Italics indicate brief lyrics from Hotel California by the Eagles -a  great song many people know the words to, however, this story does not in any way suggest that this song has anything to do with prison or crime. That should be obvious to all readers.

We were both ten years old, wild and free, and as was customary after a little league baseball game, we avoided going back home immediately at all costs. Usually that involved riding our bikes all over town, buying pop and baseball cards at the grocery store or at a local bar or perhaps going to another player’s home.  This time, Cliff kindly invited me to his home.  So we rode our bikes from the baseball diamond in the center of town to the west side, mitts fastened to handle bars, and still in uniform. We rode possibly ten miles, but we had no idea about mileage back then, nor did we particularly care.

“Cliff, why did you stop in front of the State Prison gates?” I asked.

“This is where I live Carson.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were in trouble Cliff?”

I hopped back on my bike, turned around and started pedaling back home at a brisk pace. Then I hear him yell at me, “It’s ok Carson, my dad’s the warden!”

I thought to myself, this could be heaven or this could be hell.

I took a deep breath, then came back and the guard smiled at Cliff and saluted him but he glared suspiciously at me while we were allowed to ride our bikes through the first set of gates into the minimum security area of the prison. I didn’t know what minimum security meant at that time, but I know we were inside the barbed wire, but outside the looming concrete walls. I noticed there were actually several average looking houses on the grounds, inside the barbed wire, with little yards, and I thought that was super weird.

He showed me his house – it looked like all the others although a little bigger I guess. I do remember that he had a large box filled with what I estimated to be 100 baseballs (give or take 50), a rack of 10 baseball bats, and baseball mitts galore. It was baseball playing heaven, that’s for sure, and I thought Cliff was lucky – although I wasn’t sure what the pressing need was for 100 baseballs.

“You wanna have lunch Carson?” Cliff yelled as he waved me into the house.

I nodded cautiously and went carefully inside. We sat down at the table and waited. Then a towering man appeared and at first, I thought it was a walking oak tree, but he was breathing and wearing either orange or stripes – I couldn’t remember, but I do know I had to cock my head straight back to see his smirk. They say he was a trustee.

“You like beef?” said the towering oak.

“Um sure,” I said.

Then he dropped a slab of meat on the table, and it landed with a thud, and said, “Thick or thin sliced?”

We are all just prisoners here of our own device.

Then I saw it and shivered from head to toe. The glistening meat cleaver in his aircraft carrier hands, descending down onto the clearly already dead meat sitting on the table in front of me.

They stab it with their steely knives but they just can’t kill the beast.

“Got to go Cliff!”

Last thing I remember I was running for the door. I had to find a passage back to the place I was before.

I pedaled so fast, I was home in record time. It’s been so long I’ve forgotten most of the details but those are the ones that stick like peanut butter on Wonder Bread.  I am sure however, I never told my parents about this little adventure.  No, never do that, otherwise I would be grounded for doing something so stupid.

They say you are the sum total of all your life experiences and when you die they flash in front of you like movie scenes.  I wonder if this will be one of those scenes.  Either way, Cliff, if you are still around to read this, I don’t know if I ever got to thank you for inviting me to the lunch I never ate at the Prison.

And I am not sure what life’s lesson I learned on this occasion, but I am curious, where did The Eagles come up with their lyrics for Hotel California? Listened to it the other day, and perhaps I understand now why I am so connected to the lyrics – it is like Déjà vu all over again for me, from a previous time in a young boy’s life.

© SRCarson