Abigail Curry
Randall Kenan
ENGL 130
Oct. 9, 2014
Poor Richard
The aged, fluorescent light seized incessantly creating bold and bothersome flashes of
light that illuminated the eight by eight room. The walls were a subdued gray that provoked
sadness just with the quickest glance. To the people within them, the walls felt as if they were
inching closer and closer together. Pretty soon, they would consume the room and everything
in it with one swift gulp. A bunk bed was placed on the left wall. Due to its complete lack of
comfort, the mattresses acted as a simple barrier between the human body and metal springs
rather than a beacon of comfort. There were no pillows. There were no blankets. A beaten up
toilet and sink stood in the back right corner. The place was silent. Darkness floated through
the brisk air. There was no light visible besides the flashlight of the guard as he walked up and
down his post. The light reflected off of the silver bars that separated the room from the rest
of the world creating shapes upon the walls. The light fell onto Richard’s face. He lay,
motionless, on his bed listening to the sound of his cellmate Carl suck in the air that gave him
life. Richard lay there, seemingly lifeless.
Richard rose the next morning to the ruckus that filtered into his room from the
common area. Apparently two of the inmates had gotten into a fight over who could use the
50 lb dumbbells from the weight rack. Richard rolled reluctantly out of his bunk and
sauntered to the mirror that hung over the dilapidated sink. Richard stood 6 feet 2 inches with
salt and pepper colored hair. He reached for his comb, ran it under the dripping faucet, and
gently combed back his flyaways with precision. This was a routine that he had completed
daily for the last 30 years of his life; only this time, his wife wasn’t here to rush him out of the
bathroom. He gazed into the mirror, astonished by what he had become. His ice blue eyes
projected wisdom beyond his years to the beholder. The wrinkles around his forehead and his
eyes added character to his dapper appearance. His build was strong and sculpted, but that
didn’t mean he didn’t have a little extra something around his midsection.
“How did a guy like me end up here?” Richard lamented as a peered at his reflection.
He peered upon the upper bunk to see Carl quiet and peaceful; he was as dead as a
doornail. Richard was too nervous to face the aggression of his fellow inmates without his
loyal companion by his side, so he waited. As he waited he rummaged through the few
belongings that the guards at the gate allowed him to bring in with him. Among those
belongings were his business card, his wedding ring, and a picture of his daughters. He
shoved his wedding ring and business card aside and set his sights on his daughters. To this
day, Richard was in awe of the beautiful people that him and his wife had created together.
There was nothing more precious to him than his two little girls. It pained Richard to
remember their confused little faces as he told them that he would be going away for a while.
The pain of his conviction stayed with him day in and day out. He remembered the day when
shit hit the fan like it was yesterday.
….
It was a day like any other day. Richard sauntered into the elevator and pressed floor
43. He scrolled through his never-ending inbox of emails on his iPhone as the elevator rose to
level 40, 41, 42, and BING! As he walked down the hall, Peters Global was tastefully
plastered across the wall in a professional font. He then emerged into a large room that
consisted of a sea of people. The air was filled with a cacophony of random noises. Incessant
ringing came from behind the walls of many of the cubicles along with the sound of computer
keys, staplers, and instant messenger notifications. Richard arrived at an office door that
displayed the name Richard Peters, Peters Global Owner. He made himself at home. His
office chair squealed as he let himself fall into the leather cushion. Just as he had placed pen
to paper to begin his day of work, his telephone rang. The ringing filled the room until he
reluctantly answered the call.
“Richard, there is a rather stern man at the receptionist desk asking for you. Can you
meet with him now?”
“Sure Cynthia, send him in.”
A tall, slender man with a wormy face walks briskly through the door into his office.
“Would you like something to drink Mr…”
“DiMaggio, Paul DiMaggio. And no thank you; let’s get to the point shall we. I am
here today to inform you that the IRS is accusing your company of tax violations; rather, they
are accusing you.”
Richard sat silently in a dazed state of confusion as he processed the rather alarming
information. Richard came to his senses and had a response for the accusations.
“If I may, Mr. DiMaggio, I feel that your accusations have no backbone and you will
not be able to provide any proof to support your claims. I feel that that it is in your best
interests to close that little briefcase of yours and leave my office immediately. I will not
tolerate such a violate questioning of my integrity.”
“I am sorry that you feel that way Mr. Peters, but we are going to need you to arrive in
court tomorrow at 1:15pm on the dot. We will reveal to you the evidence that we DO have on
this case. I will be sure to inform everyone involved of your lack of cooperation with the
investigation. Have a wonderful day.”
Paul flashed Richard a troubling smile and then proceeded to walk out of the office.
Every employee on the 43rd floor had overheard the conversation between the stern man and
Richard. Frantic conversations emerged between cubicles as they processed the newfound
information. Eyes jumped from one person to another in shock like a bouncy ball that was out
of control. No employee could grasp the idea that their loyal employer would do such a thing.
Richard rose from his office chair, adjusted his suit coat as to maintain any ounce of pride and
integrity that he had left, and as calmly as possible, walked to his doorway. His gaze met the
attention of many of his employees. A feeling of anxiety and uncertainly ran through his veins
like a wildfire. His wheels began to turn.
“I can see the headlines now,” Richard said to himself, “Family man and business
owner of Peters Global gets thrown in the slammer for attempts to evade federal income tax.”
Time passed at a rather glacial pace after Richard was face to face with the reality of
his very near future. The time came eventually to go to court. As Richard walked up the steps
to the courthouse, it felt as if he was climbing the stairs of the Eiffel tower, endless. He felt
like a dog with his tail between his legs after being yelled at for snooping through the trash for
some yummy treats. Each step he took was a step closer to his fate, which he feared. As he
approached the top, he pushed open the double doors to the courtroom with force to trick
himself into believing that he exerted confidence. He walked down the long isle to reach his
seat. He felt like eyes were burning into the back of his head as he passed the rows of benched
seating for the observers. One thing was for sure; he did not like this feeling. Richard reached
his seat and placed his hands together in his lap as they began to accumulate sweat when the
judge insisted on silence upon all members of the courtroom. She proceeded to recite the
verdict.
“Unfortunately Mr. Peters, we have found you guilty of attempting to evade federal
income taxes by adjusting your gross income to a value much smaller than its actual number.
Due to the facts we have collected and the conflict that you had with Mr. DiMaggio, I am
sentencing you to 18 months jail time and you must repay all of the federal income tax that
you cheated your way out of.”
He was an unworthy opponent and easily accepted his punishment. He would have
made a fool of himself trying to prove that the facts were incorrect.
On Tuesday, March 19th, Richard Peters took his first steps into the county prison.
Richard’s anxiety grew as he walked past each security checkpoint. It was as if he was
drifting farther and farther into a dark maze of despair. He received harsh glares from the
inmates as he passed one cell after another. Everything was very grey. The place had no life.
Rather, the place was filled with anger, distress, and hopelessness.
“Here you are Mr. Peters,” stated the guard. “You will now be identified by a number.
Your number is engraved on your cell door. You are inmate 2045.”
Richard took a step into what was going to be his entire world for the next 18
months. He stepped inside, turned toward the outside world, and watched as the guard
slammed his door shut when…
….
“Ahhhh ahhh ahhh,” screamed Carl.
Richard snapped out of his daydream and yelled in response, “Carl calm down, you’re
okay!”
Richard soothed him until his heart rate slowed down to its normal pace. Carl often
had bad dreams that woke him suddenly. Richard had become accustomed to it. Carl was a
large guy, the type of guy that could defend himself in a place like this, no problem. He had
long dark brown hair with a crooked smile. His eyes were deep set into his head so far that his
bone structure created a shadow on his cheeks. He was built like an athlete. He was so big that
the uniform given to him looked as if it was 4 sizes too small. On the outside, Carl was a
scary looking guy. No one would ever think to lift a finger against him. But once you got to
know the guy, he was like a big old teddy bear on the inside.
Upon their first meeting, Carl had offered to show Richard the ropes. Carl began to list
the certain forms of etiquette that were appropriate between the prison walls. He started with
the simple ones like do not look people directly in the eye unless you plan on starting some
kind of confrontation, speak when you are spoken to, and listen to the people that have been
in here forever because they have more pent up anger. Richard still remembers Carl telling
him on day one, “Hang with me, and you’ll be just fine.”
Carl and Richard became very close. The others never really seemed to take a liking
to Carl. In fact, they refused to ever acknowledge his existence. This confused Richard, but
regardless, Richard was in no position to turn down a friend. Every Monday at 8 am they
would lift weights together in the inmate gym. While they lifted, they would talk about life
after the slammer. Richard longed to rebuild his professional career, while Carl longed to be
with his family again. Richard always felt uncomfortable stares coming from the other
inmates, but he just thought they were impressed by his bulging biceps and toned abs. On
Wednesdays they would go to the barber, Dave. Dave didn’t accept normal terms of payment
seeing that it would not get him very far in prison. Instead he accepted the inmate’s food,
mostly bacon, and in exchange he would give them a trim and a clean shave. For some reason,
he always refused to trim and shave Carl, but Richard went anyway. Richard was very
anxious on his first visit. There was something about an inmate with a blade that made his
hair stand on edge. Carl and Richard steered clear of the sand volleyball courts on Thursday
nights. That is when the chomos played. They were at the bottom of the inmate totem poll.
Nobody associated themselves with the chomos. There was a hierarchy in place according to
the severity of the crime. There were some people that you just didn’t mess with, like the ones
that actually had blood on their hands. That was all true except Carl and Richard made an
exception for Chico. Chico had committed first-degree murder. Despite this, Richard took a
liking to him and felt that he was a stand up guy. This was a doubtful conclusion by the
general population considering the teardrop that was tattooed under his left eye, but Carl and
Richard didn’t think twice about it.
Life in prison became normal for Richard. His daily activities became mundane and
common. He adapted quite well with the help from Carl. Night was the worst part. He would
lie there in his bunk with his eyes open, seeing absolutely nothing. He could have been
looking at the back of his eyelids and wouldn’t have noticed the difference. That darkness
made Richard uneasy. The only thing that got him through the nights was the subtle breathing
of Carl above him, letting him know that he was not alone.
Richard woke up early one Friday morning to find that a piece of mail had been slid
through the bars on their door. Richard reached for the mail and broke the seal. It was a notice
of early release. Richard was being released 6 months early for good behavior. His heart raced
with both excitement and apprehension. He was going to be a free man, something that he had
been dreaming of for the past 12 months. Although this was true, he would be leaving behind
a true friend in Carl. Richard felt that it would be best to leave behind a not for Carl rather
than dealing with the sad goodbye.
“Dear Carl,
It seems that the day we jointly dreamt of has become a reality for me. I am being
released early for good behavior. To avoid a tough goodbye, I wanted to leave you
this note expressing my gratitude. Thank you for showing me the ropes and being such
a loyal friend. There is no one I would have rather shared my bunk with. Contact me
when you are out in the real world again. Thanks again bud.”
On March 19th, exactly one year from the day he stepped foot into the county prison,
Richard Peters was released. The real world felt awkward and strange. Richard was adjusting
to life all over again, this time without the helping hand of Carl. Just a week after being
release, Richard saw that he had a missed call. Someone had left a voicemail.
“Hello Mr. Peters, it seems that you left behind a note for a Mr. Carl. Since you were
alone in your cell and there is no record of this Carl in our database, we are going to mail the
note back to your current address. We hope that it gets back to you safely.”
Richard pressed the end button. His eyebrows cinched towards one another in
complete and utter confusion. All of the memories that he had with Carl were on replay in his
head.
“What do they mean I was alone in my cell. Who the hell was I talking to the whole
damn time?”