Manson Gets A Roomie

The bleeding hearts really went over the top this time. They somehow came to the conclusion that Charles Manson should have a cellmate. It wasn’t fair to keep him locked up all by himself. How was he going to be rehabilitated if he was unable to practice his social skills? It was a ridiculous thing, of course. Manson was never going to be rehabilitated, and if he was, he still wouldn’t be released to the public. Hell, the guards were afraid of him. The Governor just laughed out loud when he heard about it. The prison warden went ballistic, using such words as “morons” and “piss ants” a lot. The head of the prison guards union thought up a couple of new curse words. He threatened a strike. The ACLU threatened to sue. Manson couldn’t be in solitary confinement all the time. So far, no judge has agreed with them. His first day in the yard had the Skinheads, the Latinos and the Black gangsters huddled in three corners and the guards taking the safeties on their rifles. Manson found that the smell of fear was the same smell he had.

This would really sew up the liberal vote for him. The other side thought he should be in prison with Manson. Yes, indeed, a roomie for Manson. Yes. Then the warden thought about it some more and realized that he had a big payback to dish out with Clyde Weston. This would be a grand idea if Weston were to be a roomie with Manson. The head of the guards union knew of a guy he’d like to see gone too. Yes, he would support this all the way.

First, they asked for volunteers. The prisoners, a surly lot at the best of times, hooted the warden off the little podium he had set up in the yard. He thought about using this in place as a means to punish cons by making them stay out here at night. Then he remembered it was California, but he feared a riot, so he didn’t. He finally agreed on a lottery system. These cons could never resist a bet, even if it was a con game. The unlucky winner was Clyde Weston. Clyde protested that he hadn’t entered the drawing. The warden asked if his name was Clyde Weston, and when Clyde said yes, the warden said that was the name on the winning ticket. There was no ticket, of course. Clyde said he’d as soon pass, thanks just the same. The head of the union told Clyde that he would help him pack, personally.

Clyde, accompanied by the head of the union, the warden, the Governor, and a pack of reporters, walked to Charles Manson’s cell. The guard opened the door, and Clyde froze. He couldn’t get his feet to move. Clyde was not going to go into that cell unarmed. Manson was crazy, but Clyde Weston wasn’t. No, he would not go in there. He was unprepared for the shove he got. The union guy, the warden, the Governor, and a couple of reporters all gave him a hand getting into the cell. Now he was doomed. He didn’t know how or when, but the fact was that Manson was nuts and had nothing to lose killing him.

When the prisoners had yard time, each corner was filled. The skinheads were in one corner; the Latinos in another, and the Malcolm X’s in still another. They were a jumpy lot. Manson had the yard to himself. He likes the idea. He wasn’t much for small talk and making friends.

Clyde looked at Manson. Manson was looking at an empty cot. Clyde figured that was the one he was to use, so he went over to it and sat down. He saw that Manson was a scrawny little guy. What is the fuss about? Then he remembered why and didn’t want to be here for real. Manson stared at Clyde real hard. Half an hour; an hour; two hours. The nut case doesn’t even blink his eyes, Clyde thought. Clyde was afraid to blink his own to be truthful about it. No way was he going to go to sleep here with this guy. Not ever. Then Manson blinked. He blinked! Clyde won a staring contest with Charles Manson! Wait, that might not be a good thing. It might be a bad thing. Manson may not take kindly to losing.

“Oh, hello. I was taking a nap. Who are you, and why are you in my cell?”

“I’m Clyde Weston. I’m your new cellmate. They made me.”

“Oh, yea? That’s a surprise,” Manson said. He didn’t say it was a pleasant surprise. He said, “Some people think I’m the Devil. Don’t you? What does the outside world think? You know that?”

“So I hear. But I hear a lot of crazy stuff.”

“Crazy stuff? That’s one way of putting it. There might be a better way of putting it.”

“I wasn’t referring to you, of course,” Clyde said. He’d have to watch how he said anything if he stayed and stayed alive.

“Why not” Everyone else does. Sometimes, I do it myself. What if I am crazy? I don’t really know. Sometimes I just give the illusion that I’m here when I’m somewhere else. The guards always seem glad when they can see me. I don’t know why. I know they don’t like me. I’ve never harmed them. I never said I’d come after them if I escaped into the real world, or what passes for the real world. I would go into one of my alternative dimensions. If they were there, I might have a word with them.

“Oh,” Clyde said to that. Oh, great. Stuck in a cell with a guy who thinks he’s the Devil and may well be. At least, he may as well be.

“ I’m surprised they gave me a roomie after what happened to the last one.”

Clyde didn’t want to jump off that cliff, but he knew he had to. “Why, what happened to the last guy?”

“He died. Right there in that bunk you’re sitting on. Don’t you smell something funny? The guards came in here yelling and screaming and stuff like that. It seems the guy had his heart ripped out. I mean out. They called for the doctor, but, man, he was really dead. No heart. I may have been dead too, although I was in plain sight, so I suppose not. The doctor checked him out for about ten minutes and said, ‘He's dead.’ I could have told them that. No heart, you know what I mean? Then they got to tearin’ the cell apart, looking for the heart. I told them I was heartless, so don’t look at me that way. They said they already knew that. They even looked under my bed. Why? Did they think I had something to do with it? They even looked in the toilet. They tore it apart. They sent guys down into the sewer. Hoe he’d get into the sewer, so I guess they were taking no chances. I could hear them hollerin’ and pukin’ and that. You know, they all think they’re so smart. Yet they didn’t even think of the stomach pump my stomach until way too late.”

Manson said he was just doing time until he got to Hell on a permanent basis. At least, that was his story. Clyde figured that was the truth.