He's a super nice guy...
But he really does wiggle a lot. So, I've named him, "Mister Wiggles." No one on the staff or any of my fellow prisoners knows this, and they never will. It's just a name that I've given to him for the benefit of the readers of this journal, and for myself as well.
Mister Wiggles is thirty years old. Obese with a youthful look and a cherubic face. Black rimmed eyeglasses and brown curly hair cut short. The type of looks you'd never expect to see in a maximum-security prison. Having grown up in a modest size upstate town, he appears out of place among hardened men.
Mister Wiggles is handicapped. He has to use a wheelchair to get around the facility, and also needs physical assistance in other ways. I'm one of his caregivers. He's an otherwise friendly individual whom I'm just getting to know. He's talkative much of the time. But since he sometimes battles depression, there are times when his words will be few.
When I first met Mister Wiggles after being assigned to him, I could not help wanting to know what he's doing in prison. Out of respect, I didn't ask. But he volunteered to tell me about his criminal case. It's your typical opioid story. A regular user of marijuana, the guy he'd buy weed from on a regular basis, offered him the chance to make money plus get some free marijuana if he'd agree to sell pain pills for him.
Mister Wiggles began to do just that. He started to peddle opioids for his dealer. It went well for a while, but the end game was arrest and incarceration. He ended up with a twelve-year sentence for selling to an undercover cop.
I think he was fortunate in a way. He could've gotten much more time. But the judge, seeing his condition, took pity on him. I see Mister Wiggles every day. Unable to sit still in his wheelchair, he would sway back and forth, and wiggle a lot. Hence his nickname.
D. B.
Mister Wiggles is thirty years old. Obese with a youthful look and a cherubic face. Black rimmed eyeglasses and brown curly hair cut short. The type of looks you'd never expect to see in a maximum-security prison. Having grown up in a modest size upstate town, he appears out of place among hardened men.
Mister Wiggles is handicapped. He has to use a wheelchair to get around the facility, and also needs physical assistance in other ways. I'm one of his caregivers. He's an otherwise friendly individual whom I'm just getting to know. He's talkative much of the time. But since he sometimes battles depression, there are times when his words will be few.
When I first met Mister Wiggles after being assigned to him, I could not help wanting to know what he's doing in prison. Out of respect, I didn't ask. But he volunteered to tell me about his criminal case. It's your typical opioid story. A regular user of marijuana, the guy he'd buy weed from on a regular basis, offered him the chance to make money plus get some free marijuana if he'd agree to sell pain pills for him.
Mister Wiggles began to do just that. He started to peddle opioids for his dealer. It went well for a while, but the end game was arrest and incarceration. He ended up with a twelve-year sentence for selling to an undercover cop.
I think he was fortunate in a way. He could've gotten much more time. But the judge, seeing his condition, took pity on him. I see Mister Wiggles every day. Unable to sit still in his wheelchair, he would sway back and forth, and wiggle a lot. Hence his nickname.
D. B.
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