So Kenny and his wife finally made it to pick me up. The rejoining of Kenny and I in a new phase of our lives was exciting, but with awkwardness from all parties. Kenny's wife, Kate, had never met me before. As I introduced myself to her, she looked me up and down with apprehension. I found her to be one of the most attractive women I've ever seen, even though she had recently battled leukemia. This fact I then attributed to being locked up in prison for so long. She came up close to me when I offered to shake her hand, so close that she broke the understood barrier of comfort between two people. She starred deeply into my eyes and clasped my dry large hand with her small oily and soft hand. I couldn't help getting a partial erection. Her expensive perfume permeated my nostrils and made my brain circuits explode like fireworks. I looked from Kate to Kenny and saw him give me a stunned look of jealousy and anger. I tried to make things less tense by talking about our childhood, but ended up suffering from a coughing fit, probably from my upset nerves.

When all three of us were in the prison parking lot walking towards the car, I felt a pinch on my left butt cheek. I looked up and saw Kate smiling. Kate was the type of woman that when she had her sights on a man, she would do anything in her power to attain him and break him down for her pleasure. Her and Kenny married fairly recently. I found out eventually from her that their relationship started weeks after she found out she had leukemia. Of course she kept her disease secret to Kenny until their marriage was finalized. They only dated for about four months before they tied the knot. Kenny at this time was a successful engineer. He owned his own house, had a nice car, and money in the bank. The only thing that Kenny lacked was attractiveness. He was short, hairy in all the wrong places, and often had bad breath. His whole life, Kenny embraced altruism to make up for his short comings. Looking back on it now, his altruistic compensation was the reason that we became friends and that he offered for me to stay at his place when my Dad died. It could have even been the reason he contacted me when I was locked up.

In prison I had a lot of time to think. At one point, I became interested in the subject of altruism, or giving without receiving anything in return. The flaw though is that giving often leads to an internal satisfaction on the end of the giver which balances the interaction, hence making it not altruistic. Pure altruism is rare in the world, and if it exists, the person doing it must either be crazy or some sort of god. Kenny was neither crazy nor a god. He was just an average sucker living the nine to five life while trying to keep busy enough to not see how bad his life was falling apart. He usually ignored his kids and treated his wife like she owed him one. He expected sex when he demanded it which wasn't often since he was so stressed and overworked. Kate would willingly submit because it didn't last long and would allow her to throw it in his face later when she wanted something more important.

After a few days at Kenny's house, I started to notice that no one was paying much attention to the kids. They were often thrown in a playpen in front of the television or locked into the play room without any supervision.

Ah, my library time is already up. More to come soon.

Free at last

Even though I was paroled, I still had to be in prison for a few more weeks. One day in my cell, I was listening to the rain pouring outside. No thoughts occurred in my head. I walked to the corner of my room and sat down against the wall. I pulled my knees towards my chest and wrapped my arms around them, hanging my head, and slowly closing my eyes while taking a deep breath. This was an inhalation of a man that no longer chased desire. I thought for a second to myself that the prison system was actually working, but then let that thought drift away. For the first time in my life, I felt secure and content. As I exhaled, my body fell towards the ground into a limp mass.

I couldn't open my eyes. Everything turned white and a force, like a giant, gentle, invisible hand picked me up and started taking my Being upward. My human eyesight no longer existed, and even my physical body was gone. The hand was carrying my essence through the white light to a destination. After some time, I started hearing someone shouting my name. I wanted to bathe in the glorious white realm forever, but recognized the voice as someone familiar, the voice of an angel. I tried to open my eyes up and escape this force encompassing me, but it wouldn't let go. Then I listened to that voice closer and realized it was the sweet cooing of Yolanda.

This brought back memories of my years at the bakery. During this time, I meet a few women besides Yolanda that I thought I had a genuine interest in. I had many one night stands, some of them were painless. Other times I started to form an emotional bond which terrified me. When this happened, I immediately cut all ties with the person because I was afraid of Yolanda finding out. I hated what I was doing, but I had been attempting to fill a void. So many of these nights were a result of heavy drinking, leading to loneliness that eradicated any filter of selection that I normally possessed. Some nights it was so bad that I would have willingly gone home with the next person that made eye contact with me. I noticed that the people I used fit no specific pattern, and that the only thing that linked these women together were the fact that I wasn't thinking about them during the act. My mind was elsewhere and every single night I fell asleep to the thought of Yolonda, not the person who I had just had passionate meaningless intercourse with. I longed for her. None of these women were Yolonda and this would lead me down a bad road.

I did everything in my power to break free and eventually woke up in a hospital bed with a nurse saying my name. Yolanda wasn't there, but the nurse's voice sounded frighteningly similar. She told me that I had been in a coma for two weeks. The doctor came in later that day and told me that I was on the verge of death because I gave up the will to live.

My lawyers helped me get in contact with Kenny because I needed a place to stay. I convinced Kenny that he owed me one, even though I was the one that always owed him, and he and his wife decided to take a road trip from Texas to pick me up at the prison in Colorado. The excitement was almost too much to bare, but with my new calm outlook on life I waited patiently and planned for the future.

The moment that I read Kenny's letter was an awakening to me. He explained that he had followed my story on the news closely, and found out where I was being held. He didn't know if he should write for his family's safety, but he figured that he knew me well enough that I wouldn't come to harm him or his family. The letter was touching, as he reminisced about the times when we were younger and he joked about how he felt like he was always helping me out of jams- like when my father died. This is how I knew what a true friend was. After all this time of not being involved in his life whatsoever, he felt it important to reach out to me and give me words of wisdom. He wrote about his wife, Kate, and his two children ages 4 and 2. He said that Kate had overcome a long battle with acute myelogenous leukemia, and because of her remission, the family found a new found faith in the Lord. He ended the letter with a bible verse from the Corinthians: No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and He will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation He will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it. As a rather unreligious man, I chose to ignore it, but still appreciated it all in the same.

Seeing how awful solitary confinement was, I tried my best to avoid it at all cost. I did what I was told, and when I was told; and even though my thoughts of Yolanda sometimes overtook me, I tried my best to remain level-headed. I actually liked being on good behavior. I often got made fun of by the other prisoners for what they called "giving into the big men", but I didn't care. My mindset was focused on finishing out my sentence in the least painful way I could. I needed to get back to my love, Yolanda, and my best friend, Kenny. I decided that if given the chance, I would mend all things broken in my life. I would tell Kenny how much his letter meant to me, and maybe even admit that I teared up while reading it. I would tell Yolanda that she had never left my mind for one minute during my sentence and tell her how important it was that her and I remain together.

I requested permission to be seen by the parole board. I was granted permission rather quickly. I was so nervous the nights before my interview that I had not slept or eaten. I looked in the mirror to give myself a pep talk before going to the interview and noticed my hair stringy and disheveled, and huge bags under my eyes that were sunken deep into my skull. I looked like a killer. "You are not that person, Bandy.", I told myself. My eyes were fixated and serious. "You are a good person, who just happens to love too much. And that is NOT a crime,". I continued repeating this over and over again until I was taken away to my interview. I walked into a room that was made of concrete walls and floors. Still in shackles, I was ordered to sit down in front of about ten different people, ranging in age, race, sex, and size. They sat about twenty feet away from me at a long, metal table. I was quick to assume that a few were psychologists from the questions about my childhood that they had asked me, and some were judges, or another type of governmental aide by the emphasis on my guilty plea. I explained everything with the upmost honesty that I could and exaggerated nothing. I figured that I knew I was a good person, and that would show through my actions, regardless of personal hygiene and appearance. I was asked about my meltdown in the laundry room and explained the meeting with Yolanda I had a few days prior. They took notes when I admitted that I had been in solitary confinement for a few months and I knew that their decision was made. Should I have lied?

I laid awake for a few nights after that awaiting their decision. I was so tired that when it came time for morning chow, I dropped my tray full of food. I was so weak, I could barely process what was happening, let alone collect the energy to clean it up. Because of my exhaustion and clumsiness, I was forced to skip my meal that day and sent to my cell. It was just before we were allowed out in the yard when a guard came to my cell with a letter from the parole board. My heart sank and I contemplated waiting to open it, but before I could even finish that thought I had already torn it open. My parole had been granted. Suddenly, I remembered the bible verse Kenny had written and it all made sense.

Prison Saga Part 2

One week after seeing Yolanda, I took a long look at myself in the mirror. "Not bad" I said to myself. My eyes were clear, my beard was thick, dark and about two inches long, and my hair was cropped short. My brown eyes spaced perfectly apart to look neither like a rat or a grazing cow. My skin was pale but clear. My straight nose with a slight hook. No bags under my eyes and no wrinkles. I smiled at myself and then shut my mouth to cover my crooked brown teeth.

Besides the immense conflict in my mind regarding Yolanda, sadly prison was one of the better periods in my life. I tend to view things as a glass half full kind of guy. For example the clothing was itchy but there was always a clean pair to change into. The guards always laughed at me when I soiled my pants and they thought it would be a proper punishment to make me work in the laundry room. The laundry job wasn't so bad though. It would be me, three other inmates, and a single guard in the room. The job consisted of sorting the pants, shirts, underwear and socks into different piles. There were four industrial size washing machines. Each one was meant to wash a specific garment. Even though the machines were actually the same, we had to follow this silly system to avoid mixing the clothing up. Once we loaded the machines, we sorted the next load and then waited around shooting the shit. One day I told the guys about Yolanda. I explained how I accidentally killed her lover in the stock room, and how she visited me and told me to forget about her. They encouraged me that other girls were out there and that it was foolish to continue loving someone that filed a restraining order against me. I thought back to the time I first saw Yolanda at the park. She looked so beautiful, but then I said "Bandy, you don't understand beauty. You need to escape this prison and open your heart to all the wonders of the world."

My pep talk to myself continued for some minutes as I reminisced about Claire who brought me food in the park and Kenny, my only childhood friend. As the buzzer rang when the dryer finished its cycle, I screamed out loud "Yolanda! You may have my heart, but I don't fucking love you no more!" The guard ran towards me and attempted to restrain me. I swung my arm around with all my force and smacked my forearm across his face. His nightstick flew out of his hand into the air as he toppled to the floor. I heard the sound of a swarm of guard's hard soled boots racing towards the room. We all lay on the ground and covered our heads to endure the seemingly never ending beat down. I was the last person to be interrogated regarding the incident and pleaded guilty to the story that the other inmates formed.

I was sent to solitary confinement for my actions. This was in a separate building located to the west of the four main prison buildings. The Hudson Correctional Facility was much different when I was there. Standards of prisoner treatment were harsh and bordering on torture. I was locked up in a small dark cell in this separate building and stayed there for an entire month. The room was large enough to stand and lay down in but not much bigger. The floor was cold cement and they didn't provide me with a blanket. There was a faucet with salty tasting water and a few loaves of stale bread.

When I was finally released from solitary, I was in a very agitated state. I uncontrollably opened and closed my mouth in a way that looked to others that I was chewing on something. My eyes were no longer clear and now riddled with red veins. My the skin was clinging tightly to my now visible cheekbones and my face had a hollow look to it. I was more pale than ever before in my life. When I got into my regular cell, there was a letter for me waiting on the bed. I looked at the name of the return sender and couldn't believe my eyes... Kenny!

Much of my time spent incarcerated was spent dodging glances, staying out of people's way, purposely not making friends, and of course, thinking. I thought about everything from my father to if this is where I imagined I would be in however many years. I kept coming back to the same conclusion, its all Yolonda's fault. Everything. Everything that happened. Even when I didn't know her I some how rationalized her involuntary involvement in and event in my life. I became angry because of these thoughts.

Four years passed and I got called down to see a visitor. I swore under my breath, but my stomach contained butterflies at the anticipation of who would be on the other side of that glass window. I sat down at seat number three and picked up the phone before even looking to see who was there. "what.", I muttered. "Hello, Bandy." My eyes grew wide and with an open mouth I looked up to see her. Yolonda. All the hatred I had built up in me seemed to disappear in the matter of a second. My heart leapt and raced and the knots in my stomach became tighter. She had a shorter hair cut now but still the same radiance she had always portrayed. The purple blouse she was wearing made her blue eyes pop, and the gold cross necklace that hung perfectly on her chest made her seem more angelic than ever. She somehow made the simplest things look like that of royalty. "Wh-..Why..or...who...aa-.." I couldn't form a complete thought because of the shock that overtook my body and temporarily paralyzed me and my ability to speak. She laughed and said hello again. "Why are you here?" was all I could think to ask her. She looked confused as the smile drained from her face. "Aren't you happy to see me?" she asked inquisitively. "Of course I am, I just..Its been...I mean, I'm here because...-" "I know". She looked at me for a minute and I felt like she could read my thoughts. I instantly flashed back to the last time I saw her as I was being carried away in a police car. "I'm so sorry" was all I thought reasonable to say. She smiled and said it was ok and that she was here to tell me something important. I perked up and rested my elbows on the small counter in front of me. I was thinking of the things to say in response to her confession of love towards me. I mean, why else would she come to see me? Why else would she remember me after all of these years? It was obvious that in her time away from me, I had latched onto her mind like a leech and refused to let go. To this, she decided to give in and miss me terribly each day until she finally broke down and realized it was time to come confess her undying love. What would be the appropriate response to something so great? Could this even be real? I didn't want to react too suddenly and make her think I was crazy...although, I might've already done that with the whole murdering her boyfriend thing. But I didn't want to be too passive and push her away. "I'm getting married", she said suddenly, "I wanted to come tell you because I don't want any problems when you get out. You need to forget about me and you need to move on. You're a great person and you have so much-.." I stopped listening because of disbelief. My heart just broke all over again and my anger flared up at twice the rate. How could she come in here to tell me that? Why wouldn't she just write me a letter? Why would she need to tell me at all? I interrupted her with the only response I saw fit which was "don't flatter yourself, bitch." Her jaw dropped as I hung up the phone and the guards escorted me back to my cell.

I walked briskly, well, as briskly as I could with shackles around my ankles, and with tears in my eyes. I would not cry. Men don't cry. Especially in prison. I kept coming up with different reasons in my head why I could tell my cell mate that I was clearly upset. I layed down on my bed and stared up at the ceiling in hopes that the tears would listen to gravity and just go back into my eyes. This didn't work. I began to weep as my thoughts overtook me. I should've said something different. I should've listened to her. Maybe she was going to tell me that she was just getting married for the remainder of my prison sentence so she wasn't lonely and then she would divorce him upon my arrival back into society. "This is fucking crazy.", I thought I said to myself until my cell mate replied with "I hear you, boy, I should've been out a looooong time ago.." I wanted to bash his head against the wall for intruding on my moments of introspection. Just when I was about to react on such a brilliant idea, I realized that it would only get me more jail time, which in turn was longer that I was away from Yolonda, which was longer that she had to be with her husband, and be unhappy without me. I couldn't have Yolonda be unhappy with a false marriage. Therefore I released my clenched fists and imagined a way to escape.

Days passed and the only conclusion I drew from my mind running in circles around Yolonda is that I loved her. I really loved her. Never once did I think it was unrequited, although in retrospection, I should have because it would've saved me from what was about to come next.

Bandy Prison Part One

After months in a holding cell and enduring the embarrassment of a public trail, I was sentenced with voluntary manslaughter. I was told by my public defendant lawyer that this sentence is sometimes called a “Heat of Passion” murder. For some reason I laughed when he told me this. Well, I had fifteen years to find a reason why I laughed because that was how long I was locked up. I'll get to my conclusion on that in a bit, but first let me tell you how prison was.

Being faced with the fact that my freedom in the world was lost took me months to get used to. At first I didn't talk to anyone and suffered from visual hallucinations. When I tried to sleep, Yolanda's eyes appeared underneath my own eyelids. For the first year, it never was important or upsetting to me that I killed a man. That fact was just an inconvenience that put a barrier between me and my love.

My inaugural year was fairly uneventful because I was in a secluded cell. I threatened suicide often because that ensured my single cell occupancy. During this time, I started getting used to the feeling of being imprisoned and began to adapt. I read for more than half of the time that I was awake. Reading so much started to open my mind to subjects I've never considered. Philosophy, history, and romance novels were my favorite types of books. The mixture of these subjects showed me for the first time that I can relate to people and gave me a feeling of confidence around others. I stopped acting suicidal and slowly started being a more reasonable human being. On a good day, I tried to joke with some of the guards. My sense of humor never went over well. They usually told me “Shut up Bandy” and banged on the bars of my cell with a baton.

In my second year I fared much better. I was moved into a larger cell with another man. When I was escorted to the new cell, the man was sleeping face down on the top mattress of a bunk bed. He had a bush of dark hair shooting in all directions. He wore the standard prison attire, but his seemed especially fitted to accentuate the large muscles of his body. He slept without a sound while I moved into the new cell. I hung up a picture I drew on the wall and put my books on a stack in the corner. I laid in the bottom bunk while cracking open a paperback book. When I'm nervous, it's hard for me to retain what I'm reading. I got to page sixty of the book when I heard a rustling above me. This made me realize that I had no idea what I just read. I didn't even know what book I was holding.

The bed started shaking and a pair of legs swung over the top bunk and swayed near my face. My new roommate coughed a few times. He then yelled “Yippee” and jumped out of bed and landed on his feet facing me.

Hey, guess we're roomies he said.
Yeah, I said and started nervously laughing. He looked me hard in the eyes for an uncomfortably long time and then finally broke my gaze by looking at the book I had sitting on my chest. He stared at the book deciphering the title and then looked back into my eyes. He started laughing obnoxiously loud and began snorting. He started to lose control of himself and even passed gas. I had no idea what was wrong. I looked down at the book and read the title, The Complete Idiots Guide to Amazing Sex.

My heart started pounding, I knew this was my only chance to make a good impression. I thought fast and looked at him directly. “Hi, my name is Bandy. I'm in here for murder.”

I guess by now you are wondering why I chose the name BandysBeard for this website. Ever since I was 18, I could grow a thick, full, and dark beard. I often admired pictures civil war generals and adventurous mountain men for their facial follicle prowess. Being homeless and on the move leaves me with little choice. Carrying around razors and shaving cream, and finding a private place to clean up has always been more hassle than it's worth. Due to my natural ability to produce an unusually bushy face covering, I decided early in life to let my beard sprout to the fullest.

When I went in to ask Yolanda for the job, my beard and mustache was trimmed neatly to about half an inch in length. The first months at my new job went surprisingly quick. Yolanda taught me how to run all aspects of the bakery including the working the cash register, washing dishes, and making baked goods. I had an instant knack for mixing and cooking flour laden treats from my years of cooking for my parents at home. When I was a kid, I had to invent foods with a sparse pantry sometimes filled only with a 50lb bag of flour, sugar, vegetable and salt (fried dough was a favorite of mine!). I always dreamed of the day when I'd have infinite ingredients at my disposal. With Yolanda at the Vanilla Tea Bakery, the possibilities were endless.

I was working steadily for around a year and was becoming really comfortable and confident about myself. With the money I earned, I moved into a one room apartment on the top floor of a building in the industrial district. The place was the first that ever truly felt like home. The noise of trains rolling along the tracks outside was very calming to me and reminded me of my train-riding days. I felt almost complete, but something was still missing in my life.

In my last post I mentioned that Yolanda and I fell in love. Unfortunately this is more a delusion of mine than actual reality. I began to have such strong feelings for her. I tried to flirt and playfully tease her, but my games were rarely reciprocated. After some of the worst days at work, I went back to my apartment and sketched pictures of Yolanda while crying. It was as if she couldn't fathom that her and I could even be together. She often talked about crushes and the dates she went on. I usually humored her, but it was torture for me. Sometimes I was so frustrated at her lack of interest in me that I locked myself in the work bathroom for hours.

The day when I lost my job still makes me nauseous when I think about it. It started off like any normal day for me. I rolled out of bed excited to go to my job and be with Yolanda. The bakery had ordered a few dozen too many eggs that were nearing expiration, so I had took a bunch home throughout the week. I made myself a giant garlic and onion omelet with six of the questionable eggs.

I left my apartment and walked the twenty blocks to the bakery. It was a brisk fall day which made me reminisce about the time my mother raked all the leaves in our yard and formed a giant pile for me to jump into. As I walked along whistling a flat blues tune my stomach started slightly rumbling like the agitated ocean before a hurricane.

When I got to work the door was unlocked, but Yolanda was nowhere in sight. I looked around the main room and didn't see her. I started to hear this strange noise like animals fighting coming from the back storage room. We occasionally had issues with raccoons breaking in and eating the bags of sugar. I figured this would be a repetition of that previous event, so I grabbed a broom and headed to the back. As I got closer, the noise sounded less like beasts and more like humans. I opened the door and saw Yolanda laying naked on a cardboard box with a man's head between her legs. I was at first shocked and excited to see my love naked. That feeling lasted for about five seconds until I erupted in a nuclear explosion of jealous rage. I took the broom in my hands and started whacking the unknown man in his head. The first blow was enough to knock him on the ground. He laid there unconsciously with a pool of blood forming around his head. I looked around in a moment of clarity and saw Yolanda's angelic body convulsing in horror. She looked at me as if I was a murderer. Her look shocked me so much that all of a sudden I felt a soft warm mass appear in the back of my pants. At this point I must have passed out. I woke up in a 10 by 10 foot jail cell smelling like sulfur...