90 Days and Counting

 

DAY 90! 3 months. A quarter of a year. A whole season. Wow. Like many other prisoners, I have been living under unusual confinement rules, what they call a “modified schedule,” since Covid first hit a year ago.  For the past 90 days, my cellmate and I have been confined to a cell with a bunk bed and a toilet, ostensibly to protect us from the virus.  It’s been epically awful.  

 

For instance, of late, my cellie has taken to eating 4-6 apples or pears a day.  I don’t know if this sudden change of diet is the cause, but he has added a new treat to his repertoire:  4-5 times a day he squats on the toilet next to our bunk and shits out roadkill. Love Canal and Lake Erie can now look at each other with an “at least we’re not that bad” attitude.  My only resort is to spend most of the day with the blanket pulled over my face because at least then I can only smell my own B.O., which I’m more or less immune to at this point.

 

One positive is that I’ve found a way to get my cellie to pipe down when he waves the MAGA flag to get an entertaining argument going. He has an undying love for Stephen King, whom he regards as the greatest writer of our generation. His basis is “look how many of his books have been turned into movies.” When I try to engage in intelligent discourse about how that statement actually may just say that he writes books that make good movies and nothing more, he stands unfazed.  Hemingway, Tolstoy, Delillo, Faulkner, Lee, King. Anyone else think old Steve doesn’t belong on this list? 

Anyway the other day another guy favorably compared Dean Koontz to Stephen King.  Now, I’ve never read a Koontz novel, but I’m guessing his books may fall into the same genre as King.  Well, saying that sent my cellie into an apoplectic fit. I thought he was going to finally challenge me to a duel or something in defense of his writing hero. I filed this away for future reference.

 

Now, whenever the rumblings arise of “That damned Nancy Pelosi!” or “The problem with BLM” or “What’s so wrong about naming a school after Robert E. Lee?” all I have to say is “Man, I can’t wait to get out of here and grab me a good Dean Koontz book” and my cellie freezes like a spotlit deer.  A-ha!  MAGA Man’s Kryptonite!

 

Luckily, in spite of everything, even after 90 days, his attempt to blow up the toilet, and his idolatry of the former President, we do actually get along pretty well.  I’m thankful for having a good cellie.  How we get along, I don’t know, but somehow all considered, it appears to work.

 

Starting on Day 91, I’m going to stop griping.  Maybe, possibly – at least I’ll try.  And hey, you never know.  Day 91 could be the day the cell door opens, we receive our property, we get issued a full set of clothes….  I mean, A MAN CAN DREAM!