This excerpt is from Candy and Blood. Available for purchase on Amazon now.
My world was turned upside down, and I wasn’t really sure how to navigate the strange new terrain in which I found myself.
My buddy Kevin, a guy who I’d known for two years and who had been my cellie for nine months, was moved into the same cell house as me. The rumor was that he was suspected of homosexual activity in his previous house, so he was separated from his…special friend. Believing that I knew Kevin better than that, I dismissed the gossip as ridiculous. Then Kevin admitted freely and openly that the rumors were, in fact, entirely true.
My first thought? I gotta say, I was a bit insulted—apparently I wasn’t his type. (A strange thought for a heterosexual man to have, but that’s where my brain went first.) I was having difficulty processing this bombshell. A big part of me didn’t even believe him, like perhaps this was some elaborate prank being pulled on me. It wasn’t.
I don’t purport to understand the mechanics of the gay man’s mind, but I do understand that homosexuality isn’t widely welcomed in prison. Therefore, I would expect a man to choose to hide his sexual orientation. However, that’s not what Kevin was doing. To hear him tell it, he’s not gay; he’s just bitting, merely passing time. This seems like little more than an easy excuse for a person to hide behind. Or perhaps it’s just my own puritanical sexual proclivities shining through. I mean, you’re either gay or you’re not, right?
When Kevin asked me point blank if I thought of him any differently now that I knew his story, I felt like I was being put on the spot. All I could manage was to numbly shrug my shoulders and give a noncommittal grunt. I couldn’t believe what Kevin was telling me—and that he was suddenly open about it.
Although Kevin was admitting to passing time, he continued to deny he was gay. I found myself thinking back to our time as cellies. As much as I scoured my remembrances, there were no hints or missed signals that should have betrayed his tendencies. Kevin is a big, swole guy who works out constantly, but this describes over half the guys in prison. The point is, I saw nothing soft or effeminate about him, like most geechies in prison. I assume he was keeping it on the sly. Even as he claimed he was just bitting, Kevin began to talk about his boyfriend (Yes, Kevin used the term “boyfriend” while still denying being gay). As he described missing him, Kevin displayed an obvious tenderness and affection for this other man. He went on and on about wanting to go back to the other house with his boyfriend, and I couldn’t help but wonder what exactly Kevin received as a present for his recent birthday. I decided I didn’t want to know.
Part of me was genuinely offended, but not because I wasn’t Kevin’s type (in hindsight, it’s probably a good thing I wasn’t). What bugged me is that I had lived with him and had no idea. It made me wonder who else I had no idea about. After Kevin became more open about his sexuality, I also couldn’t help but think how it reflected on me. I’d gotten suspicious looks from people who knew I’d spent nine months in the cell with the guy—it was assumed that I, too, had resorted to passing time. The thought was abhorrent to me.
Kevin was my friend, but his revelation changed everything, and I didn’t know how to react. My options, as I saw them, weren’t many. Should I subtly distance myself from him? Shun him entirely for the sake of my own reputation? Just ignore the newest elephant in the room and act like nothing had changed? It was knowledge that couldn’t easily be forgotten, and Kevin didn’t make it easy on me.
Within an hour of looking me in the eye and admitting to engaging in homosexual acts with his boyfriend, Kevin told me he hadn’t had a letter or visit from his girlfriend in a while and that he was worried she may be back on the nod. (Oh, did I not mention that Kevin also has a girlfriend in the world?) I could almost hear my mental gears grind as I tried to shift to the new topic of discussion. Before I could get there, Kevin was back to talking about his other paramour. He cursed and angrily lamented that he would have to start missing the early-morning yards and gyms so he could leave with the early line and go to the prayer room to visit his boyfriend. This, more than any of his other declarations, was the most disturbing statement for me to hear. Let me explain.
In all the time I lived with Kevin, he never missed a Rec. I used to talk shit to him that he was a dope fiend for working out—meaning he was compulsively addicted to it. That was our little friendly joke. He pretty much never voluntarily took a day off. Even when he was injured I usually saw him just work through it. Kevin’s decision to skip Rec let me know how serious he was about his boyfriend. The fact that he was willing to go to the prayer room told me he wasn’t going to try to hide it anymore.
The prayer room has a communal bathroom with toilet stalls in it that, whether intentional or not, the C/O on duty is lax in patrolling. It’s common knowledge that only those who are most flagrant with their homosexuality go to the prayer room. I imagine that some go there merely to socialize with others who share their own sexual preferences, but that’s not the case for everyone who attends the prayer room. Suffice it to say, there may be men on their knees, but there’s not a whole lot of praying going on. Scheduled chapel services are also common meeting places for homosexuals in prison. It has gotten so bad that to openly confess Christianity is to expose oneself to suspicions of homosexuality. To hear Kevin’s sudden new plans for attending chapel and prayer room religiously—by which I mean faithfully, which is to say regularly, and not full of faith—is tantamount to a confession that he is gay. Of course, according to him, he’s just bitting.