[Throwback Thursday — Originally published April 2014. Also part of a chapter in my memoir.]
Obviously, there are many ways to avoid getting arrested. But in reality, anything can happen. And to attack these people when you are utterly unaware of their side of the story, or the unbiased truth; to attack the people they love and who love them back, well, that’s not very humane at all. These people are hurting. They don’t need judgmental glances and gossip talked behind their backs; they need support and under-standing. Why have we become so incapable of that?
I love someone who is incarcerated. Actually, I love several people who are incarcerated — three, to be exact, and I’m sure I care about even more on a personal level, and probably more than half on a human level.
Nate and I have an agreement of sorts. Like an open relationship.
He was sentenced to 15-30 years, and he’s been gone a few months shy of 3 years. It’s been nearly 3 years since we’ve had sex.
His prison — actually, the state where he’s imprisoned — does not allow conjugal visits. So even if we were to get married while he’s there (which very well might happen), we still wouldn’t be able to hop on the good foot and do the bad thing. Until we’re in our late 30s, at the earliest.
I’ve been watching Orange is the New Black. I finally caved.
I’m not finding it as enjoyable as I was expecting after all the hoopla I’ve heard from other people, but it’s not bad.
Piper’s annoying, I’m in love with Nicky, blah blah blah.
But something about the show really bugs me. They make Larry seem like the bad guy for being affected by his fiance’s incarceration.
Let me just say this right now — being the loved one of someone in prison is often like being in prison yourself. And it’s perfectly fine to feel that way.
I’ll admit I’ve only watched most of the first season, so maybe they address this. Maybe it’s not as bad as I’m making it out to be. Maybe Piper is going to be the bitch for acting all woe-is-me on Larry’s ass. But maybe not, so I’m writing this anyway.
I think it’s time I talk about my best friend; my boyfriend; the father of my child; the man who would undoubtedly be my husband if it weren’t for the next sentence.
He’s in prison. He stabbed someone.
* * * * *
Nate and I met when we were fourteen at a mutual friend’s get-together the summer before 9th grade. It was 2002, I think in August or the beginning of September. I was wearing baggy pants and a super tight orange tank top. He was wearing a bowler hat.
He had a box of some sort of food but I forget what so I want to say Munchkins. He sat there quietly and ate them, all night. He and I never said a word to each other, but we noticed one another.
I hooked up with some other guy that night who turned out to be crazy.
Then I ran into Nate again, randomly, while walking through our local church’s parking lot. It was called the Tabernacle.
I don’t remember how it happened. I don’t remember how fast it happened. But I know soon after that we became inseparable and had our first kiss. I fell in love with him immediately.