ConAir

Is knowing better than not?

Having spent years in places where I wished I could understand what people standing in line or sitting on busses were chatting about, I sometimes fear I am missing out on something interesting. However, when I return to my native language environment, I remember that 99% of what people say, particularly on a plane, is not worth listening to.

Once in a while though, the casual eavesdropper hits a jackpot. That was me on a domestic flight this week.¹

Look, I didn’t enter into this situation voluntarily. I had committed to finishing Helen Macdonald’s wonderful Vesper Flights (Kindle’s on sale!) on this flight. She is a lyrical writer on the natural world, humanity’s complicated relationship to it and the coming climate apocalypse. It’s precise and terrifying without being hysterical.

As I took my seat, two men in the row behind me were already engaged in a conversation.

“I was released at 6am this morning from federal prison, after 12 years. Last time I flew it was on a much different plane and I was in plastic handcuffs.”  At hour four of freedom, this guy really wanted to talk it out. His seatmate, a middle-aged guy, really wanted to ask him about it.

Sorry, Helen. ConAir is about to take off and I’m 100% going along.

This being America, there were at least 100 dark turns such a conversation between strangers on a plane could have taken. But the seatmate was humble and interested. The former prisoner, clearly having done some work, was insightful, self-aware and articulate.

Over two hours, I learned about COVID in the federal prison system (he’d had it, as had most prisoners); America’s prison industrial complex and his thoughts on carceral reform (badly needed); changes in “compassionate release” policies that took authority to decide which prisoners could appeal for it away from the prison system and gave it to the prisoners for judges to decide; the technical skills he’d learned working on the prison construction crew; what he expected life in a halfway house would be like; and, how he would behave throughout ten years of supervised release to make sure he didn’t end up back in the pen.

I had a lot of questions. Fortunately, his seatmate seemed able to read my mind through the back of my head, so I resisted the urge to turn around, lob in a question or two while getting a good look at these two. Instead, I feigned extreme interest in the desert below.

But man, 12 years in the federal can is not nothing. What was this guy in for? I was dying to know. Surely they had discussed such a critical detail before I tuned in. From other details I will not share, I concluded it was not for violence or white-collar type activities. Drugs? Maybe.

As I deplaned, I apologized to the two for eavesdropping on their conversation. From a professional perspective, I complimented the seatmate on his excellent questions. I wished the former prisoner good luck. I expressed my sincere good wishes for his future.

But then, in violation of my professional policy of “don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to,” I said, “I must have missed the beginning of this story. Can I ask what you were in for?”

“Computer-based sex crimes.”

“Oh, dear. Well, then. I wish you the best of luck.”

“Oh, dear.” If anyone can offer a more articulate response I’d love to hear it. I still don’t know what the correct reaction to that information was. “Oh, dear.” Really?

In hindsight, he did provide some clues I ought to have picked up on. But he also demonstrated a degree of general knowledge of the federal prison system that any sentient human with few distractions would pick up over 12 years. As a non-expert on prisons, at the time I didn’t notice any particular nuance to his observations.

Thinking back over the seatmate’s lines of questioning, I doubt he knew until I asked. Did he feel regret or relief for not having known this key detail during the flight? How, if at all, did his perception of the former prisoner shift? Was he glad lady eavesdropper asked what he didn’t or couldn’t? Did he wish I’d kept my trap shut? How did he plot the story when he told his wife about it?

Some days later, I feel like I could have lived without knowing that answer. But the former prisoner answered directly, without hesitation. The problem was mine, not his.

On the next flight, I was surrounded by a family with four screaming children. It’s pretty obvious which flight I preferred.

1. I am withholding a lot of details for reasons that will become clear in due time.