CLACK CLACK, CLACK CLACK

With cleaning time over, the pod is now open.

JJ heads to the phone. I stand just outside my cell, watching the inmates move through the section like little ants in a farm. A few go to the phones, some are walking laps, a card game starts at the tables, and a bunch pull out plastic chairs from a stack and plop down in front of the TV. Then there’s Officer Steroid, watching everyone like the bulging eyed evil cricket from A Bug’s Life.

I need to get my legs moving, so I head over and start doing laps. Round and round the tables I go, watching what’s going on around me, always out of the corner of my eye. After doing dozens and dozens of laps and getting lost in thought a few times, I glance at the clock. Twenty minutes, that’s it. Only twenty minutes have passed. What the hell kind of twilight shit is this? It feels like I’ve been walking for hours.

I do another full scan around the section, this time with the intention to find something to do. I see Dan walking laps on the other side, so I step out of the invisible track and stand a few moments while inmates pass me, then step back in next to Dan.

“What up, dude?” I ask after we both head-nod, acknowledging each other.

“Not much, how you doin’?”

We chop it up for a little while, making casual conversation.

“You play chess, right?”

“Yeah, you tryin’ to play?”

“Let’s do it. Uhh, how do we get the chess board?”

“It’s just like getting a razor. Go up to the guard station, give him your ID, and he’ll hand you the set.”

Great. Of course I have to go talk to Evil Cricket.

“Can I get the chess set, please?” I say, holding up my ID for the copper to take.

He stares at me dead in the eye for a few moments before snatching my ID and retrieving the items. Right as I grab the game, he startles me by barking at someone walking laps behind me. “HEY YOU, PULL UP YOUR PANTS. I DON’T WANNA SEE YOUR ASS HANGING OUT!”

Even though he wasn’t yelling at me, my anxiety spikes. My hands get even sweatier than usual as my heart starts pounding. This place has me so high-strung, but I try not to show any weakness. Not like the tough Hollywood types in prison who have to fight the biggest dude to gain respect, but more like avoiding the kind of weaknesses that would mark me as someone to be laughed at and disregarded. I want respect. I crave being relevant.

Stay composed, stay cool-headed, and keep control.

I just wish my hands would stop shaking every time my heart starts going.

I love everything about chess. I love the geometry of how pieces can move, the patterns, setting up traps on defense, and putting together offenses that take tremendous foresight. I love how kings of old used to play this game to settle wars and land disputes. I love how teachers and masters have been using it to teach their pupils applicable life lessons and strategies since the 6th century AD.

But what I love most right now is being able to lose myself in the shifting puzzle before me. I can tell right off the bat that this guy is pretty decent, but I want to know from game one how good he actually is. I’m not playing to win this game; I’m throwing moves at him just to see how he responds. I want to know if he’s a risk-taker, if he’s aggressive. I want to know if he’ll take the seemingly gimmick piece without looking at the bigger picture. I want to use chess to understand psychology.

Why do people do what they do? Why do they act a certain way? What makes a person likable or unlikeable, and why? These are the questions that drove me to study psychology, philosophy, religion, and neuroscience.

When I had a sales job, I could slip into different personas depending on whom I was selling to. Understanding people’s behavior made me very successful. But it wasn’t my gift of gab that made me special, but more-so it was my ability to listen to others. I was really good about taking time out of my sentences to make sure their words were heard and understood.

I truly believe that’s the main division separating humanity: people who actively listen, and those who do not.

I win the first game, which was close by design. I build up his ego by acknowledging the little traps he set during the match. He says he’s surprised at my skill level and tells me he hasn’t played many good players.

“Obviously, we are of higher intelligence by sheer fact that we are chess players here, not checkers,” he says while we set up the next game.

Yes, my new friend here fancies his smarts, and a man like this will be easy to keep in my corner as long as I stroke that side of his ego regularly. “Ahh, good trap here and here and here” “You put me in a very tight spot!” “This is gonna be tough to get out of!”

But it’s not. He’s not subtle enough with his setups, and it’s easy to counter when I can see his strategy so clearly.

He has potential to be better though, and I’ll subtly train him to a point where he can be more of a challenge. More important than winning a game is finding something stimulating to do with my time.

More important than something to do with my time is not going insane.

CLACK CLACK, CLACK CLACK

It’s 9:00 PM. Most of the sixty-three other dudes I live with are all fist-bumping and singing the song “goodnight homie.”

End of Chapter 3