The Devil You Know
Going along to get along is easy, even when it's tough. Facing your true self can be terrifying.
The Devil You Know
Below is the written statement given to me by Leaonard Boyd, 2103761, re his application for parole. This department makes no recommendation, either for or against parole, although additional counseling within the institution may help.
Respectfully submitted,
Susan Brown
___________________________________________________________________________
I can honestly say that I try to be a good man. So, to the extent that I fall short, it’s not for a lack of trying to do the right thing. And what should a person do, when there is no right thing, only a short laundry list of wrong things? That’s the way life is. Life is not some kid’s TV show, where Opie, or Timmy, or Big Bird is faced with some basic dilemma, and inside of the half-hour makes the obvious best choice. The right choice.
And aren’t they proud? Don’t they feel so good that they, or their kids, learned this valuable life lesson from Opie, or Timmy, or Big Bird, that has nothing to do with reality? Now, time for dinner. Or were you eating it during the show?
Maybe that’s somebody’s life, but not mine. I grew up, not with stage-Mom and stage-Dad. I grew up with Brenda and Carl, two people who didn’t give a crap about themselves, so what were the chances they would care about me? Their money went to drugs. And for that matter, so did their love. No money, no love for me. But who am I to complain. They didn’t beat me. They didn’t trade my ‘services’ to the dealer for drugs. Where I come from, I was ahead of the game compared to some others.
Of course, I got into some trouble of my own. How could I not? As a small kid, they laugh at you when you do things, because you are harmless. But when I was fifteen, I shoved a teacher and she went down. I didn’t feel like it was any different than other things I had done, but the results were different. I guess I had to make some adjustments. Or should have, but I didn’t. The teacher didn’t press charges, but wanted an apology and a commitment to get counseling. Sure, why not. So, I apologized, as well as my spirit was able. I mean, what made them think there was anything inside of me that was capable of anything more than saying the words. So, I said them, and they were all happy.
And I went to the counseling. Not the first time. Been there, done that. Bunch of people sit around and feel contrite and all. So, I felt contrite right along with them. You know, when you meet people you shake hands, or something. Well, when you’re in counseling, you feel contrite. It’s just what you do. I know the drill. No, I don’t mean I was faking it, any more than anyone fakes a handshake. I really felt contrite. On cue. The counselor says, “and how did that make you feel”, and you say, “I feel contrite.” And everybody’s happy.
I was maybe twenty five when I met Cheryl. She was different from what I’m used to. Early on, I tried to steal cash out of her purse. Contrite didn’t work. She threatened to call the cops. I told her to go ahead, like that would amount anything! I think we kind of educated each other. We each were used to different things, different ways of doing things. I guess some of me rubbed off on her, and some of her rubbed off on me. She told me that it’s what’s in my heart that counts. Hell, I didn’t know I HAD a heart. Saying I’m sorry, and being sorry are two separate things. I think I like the old way. It’s easier. Just say what you’re supposed to say, and move on. If you’ve got some lumps coming, take them. What the hell.
This thinking and feeling and considering and wondering about what’s the ‘right’ thing to do. It’s so damned confusing. Why should I have to try to guess what a person thinks of me, if they don’t tell me? Am I a mind reader? But there’s Cheryl, telling me to put myself in some other person’s position, and how would I feel if they did to me what I did to them. Hell, I’ve been shoved, I’ve been robbed. I hit back and I steal back. Why do I have to wonder how anyone feels?
But that’s the thing with Cheryl. She is the one person who made me wonder about how someone else feels. She was upset that I stole from her. She didn’t really want revenge or to get even. She was just upset. Plain upset. I didn’t know how to ‘process’ that, the way the counselors say. Funny thing is, the counselors are never upset. No matter what you do, they’re not upset. Neither were Brenda and Carl, now that I think about it. At least, not upset the way Cheryl was. They’d be upset that my being in trouble caused them trouble. But not upset with ME.
Cheryl had expectations of ME. Not of how I BEHAVED. You know, for teachers it’s ‘be a good little boy, stay out of trouble so we don’t have to bother with you’. No, Cheryl was upset with ME. Now that I can look back, understanding some things that I didn’t get, back then, I’m so sorry for what I did. She was only trying to help, to make me a better person, I guess. But I am who I am. Is it my fault that I am who I am? If I could undo all this, I would. But I can’t. I go to counseling sessions every week, now. Never miss. I do all that I can, but I am who I am. I can’t promise anything. Maybe that makes me better than what I was. It’s so easy to say, ‘I’ll never do it again’. I’ve been saying whatever people want me to say, all my life. Now, I can’t. Cheryl has made me be honest. With myself. I can’t lie like I used to, because of how it would shame me, and her. I can’t lie, because then I would be undeserving of Cheryl’s kindness. Then, what she went through would be for nothing. I can’t say I’ll never do it again, because I can’t be sure. I’ll leave it to you to decide.