Scott McClanahan - The Collected Works of Scott McClanahan Vol. I

Then another guy said, “Yeah $65,000 of hell.”

I reminded them I was choosing to be here and I was only a volunteer from a local community college.

Everybody laughed like that was the sickest joke of all.

I was a dumb bastard all right.

I calmed everybody down and started taking roll by the list of prisoners provided by the prison. I read the list of students on my list of inmates (no first names), but just Inmate 1118046 D. Johnson.

Inmate 1190647 E. Johnson.

Inmate 1117843 T. Johnson.

I tried to make a joke, saying, “Man the world’s been rough on you Johnson boys this year.”

Nobody laughed.

I had them go around and introduce themselves — inmate 118046 D. Johnson. “Man I just want to get my life together. I’ve made some mistakes and I just want to get out and become a better member of society.”

Inmate 119847 E. Johnson. “Man I just want to get my life together. I’ve made some mistakes and I just want to get out and become a better member of society.”

Inmate 1117843. “Man I just want to…”

You get the point.

It was like this story after story until all the way down at the end of the list was inmate 117486 R. Rodriguez.

I knew before he even spoke — he was different.

He was different because there was laughter and life inside his eyes.

He said, “Man y’all a bunch of fools.”

He said, “When I get out I just want to get me some motherfucking ho’s and some motherfucking weed. And I’m not gonna do anything except sit around all day and smoke sweet weed and fuck pussy.”

And so everybody laughed and then one of them said, “You going back to selling?”

Rodriguez said, “Hell yes. I’ll know how much I can carry on me without it being a felony now.”

Everybody laughed some more. I knew he was different.

I knew he was different because he wasn’t like the rest of us. Rodriguez was a rare breed. Rodriguez was a truth teller.

I knew he was different that next week after I had them read an essay by George Orwell called “Shooting an Elephant.”

I asked whether or not Orwell was right in shooting the elephant.

One of the guys named Smoot, who was this big, muscular, skinhead guy said, “I think that Orwell’s nothing but a punk-ass bitch. He reminds me of some of them snitch bitches around here. I’ve been in gladiator schools and he wouldn’t last in gladiator schools.”

By then Rodriguez just smiled at me and he started to calm Smoot down. It’s all right. It’s all right.

And then Rodriguez smiled some more and started talking about the difference between free will and whether we’re conditioned to behave in a certain way. He talked about how we really don’t know one another — especially ourselves. He talked about how Orwell’s decision was made decades before. It was Orwell’s decision but he was conditioned to make a decision.

I said, “But isn’t that a contradiction?”

He smiled and said, “Exactly. That’s prison. Most people live their lives in absolutes, but not us.”

He quoted, “Only intelligent people contradict themselves, motherfucker.”

That was Wilde — sort of.

And then, later on, he talked about how his mother crossed rivers to sneak into this country from Mexico — and how he was the child of a black father and a Mexican mother. He talked about how his father was murdered before he was born and how he grew up watching his mother smoke crack. And then he said how this had to have influenced the decisions he later made on the streets. Then one of the guys asked him if his mother was still alive.

He told us he didn’t know. But he was counting the days until he got out of here. He only had five years left. He was going to try and find her when he got out and take care of her.

Even though he had been making fun of this just a few minutes before, he was so sincere about it and everyone grew quiet.

So over the next couple of months I got to know the guys better and I kept thinking about Rodriguez. I kept thinking, “I can’t believe this guy. I mean most of these prison guys were guys just wanting to get back in here even after they got out. Most of them had the minds of accountants. They were like most of us on the outside — the next score, moving somewhere and changing your life, that sort of thinking. But here was someone who was different. Here was someone whose mind went sideways instead of up and down.”

Over the next couple of classes I listened to Rodriguez quote, “Nothing human is alien to me.”

One night he made the argument that at the core of every technological innovation was a new mind altering chemical of some kind — whether it be Egyptian, Greek, Roman, Christian, or Silicon Valley even.

I read one of his essays about finding his mother, about his hope of finding her after he got out in five years.

So one night walking out of the prison yard after lockdown, the prison guard Kincaid looked over at me and said, “You don’t let them niggers write in Ebonics just like they speak do you?”

I was shocked hearing it.

I didn’t know what to say.

I gathered my thoughts, thinking of how to respond, “Well writing is more than spelling.”

He said, “Yeah, well these guys are smart. But you can’t trust any of them. These guys all made their choices, but they just made bad choices.”

But going home that night I wanted to tell him about Rodriguez.

I wanted to tell him about Rodriguez and how beautiful he wrote.

I wanted to tell him how wrong he was.

I wanted to tell him about Rodriguez’s murdered father.

And I wanted to tell him about Rodriguez’s mother and how he didn’t know where she was, but Rodriguez was counting the days until his release.

Five years. Five years.

It wasn’t a long time when you really thought about it.

And he was going to try and find her.

But what did it matter?

I figured it was best to encourage Rodriguez because there were just a couple of weeks left of class anyway. So one night I listened to Rodriguez joke with me about it being my birthday and what kind of crazy guy chooses to spend his birthday in prison.

He said, “Well, we should get a stripper for you.”

I said, “I don’t know about you Rodriguez but it doesn’t look to me like you have much access to women in here. I don’t know what I’d end up with.”

He just laughed and said, “Oh hell McClanahan, you just close your eyes and pretend and it’s all the same. I swear to you it’s better than on the outside because it all happens between the ears. It all happens in the mind.”

One night, the day before the last class, I sat in my living room and I told my wife, “I feel like I need to say something to this guy. I know it sounds stupid, but I feel like I need to say something.”

I felt like I needed to encourage him somehow, so that when he got out in a couple of years — he really could do this. I needed to tell him when he got out I would help him in any way I could, write to anyone he needed. I thought about all of the stupid shit I’ve done in my life. Things I’ve never been punished for, even now.

I went back on the final night of our class and I gave back the essays. I told them it seemed like just a couple of days ago, but three months had already passed. The summer session was over. I shook all of their hands and told them good luck, and they shook my hand and told me good luck. And just as they were leaving, I stopped Rodriguez and I told him how great his essays were, and how he could do this.

I told him how much his stories had meant to me.

I told him he really could find his mother if he wanted.

Five years.

I told him not to let these guys kick the human being out of him.