being sian' - the prison visit

8/14/2019 'Being Sian' - The Prison Visit

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Being Sian

The Prison Visit

Today I decided to visit James in prison. Id spent the last few months

hating his guts, for the long cold silences and intolerance towards me, but

now I had to stop punishing him. I hadnt written to him, sent him money

or visited once since hed been arrested, but now Ive gone too far. Today

I got a letter from him that scared the shit out of me, basically saying I was

dumped. He felt I didnt want to know him anymore, because of my lackof communication. Id played my game with him, by sulking to make him

see the error of his ways, and now he thought I was dumping him, when I

wasnt! Maybe its too late, and hes finished with me?

I hovered outside Wandsworth prison, spending the past twenty minutes

walking up and down the main road outside to pass away the time. I was

too early for the visit at two o clock. The area was unfamiliar and it felt

surreal, but at least it was an adventure, a change of scene. Sad as I was to

admit it, I didnt get out much. I hadnt done so for five years, living only in

the confines of Hackney and our miserable flat. The last time I had a day

trip out was at the beginning of the relationship, and that was to

Southend. James made that a living hell, smashing his fist onto the coach

seat in front, as he swore about how long the journey was.

Now I walked across the forecourt, nervous because the security guard in

the office box was staring at me as if I wasnt meant to be there. Already I

felt like a criminal, guilty as if I was doing something wrong. Being

scrutinized made me self conscious, and my body language changed, like I

has something to hide. I felt I didnt stand a chance, and that Id get


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3shouted at by one of them. I had to go into a small hut-like room on the

forecourt, to put my things into a locker.

There was an older blonde woman there, sitting at a caf table. I wasnt

allowed anything except my I.D, she told me. I asked her what the process

was, and how to operate the damn lockers, what change did they take? I

didnt have it anyway, and when I asked the caf for the right coins, they

refused, the unhelpful bastards. This was my first time, but shed been

here many times before. She had a warm Scotch accent, and we

exchanged stories. I moaned about my wayward lover, and she moaned

about her wayward son, whom she still held out hope for. I liked the

woman. She was harmless. I felt sorry for her.

Hes not a bad boy, not a bad boy, just the drugs She droned,

mimicking my own excuses for James, it struck me.

The prison building stood outside the caf hut, formidably grey and scary

compared to the warm cosy inside of where I has just been. It was like a

little haven, you could forget where you were because it felt so normal

and homely, as long as you didnt look out of the window at the Evil Place.

It was a false set up, and didnt really fool anyone, but bless them for

trying.

I passed through the metal detector, which was physically long, about five

feet. The staff, a couple of guys and a blonde girl, were surprisingly bright

and perky considering their horrible job. They worked far enough awayfrom the real action to enjoy themselves, I suppose. They could afford to

be more cheerful, but it was the annoying kind of cheeriness that police

officers have when you call them out on a job where nothings really the

matter, so they dont have to worry, but they smile and assert their


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4authority much more gently; but still asserting it, just so you remember

who they are, and they are not demeaned just because you wasted their

time.

I sat at a table in the Visitors Room, a huge rectangle full of men, who sat

down with their heads bent towards each other, unsmiling and hard. Then

I saw him. James. Being marched down with an officer each side. He was

gaunt and thin, sunken in his outrageous uniform, a horrid orange nylon

top and grey trousers. His face was cold, blank and barely polite,

eyebrows arched like upside down vs, raised in a questioning way to make

sure I felt uncomfortable, like I had to explain myself to him. He was

fantastic at making me feel nervous and awkward, without actually trying

very hard. It came naturally to him, the abuser that he was.

He sat opposite me and as I held his hand, it felt thin and cold. As cold as I

felt inside, it would take more effort on his part to melt me, and I knew he

never was a one to make an effort for anything or anyone, so I knew I was

out of luck. Yet feeling him holding my hand was melting me a bit, and I

could almost love his face again, kind of, almost. Was I going off him a bit?

I wondered, but Id probably be able to fancy him again at will. He was

being all lovey dovey. Lots of staring into my eyes, and holding my hand,

and oh, even a kiss oops, the guards, no contact allowed!

I went home feeling reassured that he hadnt dumped me after all.

Everything was fine. Except for months passing, and the guy called Troy,

who slept over when we had a pillow fight, and my friends Tom and Gary,and so many different things happening, but basically me enjoying my

freedom. I hadnt bothered visiting him again, he had been transferred to

another prison in Hertfordshire and I used the pretext that it was too far to

travel and I couldnt afford the fare, which was true but not a good excuse


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5not to see a man I thought I loved. What the hell, it was coming up to

Christmas, and I sent him a love letter and some money and a promise to

get down to see him soon, out of duty. I never did. Then I got a phone call,

weeks before his release date, a sweet begging voice;

Will you marry me? and, Do you love me?

I would normally have glowed at hearing these things but strangely I felt

angered and obstinate.

A bit. I settled for.

Now the real reason for his call. To check my mood out because of the

letter hed anxiously written a week before: I can come home early on a

tag but the prison needs to confirm I have a home address, if not I stay

longer, and theyll rehouse me Hed written. I wrote back a short polite

letter stating that it might be a better idea to stay longer and get himself

rehoused, as we werent getting on.

Later when he was released, I never heard the end of it. How cruel I was

to make him stay there another, very unnecessary month, While youre

here, living the life of Riley, He said in bitter rage. Who the hell was Riley?

I wondered, but couldnt be bothered to find out, since the saying came

from him and I almost wasnt interested.

Well, why didnt you get rehoused from the prison after all? I asked,annoyed. Some stupid senseless excuse, as usual. Something like, they

couldnt do it after all because. he was still a joint tenant with me.


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6I always had a sneaky feeling far in the back of my mind, that I was just a

convenience to James. I think he only stayed with me when we were both

homeless just to get a flat, because couples are more of a housing priority

than single people. When it came down to it, we were offered the flat

together at the hostel wed been staying in, and it wasnt negotiable. We

had to take it together as joint tenants. This meant that if we split up,

neither party was entitled to another flat, unless there was domestic

violence, the council said.

Joint tenants.which meant that Social Security viewed us as living

together as a couple. So our benefits were joined together, or as reality

has it, James takes as much as he can including my half and whatevers

left isnt mine, as it has to go on food. Im lucky to spend twenty quid

occasionally because whatevers there never stretches to the second

week, so I always have to ask my mother to give me money which I never

pay back, because I cant. James now gets to waste more money now

because I get my mothers money, which ironically is the same amount of

benefit that James gets for himself, so she really finds it hard to spare it.

He hates my mother, making her unwelcome in our home and ignoring

her, hostile as ever, yet of course he sucks up her money like a dirty leech.

When I bring home the notes I try to buy food and electricity quickly

because hell only ask for some of it to buy speed and cannabis with. All

he cares about is cannabis. He sits there like a dumb vegetable, silent,

hard faced and evil, emitting weird vibes, like a withered old lizard,

because although hes only thirty he looks like a junkie with his sucked incheeks. He looks more like an evil fairy my mother so often said, though I

hated hearing her imput, in her smug voice, with his pointy chin and high

broad forehead, like a big triangle.


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7Hes incredibly underweight because hes been using Speed, feeding his

habit while I struggle by on my mothers money. Basically, everyone asks

why I am still with him, and all I can say is, I may hate his guts but

surprisingly, Im still attracted to him and adore him when hes being

reasonable, which is hardly ever, only when hes humoring me, or just

happens to be in a good mood, he makes it clear he hates my guts

otherwise.

More powerfully, whenever he threatens to dump me, I get so panicky its

pathetic. I get all anxious and my heart pounds, and I make a fool of

myself squeaking and pleading like a little kid wanting to go on a merry go

round, please Daddy. No, dont dump me, I swear Ill be good,

because somehow he makes me out to be the bad guy and Ive offended

him. When I contest that Ive done nothing wrong, or apologized for what

I have done, its never enough, and Go away now Sian, youre annoying

me. Go into the bedroom and let me watch TV in peace.

But why should I be sent to the bedroom, Daddy? Dont send me to

Coventry and ignore me for another three days, Daddy. Its my house tooisnt it, I have a right to sit here in the living room with you and watch TV

too and he cant argue this logic, he scowls at me as I sit beside him on

the one couch. Theres nowhere else to sit so he cant really argue that

either, but his hatred pierces me like arrows.

Im not even last on his list, because Im not on his list at all. Sometimes I

think he must only be in it for the flat. preferably with me out of it,

leaving it entirely for him to lead his miserable little life in; like one of thegerbils we used to keep locked up in its tiny dirty tank. The resentment

and the silence fills the whole room and makes it smaller, and crushes me

beneath its weight.


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8He would love to be able to physically drag me into the bedroom and force

me to remain, but I will fight and scream to the death, and run back out

again, like an animal longing to be treated like a human being, and tonight

he hasnt got the energy for the battle, because he has tried it before and

failed. His face had set into a mask of vicious hate, cold as ever, not even

twisted with the anger, just blank as usual but deadly with the rage

underneath it. He is dangerous.

Dont get me wrong, there have been times where I did stay in the

bedroom when he made me. Usually I was too tired and depressed to

argue and wanted to sulk, and I buried my head under the covers and

cried, silently. Occasionally I grew angry that I should be hiding my tears

from the one making me cry, so I deliberately let a sniffle escape loudly,

my heart sinking because I felt the coldness from the next room, and knew

he felt no pity, but hoping I could prove the point.

What is it, Sian?

I could never find the words to tell him why. He would only defendhimself and make me the liar, but when my muffled reply came he just

sighed.

I cant help you Sian. Maybe you should see a shrink. If youre

depressed, do something about it, get a job or go to college, you know.

But I had a job. I lost it because of him. I went to College. I lost my

concentration because of him. I failed at everything because my mind was

caught up with him and I was so miserable, and if my mind was free mybody wasnt. I would have gone hungry that day. If I wasnt hungry now I

soon would be, and I was struggling and worrying about how we were

going to scrape through this week.


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9The pattern never changed. It has been like this for years. Every week of

every month was hell to survive, and who can blame me for being drained,

when he was draining me? I had no control over my own mind, soul or

body. He loved to possess and destroy. Of course he doesnt love me

then, if this is the casebut hang on, yesterday he told me how beautifulmy eyes were and kissed me and was quite pleasant, so that cant be true.

copyright@emmasharn2009

being sian' - the prison visit

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