"A" is for ...

He’s a loner—the white prisoner sitting near the front of my classroom; most of my students prefer to sit in the back. But this guy, he knows all too well that you don’t come to prison to make friends. He says to me, “Can I see the ‘A’ World Book,” and I reply, “No problem, ID card first.” He’s not happy surrendering his card and tells me so. “Don’t lose it,” he says, “I’m not paying for a new one.”

For the next hour or so I observe him studying the “A” World Book. He’s taking notes. Before class ends he asks if I’d be so kind as to copy a few pages for him. “Let me see what you’ve got,” I answer. He retrieves the book and places it on my desk, along with a sheet of paper indicating the pages of interest. Here are the topics:

Airport security.

Ammunition.

Artillery.

“I’m not copying this for you,” I tell him.

Now he’s pissed. “When I get out,” he says, “I’m gonna kill as many people as I can.” There’s very little emotion in his face, only that look of determination. He tells me I’m no better than the librarian who wouldn’t approve a book he wanted. I try to lighten-up the conversation a bit. “What book?” I ask. He studies my expression to see if I’m interested in helping him out. I maintain my poker face. “’American Sniper’ by Chris Kyle,” he responds. “It’s about a Navy SEAL who kills a lot of people.”

I start laughing, which catches him off guard.

 “What’s so f*%^ing funny?” he asks.

I tell him that my dad just finished “American Sniper” and that he really enjoyed it. He tries to be nice again, he asks if I’d bring it in for him. I guess you can’t blame a guy for trying.

Side note: No longer considered a flight risk, I'll be leaving the country soon