Christmas and Advanced Defensiveness in Prison

December 25, 2009

Christmas is most delineated in prison by the lack of activity and inmate movement outside the housing units. The inmates are not necessarily dispirited nor dour nor angry, but mostly polite and animated in the few card games and joint microwave cooking activities that do occur.

I try to maintain my moderate temperament and enjoy the slight decrease in offensive behavior so endemic in angry males under forced confinement. Breakfast was as cordial as it was under-attended. I read a magazine after breakfast and answered the virtuous silence of the majority of the cell house ‘sleeping in’ with my own return to slumber. Lunch was fully attended, augmented in the closest industrial fashion to approximate “Christmas dinner,” with actual dinner being a “sack lunch.”

The day promised to be mostly free of all the offenses I generally experience as a life long hyper-defensive doormat. On one post-prandial trip to the microwave I set my cup on top of the appliance and planted myself in shoulder width stance two paces away, to await my turn in reverie of the assault I would like to perpetrate upon all who always feel compelled to cut in front of me; and the holiday potential to not have to confront that all too typical insult. I was able to make two trips without incident and even engage in polite persiflage with other inmate chefs and coffee connoisseurs. Hallelujah!

En route back to the cell I enjoyed the development of the first potential offense, because there would usually have been a half dozen posturing/body language offenses by this time of day. The most socially challenged conflict seeker – a sullen black weight lifter whose social capabilities extend to sweating and staring, whom I call “kill whitey” was headed back in my direct route from ersatz kitchen to cell. I easily foresaw his stand up back-to-me pivot with feigned urgency to cut across the path coincident with my progress. He added an “excuse me” over his shoulder to successfully infect my observation with doubt as to his intent. I had timed my pace so as to not appear impeded. (one would think that the friction of prison life would not be so petty but it is these petty games that form the rationalization for the serious violence – pecking order posturing and perceived slights are the germ that breeds fights and killings.)

Four cells from mine – almost to serenity from insult – I spied a spray of Pinochle cards well thrown from a nearby table at the cell door. Since I had weeks ago lent a deck of such card to an occupant of a neighboring cell, who was playing with the occupant of target cell at the table most likely the origin of previously airborne cards; I had to consider that that the abuse deck was mine.

I waited until the card players finished playing and while counting points my lendee assured me that the strewn cards were simultaneously borrowed from me and therefore his to throw, because he had voiced intention to replace them with another, soon to be purchased, deck. I muttered that it was “pretty fucking insulting” to walk by my property thrown about, then I split. In this forty-three years of sentience that may have been the only time I confronted any situation with appropriate immediacy and valence. This was my Christmas gift to myself; a quantum of developmental adaptation!

The card lendee approached me en route to picking up our sack lunch dinners to apologize and clarify that no offense was intended in abusing my property. I accepted that final communication between us as his gift to me.

Happy Holidays!

Copyright Jason Pecci 2009