LUDIC LOG

Dear Dr. Graves,

Well, I guess it's that time, ain't it? I suppose I ought to be honored that you pick me as your prize horse to put up before the parole board, just before you retire. It's funny to hear you say it seems like forever since we known each other, because it don't seem that way to me. It seems like what it's been: fifteen years. That don't seem like forever from where I'm sitting. I guess we reckon time a little different. But that's okay cause I guess we reckon what it means to know a feller different too.

I don't mean to sound ungrateful or nothing. I appreciate all you done for me cause it's more than any man. And I suppose I do know you right enough even though I only see you once a month, that still figures out to probably a couple hundred times all these years. (I know my spelling and writing has got a whole lot better and it surely is kind of you to notice that but I am not so good still at numbers.) I am glad you are sticking up for me and I suppose that I ought to be honored that you say you're proud of me. I can't say that I'm gonna miss you, Dr. Graves, because as you know I don't put much in these little notes you have me up to write, but it keeps my mind honest and to be sure it's more pleasant to have you around than some of the people I know better like the screw Jonason who likes to hit me in the back of the knee so he can pretend like I fell. I know you say it ain't right to dwell on these things and to hold grudges about the negative and so forth but I have to tell you that I would probably have a better time to focus on the positives if it was me who was heading down to Florida to retire.

Anyway like you always say it don't do no good to always piss and moan about what could be but to focus on the reality of the situation and try and make that better. Like how you didn't really want to be no prison counselor but instead of bitching about it you got together a couple of the hard men like me and Ray and Boots and Jimmy and you wrote that book about it and that made you a good piece so you can afford to pack it in and you only sixty. That's what I call turning a negative into a positive and that's for sure. The only thing is I ain't sure how to turn next week into a positive.

To be honest with you Dr. Graves I just don't think there's any chance in a million that parole board is gonna let me out even with an important man like you sticking up for me. One time before we went all through this and it turned out just like I told you. First of all ain't no parole board like that word murder, and I don't care how many times on my form it says the word eighteen cause a million eighteens don't balance out one murder. And I know you know a lot more about these things than I do but I told you that once they see the circumstances and they gonna think it's a racial murder. And I tell you what, that's what it was, and they ain't never gonna let me out because it ain't done to let a racial murder out no matter what. Plus since then there's been fighting. And you know why and I know why too, but you can't explain to no parole board how you don't want a fight but likewise you don't want to get shanked or have some feller doing you the way you don't want to be done either, so there's a fight. All they see is that there's been fighting. Maybe you can explain it to them good because they sure as hell didn't listen to me last time.

So I ain't feeling too optimistic about my chances and so I don't really feel like filling out this form you give me. I never did like these forms and I like them even less when they have stupid questions on them. What have you learned in the years of your imprisonment, this one says. Well all the answers I got for that one, nobody is gonna want to hear. Like I learned not to kill nobody and go to jail for it, or I learned people treat you like shit in prison just like they do on the outside, or I learned that I made the one goddamn mistake you ain't never allowed to make, and I made it just the same and there ain't nothing I can do about it. That's not the lessons I'm supposed to have learned. I guess they want to hear that I won't do no more crimes, so, okay, I won't do no more. I didn't do but one in the first place, but it was bad enough for a hundred. Maybe they want to hear that I don't hate them Jews no more. Of course I been saying for seventeen years I didn't hate them Jews in the first place and I ain't never had nothing against them, only I fucked up is all, but they didn't want to hear that back then so I don't think they want to hear it now. You want to know one thing I learned? I learned not to be a stupid brat who believes whatever people tell him and goes along for the ride rather than get in no arguments. That's how I ended up in here, Dr. Graves, and I don't want to make that mistake again, if you follow me. I figure if I tell them what I really learned, other than say what you tell me I should have learned, maybe I'll be better off.

Also I hear it's your birthday today. Happy Birthday Dr. Graves. Wednesday is my birthday, did you know that? The day I go in front of the board, I'll be thirty-five years old. You think they'll wish me a Happy Birthday?