Note: This essay was shared in the September, 2023, WITS Newsletter.

Nobody comes to prison to make friends, but it sort of happens.  I mean, when you put similar people from common backgrounds in the same struggle, bonds are naturally formed.  Especially after being isolated and alienated through extended periods of incarceration.

As humans, we are social beings, and we all desire those connections that provide us with a sense of understanding, support, and empathy.  However, due to our incarceration, previously established relationships are often strained, broken, or nonexistent.  So, it’s easy to see how friendships are formed on the ‘inside’, out of need, dependence or as a means of survival. 

Simply put, we all need someone, whether in here or out there.  And it’s easiest to relate with someone who understands you; if not you, at least your struggle.  Someone like-minded and like-hearted. 

The prison system is a world all its own, comprised of various institutions with multiple security levels, and built in the most remote locations; you can go decades without seeing the same person.  So, it goes without saying the delight I felt when I ran into an old comrade I hadn’t seen in more than ten years.

My homie, C-Lo, was a good friend from ‘back-in-the-day’, a walking memory of a former place in time, one when we were still ‘young and thuggin’.  Spending a few years together on a maximum security yard, we had once passed the majority of our time smokin’ and jokin’.  A gangster’s way of coping.

Now, fast forward eleven years, we have both matured substantially, and very much in the same aspects.  I believe we may have more in common now than we did back then.  In hopes of rekindling our friendship, we immediately requested a cell reassignment so we could be cellies.  Request granted, we began the late nights of reminiscing and catching up.  It was during these conversations that I realized I didn’t know C-Lo as well as I thought, and that we were actually ‘running partners’ more so than friends.

It was also during one of these late-night chats that I found out C-Lo had a “L” (life sentence).  Discovering this unknown fact broke my heart, knowing my brother may not get another shot at freedom without a strong fight.  Needless to say, he was equally surprised and disappointed to find out that I’d been home and returned to prison twice since we last saw each other, squandering two opportunities at a life he may never get a chance to see.  That truth made me feel extremely small and careless.

Despite our circumstances, we found the reunion to be quite pleasant.  I would entertain C-Lo with comical reentry stories and grandiose free world exploits and endeavors, as he laughed and imagined himself transitioning into a totally new world.  Sadly, after twenty-five years of incarceration, he had grown accustomed to living vicariously through others. 

In turn, C-Lo told me a year’s worth of war stories and prison news.  Although we hadn’t seen each other in all those years, we knew the same people, ran in the same circles.  Much like its revolving doors, the prison’s population was one big circulating mill.

Gossip and fishermen’s tales weren’t the only topics of discussion.  We also built on more constructive things.  Our dreams, our goals, our hopes for the future and the work we were putting in to achieve those things.  This is when I broke the news of my most recent accomplishment, one I’m super proud of.  I had become a published writer.

After reading a few of my pieces, C-Lo seemed impressed and genuinely happy for me.  Esteemed, I passed him a copy of Beneath Our Numbers, a collaborative memoir I was privileged enough to take part in.  An avid reader, C-Lo wasted no time diving in.  I knew he would enjoy it because these were our stories, told by people like us.  However, I had no idea just how close to home the stories would reach. 

One night, while doing some late-night writing, I heard a heavy sigh come from the top bunk.

“You good, cuz?” I asked.

“Yeah, just doing some reading.”

Not thinking much of it, I left C-Lo to his reading until I heard a second and equally burdensome huff of, “Damn.”

“What’s up?” I asked, a bit more concerned.

“My co-d in this book.”

C-Lo and I never spoke much about our cases or our co-defendants, and I didn’t personally know any of his; for that reason, I didn’t think much of it.  So, ‘cool’ I thought.

“Oh, yeah, which author?”

There was an odd pause.  “Nah, he in one of the stories.”

This really piqued my curiosity.  I wondered which story, but judging by C-Lo’s tone, I had a funny feeling I already knew.

“Which one?”

“This one,” C-Lo said, passing me the open book. 

There was a sting to being right, one I wish I could take back.  I stared at the title page.  Coping With Conviction, by Terry Robinson. 

I knew the story well, read it twice.  It was very moving and full of emotion.  I liked it a lot, but I didn’t like the way it made me feel.  The story was about two young men that had been sentenced to death row.  Both were struggling to accept, face and fight the judgement deemed their fate.  However, they formed an unlikely bond.  Becoming friends, the two found common interests that helped them cope with their convictions. 

Unfortunately, after some ups and downs, one of the young men succumbed to the weight of his burden and took his own life. That young brother was C-Lo’s co-defendant and childhood friend.

After sharing some of their personal story, as if I needed proof, C-Lo pulled out a host of paperwork and news clippings; showing me a picture of his dearly departed friend.  They were young men who made a bad decision, which cost them tremendously. 

The mood noticeably changed.  The small cell suddenly felt tiny and tight.  A harsh reality weighed heavily upon us, and in the grim silence, there was no need for words.  I could read C-Lo’s every thought, feel his every emotion and shared his every sentiment  These were our stories; told by people like us.  We too, were coping with conviction. 

ABOUT THE WRITER.   Carter is a naturally gifted writer, and it is a privilege to share his writing here. When I read this piece, I immediately knew it was the perfect one to be included in WITS’ very first independent newsletter. Carter is extremely interested in furthering his education, though opportunities are few where he is currently at and in his current situation. But he continues to write and work on positive endeavors. Carter is also a co-author of Beneath Our Numbers.

If you would like to contact Carter Cooper, please reach out to me directly.