Prison Friendship: Finding Humanity in the Unlikeliest of Places

Andrew Krosch reflects on prison friendship — a fragile, complicated bond, shaped as much by unspoken rules and survival instincts as by genuine human connection.

Sometimes you’d swear it was a skit or someone having a goof. Here it’s just another part of the day-to-day grind that’s prison.

In describing my friend’s stride, I’ve compared it to a very gay ostrich that has arms instead of wings, that just snatched a purse and took off running. He may dart across the grass enclosed by the circular track, or may follow the track for a few laps, and then—as if the brief run had never occurred—downshift seamlessly to casually walk a few laps. Almost always alone.

We’re that kind of prison here in the upper Midwest. My friend doesn’t have to live in protective housing, but he’s not a welcome member of our small community. Typical, uptight, hetero male shit. If you talk to a gay dude, you must be gay. Not exactly an enlightened crowd. A lot of guys couldn’t care less one way or another, but when it comes to any kind of groupthink, everything is reduced to a tribal “us versus them.” You are who you associate with.

Choosing Prison Friendship Over Judgment

I walk with him on occasion. I like to think of myself as a reformed a-hole. A good person now. Maybe even a good Christian. Try to help when I can. He’s a man who’s been locked up for 30 years, and the best he can hope for is that if they can’t exercise basic common courtesy, they can at least leave him alone to live his life. We’ll talk about some kind of science topic or about classic rock. He’s a fanatic for a band named after the city of Chicago. And yes, Streisand. No, I’m not just being a dick. He’s definitely a huge fan. Hundreds of her songs on his JPay player. Our prison friendship is built on those shared conversations, not on prison politics.

He’s also a hopeless romantic. Falls in love so easily, at a glance. No, at a kindness. As my friend is late-middle-aged, the kindness of a younger person is in a sense life-giving. Recognition. Basic acknowledgement that he exists. A little attention. And all that follows. Misunderstandings. Basic kindness and attention aren’t the same as attraction and interest, and while most younger fellas are far more cosmopolitan, simply free of the hangups us older guys carry with us. Stigmas, whatever. They’re open enough to believe that people can be just friends, or simply just friendly.

How Prison Culture Kills Kindness

But not here in prison. Here, even the liberal, egalitarian, younger fellas aren’t immune to the concrete social constraints of prison culture. Just being decent, friendly, neighborly—to the wrong people—can get you in a major wreck with your own people. So you quickly learn to keep your distance, kill your instinct to be open, kind, because any interaction with a gay person can mean only one thing. Somebody’s giving and somebody’s receiving. And I’m not talking about fashion tips or haircuts.

I actually enjoy my friend’s company. But in small measures. Life in prison as an eternal outsider has weighed heavily on him, and he carries a level of stress and crisis that’s too much for a dozen people to bear. Or better put, nhe’s understandably wound up super tight and prone to drama-laden freakouts. The level of loneliness this one man bears, and the fact that he’s still relatively sane after all these years, is a testament to an incredible inner strength and fortitude. That’s the quiet resilience that defines our prison friendship.

Prison Friendship in Small Doses

I don’t hang out with him, not really. But I don’t shun him either. For the most part, he’s treated like he doesn’t exist. As acknowledged as a potted plant in a doctor’s office. Which is why I can, with a little twist and turn, pat myself on the back and call myself a good person, maybe even a good Christian. For exercising the most basic human decency. Offering a kind word. Listening. For what averages out to about three minutes a day.

You know what this flipping guy does? He’s my next door neighbor and a super picky eater. You’d think when he’s got a tray or a dessert to give away, he’d maybe give it to the one guy who actually treats him halfway decent? But no, some random dude who just happens to be walking past. Every single time.

Then it dawned on me, a few minutes before I started writing this. Whether it’s a conscious choice or not doesn’t matter. He knows he doesn’t have to buy my kindness. He already has it for free. That, in a way, is the purest form of prison friendship.

Interested in reading more? Check out My Friendship With a (Falsely-Accused) Sex Offender in Prison

The post Prison Friendship: Finding Humanity in the Unlikeliest of Places first appeared on Prison Writers.