David means “Beloved One.” He is a friend of mine. He is frail and kind. He has a bad heart. He isn’t frail because he has a bad heart. It’s because he is frail by nature. He likes to sit with me in the yard, gossip, and absorb the warmth of the sun. We gossip a lot, but it’s a very harmless sort of pastime. The gossip never gets past our meetings. We talk of what we might do to each other if … David is well tanned and very slim. On the other hand, I occupy twice the space, and three times the density that he does. And he still likes to keep company with me. That pleases me to no end.
We don’t show too much affection toward each other in the prison yard, for very obvious reasons — we’ve seen the way those certain few who do are punished for their openness. We are not so bold. That is to our shame, of course, but I am here for violence while I was drinking, and I am not soberly violent. I prefer to fight only when left with no alternatives. I think David has never had a fight, and he is not ashamed to admit this fact. That is one more reason why I love him.
David comes from a well-off family. He doesn’t play that against anyone or try to strut about it. In prison a person in his situation is very vulnerable, and a prized catch for some of the hardened-criminal types. These are the same mental-unfortunates who go gaybashing around the state until they are placed where they will do the least harm. David was recognized by one of these people a few weeks ago. He didn’t realize the danger of associating with them. They asked him to use his family to send in reference letters to them saying they had jobs waiting for them on the outside, in case they made parole. This sort of thing is common, but David didn’t know how to handle it. He didn’t tell me about it until it was too late. He told the fellow who approached him that he’d try to get his father to help them out.
Unfortunately, David’s father said no. David relayed the news to the mental-unfortunates’ representative, and David promptly forgot about it. A few weeks later, David was called off his worksite by this mental-unfortunate fellow who had befriended David. David trustfully went out to see what he wanted, and he was beaten about the face and body for a few minutes. He was then told to pay for the right to live on the same yard as the mental-unfortunates. A few days later, news of a waiting tank was relayed to David, and he had an attack related to his heart condition. He lay on the ground for ten minutes or more waiting to be taken to the clinic, which was two hundred feet away. He was given CPR by a friend while he lay on the ground. His face had turned pale with lips blue. This coloration coupled with the black eyes and swollen features made David the butt of everyone’s joke. David appeared to be a dead man — but what was funny? David is gone now, having been spirited off by the California Department of Corrections (CDC). I know that he’s going to be okay, but I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again.
I stand corrected. I stand in this cesspool called CDC. I stand and watch.
•This originally appeared in Coming Together News (April-May 1992).