Owning Mr. Stewart

It has been a long week, and I hardly know where to begin. Mr. Stewart, one of my regular guys has gone off of the deep end. Somebody in a different unit owed him a tiny bit of money. But as custody has reminded me, this is a huge thing; something that might call your manhood into question.

Mr. Stewart tried to call this guy out into the common area. This did not work. So Mr. Stewart went into his old unit and pulled this guy out. A Major Out of Place ticket. Both are now sporting horrid black eyes and other wounds. Mr. Stewart owned up, stating he took the first blow, but only because he thought the other guy was coming at him. It’s all on tape, and a huge portion of the inmates witnessed this, including the blood that sprayed everywhere.

So I walk in on Wednesday morning and check the segregation board. Who is in the hole from last night? And I see Mr. Stewart’s name and number with “fighting,” penned in behind it. The other guy is on my caseload also. The other guy has always passed through my office as an afterthought. He is a long term con, and is uninterested in counseling or change, he just wants the meds. You know who I support.

I am so angry, and hurt and full of grief and loss, because one of them will be surely ridden out to another prison. I have spent so much time with Mr. Stewart, and we had begun to make some sort of progress, and he is now maybe leaving due to something so tiny in my eyes.

I speak to the other guy, and hear the story; pretty close to what is on the ticket. Then I pull up a chair to Mr. Stewart, and talk through the meal slot. I can’t rationalize pulling him out, in belly chains, needing an extra custody person to supervise my safety. I just need to lean over and shout through the slot. So angry, so disappointed, I cry in front of custody again before I go in. I would feel so much better if I could grab him by the collar and slam him against the wall and scream in his face. Of course, this would be so normal and recognized; this is how everybody he has cared about has always treated him. Maybe in some sick way it would comfort him.

And I start talking to him and he does this horrible dismissing shrugging thing he does when he is very disturbed. Even though I know why he does it, it enrages me further. I am tight and cold and angry. I suggest he come close enough I can grab him by the throat, and he smartly keeps his distance. He is just showered, and his newly long hair is tangled. Those of us with long hair know you comb out the bottom few inches and then work up. I suggest this to him and he continues to comb the tangles from the top. This just angers me more.

He gives me prison dead eye. I suggest he knock that off. I then ask him to apologize, as I see he is either refusing to acknowledge why I am angry or is unable to speak it to himself. Shrugging, dead eye. And he yawns.

And I begin to consider leaving; this is doing me no good. I have a whole day in front of me, and I don’t need to wind up so hard I can’t do my job. He must have sensed this, and suddenly he is before me and I can see him. He apologizes. He tells me he understands how much it hurts me to have him in the Hole. And he is again this lost boy trying to find a way out, as he has been in my office for so many weeks. If I save him am I hurting him? I hope not. I if I save him, I will hope to own him and be able to push him in the directions I think he needs. Let’s see what happens…