You Don't Know What They Do To Guys Like Me In Prison

I guess I should give some background before I begin. I’m a convicted felon who was released after completing my sentence. What did I do? I stabbed a guy. He’s fine, though. Mikey’s fine. That guy- he’s my brother. He didn’t press charges, but his girlfriend did. It was obvious I was the culprit- even the most crafty lawyer couldn’t spin it to look any different. So, I confessed. Simple. It gave me a slightly shorter sentence, allowing me to get out in time to actually live. Six years. That was my sentence. At 22, that’s not so bad. I was out by 28. I started over, trying to live a normal life. At one point I even had a girlfriend. That girlfriend brings us to where the story really began.

I was at a restaurant- her favourite- waiting patiently for her to show up to celebrate one month of dating. Is one month actually a big deal? I didn’t think so, but everyone else apparently did. So I asked her to come to this restaurant with me. She seemed a bit taken aback- I would be too if someone I had only had a few casual dates with expected to celebrate a month of them. She agreed, though, and told me she would be there at eight o’clock. And so I sat, waiting at a table for two.

I glanced at the clock on the wall again. 9:15. She’s late. I’m fairly certain she’s not even going to show up. This doesn’t bother me so much as the couple of thugs a few tables over who thought it funny that I had been stood up. They snickered and pointed, not being nearly as discreet as they believed. It was frustrating, to say the least. Remembering my anger management lessons, I took some deep breaths. They’re just children… I reminded myself, clenching my jaw. It was when I finally began to calm down that they decided it would be a good idea to openly mock me. And, well. All those classes went right down the drain.

Notes

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