CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
2000- Beacon
No one with any options would ever want to be incarcerated, but I gotta say- Beacon wasn’t really that terrible.
I mean, I would NEVER want to go back to that time in my life, but Beacon was as close to a country club as a non-federal prison could get. It had rolling lawns and greenhouses, old brick administrative buildings and low-slung facilities structures that looked like they were trucked over from Old McDonald’s farm. It was a definite change for the better after nasty-ass Rikers, that’s for sure.
Another thing was, inmates had waaaaaay more freedom at Beacon than we did in jail. On days that we weren’t scheduled for work assignments or classes, the guards would let us kick it outside on the grass, under ancient oak trees.
By the time I was settled in to my new “home” it was January and I really felt like it was time to turn over a new leaf. I know it might sound strange, and I can’t even tell you why it was popping up right at this moment in time, but for some reason I was feeling hopeful. Like it wasn’t all over for me. Like maybe I still had a chance.
New Year, new me.
One thing I liked about Beacon during those two and a half years, was that they rotated me through multiple work details. The most strenuous assignment was the groundskeeping crew, but I didn’t mind it because it helped me get back in shape after years of abusing my body in so many different ways. My favorite was library duty. It was one of the more peaceful postings and after endless hours trapped in the middle of a laughing, chattering, screaming, arguing and crying mass of feminine energy it was nice to be able to retreat to a space that was as close to silent as you’d ever get in prison.
I was working a shift at the check-out desk the day I met Simone. I could tell by the titles she had that we would have a lot in common. And I rarely feel that way about anyone. From that day on, I would always peep what she was checking out, but never offered a comment. Then one day I saw she was checking out a dog-eared copy of that old unauthorized biography of Jim Morrison, No One Here Gets Out Alive, and I made a bad joke about how we’d better hope that at least some people make it out of here alive, or else what’s the point of getting out of bed every morning. She laughed (such a kind soul), and from then on, we started talking whenever we ran across each other.
Like myself, Simone had a history of drug abuse, but her real addiction was to fucked up men who liked to control her. She was currently doing a 2-year stint for ATM fraud, a crime that was orchestrated by her long-time, mentally abusive boyfriend, the Scam King of Harlem.
Simone was originally from a one stoplight town in central Ohio located smack (no pun intended) in the middle of Amish country. She’d fought hard to free herself from her parents’ suffocating grasp- they refused to see her as anything other than a potential wife and mother even though out there in that part of the state, there was very little in the way of inventory for an “English” girl in the market for a husband.
Simone was one of the funniest people I’d ever met. I’m usually indifferent to people’s sob stories but it really bothered me that with all of her many gifts and talents this girl still wound up in the same place as me. She should have been studying Comparative Literature at NYU or something esoteric like that.
Conversation flowed easily between the two of us. Her dry sense of humor complemented my jadedly enthusiastic East Coast flavor. We wound up spending a lot of time together, just laughing at the fucked-up irony of mankind’s very existence. There was a lot to laugh about.
I remember we were sitting outside one day in early Spring. Just enjoying the sunshine on our faces and engrossed in one of what we’d come to call our “deep thoughts” discussions. Beacon was technically a work camp and there was no mandated counseling or therapy, so we’d gotten in the habit of trying to work through all of our assorted baggage on our own.
“I don't know what it says about my own personal psychological makeup or the state of society today in general,” I said, “but it took me being sent to prison to learn how to make female friendships.”
“Girl, me too!” she replied. “I know exactly what you mean!”
