THE WORST THINGS ABOUT LIFE IN PRISON
A monologue by Ethan Fishbane
A dark space is illuminated by hanging halogen lamps that burn brightly in
concentrated spots. Metal bars dart upwards from the ground, like stalagmites,
strangely tall-8 or 9 feet. There is a ratty wooden chair which is haphazardly placed
somewhere by the bars. A nameless, sad-looking man sits on the ground, clearly poor
and abused, close to the chair but not on it.
He paces.
He speaks:
Oh my fucking god. The smell in there. Cause you think it smells like, um, well this
is an American prison. So people always say sterile. It’s sterile in there. But it aint
none sterile. Cause I’m here thinking Lysol, mr. clean, the little scrubbing man with
eyes and a bubbly body. All my friends from the cleaning supply aisle. And no,
I’m in there wanting to gag every fucking minute, cause we got this shit ass smell,
pervading all aspects of life. It’s dirty you know. The smell’s like, how can I put it
nicely. Hm. Okay, it’s like your Mexican cell mate just flat-out shit a perfect cylinder
of a turd out his once tight ass, used it like old spice under his dirty-ass pits, then set
those shit doused underarm pubes on fire, and finally bottled up the aftermath and
scattered that scent across our little paradise. Yup. That’s basically the smell.
He lifts himself up, struggling, and becomes more confident as he speaks. Lights begin
to illuminate more of the space and we see there are signs of old mechanical parts and
pieces of merry-go-round horses scattered in the background.
White people. Cause, yeah, there is racial tension and racial enclaves and all that
shit. It exists. You know, there’s a hierarchy. And being white fucking sucks. Cause
you’re either one of them white supremacist assholes who leads some cult, er, not
cult, sorry, it’s uh like a gang. Or you know, you’re just a white asshole. I mean, after
one year, I was ashamed to be white. Inside we’re just universally cunts. Aryan
brotherhood, not such a big thing, but it did exist, to a degree round my prison.
And it was those “blancas” who caused trouble. Everyone else kept to themselves
to a degree, but it was those motherfuckers made me wish I was born a different
color. Or at least made me wish my momma was raped by a black man. Cause
damn, in our community, everyone was pretty respectable and upstanding citizens.
I mean, for criminals. Except for the white fucks. And like, anal rape, which does
not happen by the way as often as everyone makes it seem. I mean, it is a rarity.
It’s like, uh, you go to ihop and you find a blueberry rolling round in your choco
chip pancakes. Like, it’s possible, it happens, but it ain’t none too common. Anyway,
whenever it did happen on my block. It was always a white fuck. And so, here I am,
trying to be all inconspicuous, wishing I had some bronzer, wishing I was a little
bit jersey, by the way what is that shit? And um, well, yeah. It’s fucking hard being
white in prison. That world aint the same as this world, let me tell you.
He swallows hard and thinks for a while. Looks around and seems confused at the
debris and bars around them. Then a sense of memory and understanding. He speaks.
I mean you get bored. Look. The world in there has fewer options than the world
out here. You see. There’s a thriving community, and all sorts of “after-school
activities”, but it’s like all that shit if you were living in like the middle of Tajikistan.
You get what I’m saying? And so drug-use becomes a viable option. I mean, it’s
something to do, and if you can get it out there, you can certainly get it in there.
Cheaper too. I never really did heroin outside, but inside it’s big. It’s like, weed. You
know, everyone does it, and it’s kinda social. And like, I mean, it gets you through
a week like nobody’s business. You can just float on through…But then of course
there’s the whole AIDS scare and disease and shit. And also, you gotta understand
that the heroin inside is cut with all sorts of shit. I mean I’m talking flour, baking
soda, jello mix, powdered sugar. Shit that should just NOT be in your veins. And
yet....it gets in there. I mean, but I was smart, I stuck to one needle. Got sick a few
times, but. I mean going to the sick ward. Another activity. It’s like a little special
vacation you get to take. It’s sort of like a cheap resort. Solitary, another little
holiday. Some suites are better than others. And there ain’t no pool, but you know.
Like I said, it is a world.
The halogen lamps flicker, they come back on brighter and more intense than before.
The bars begin rising higher out of the floor.
It is hard though, to live in two lives. You have your in prison life and your out of
prison life. And you lose a hell of a lot. Love. I know, no one talks about this shit,
because it makes you a soft faggot fuck, but I’m not afraid to really get into it. I’m
just gonna be honest with you. You lose everyone you love. People tell you, when
you first go in, that nothing’s gonna change, they’re gonna stick by you, they are
THERE for you. That shit ain’t true. Firstly, All your friends are gonna be cool with
you. Stick by you. Uh uh. Think of all your friends you got now, none. Not one.
Except then there’s that true one. The best one. That one who’s always gonna be by
your side. He’s gonna stay true. Stay by your side. Make you feel worth something.
Well, at least for the first few months. And then contact subsides. And then…He’s
gone. Just like the rest. And then there’s your girlfriend. She might say she’s gonna
wait. Bullshit. I called mine after week three and ended it. One less thing to give
me night terrors. Thinking about some other dude rooting her while I’m in this shit.
And she was done with me the minute after I got my sentence. So. And my kid? I
mean that shit was done before it started. He wasn’t even one when I left and his
momma was up and outta there as soon as I went in. So. Ain’t even worth tryna
find him. Not going to. My mom and dad. They were my mom and dad. They said
that no matter what, they’d be there. We were gonna get through this together.
They’d come visit me, we’d exchange calls, a support system cuz we were “all going
to suffer”. Well I mean, I fucked up, I was always high, I couldn’t remember visiting
hours. I remember one time the block guard grabbed me by my fucked up ears and
dragged me down the hall and propped me up in a metal backed chair. My parents
came in and just laughed at my misfortune. We didn’t talk much after that. I didn’t
talk to anyone much after that. Cuz they all laughed at me. And so coming out, for
me, it was starting over. Building a new home.
The Halogen lamps all explode, save for one. There is no buzzing, no sound. Spot on
the man.
But I don’t have a home to build. So.
Darkness.