tucked it into my pant pocket, and as we talked, I tried to forget it was there.

When our allotted time expired,

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