Love makes us crazy. But in prison, according to Chris Dankovich, love makes us do crazy things.
In prison I had tried to reform my criminal ways, but love makes us do crazy things…
The rose was a vibrant, unfurling vision of crimson so vivid that I could see it against its green leaves, despite the fact that I am almost completely red-green colorblind. A rare and expensive cultivar, it grew in front of the warden’s office, mere inches from his window. The ancient canes were fat, full, and refused to die… remnant of a long-shuttered horticultural program that hadn’t been around to prune them in ages. Without fertilizer, without regular watering, the bush not only managed to carry on like an old lifer too stubborn to give in, but thrived here against the Southeast-facing wall that, just by chance, provided the perfect amount of sunlight, protection, and radiant warmth.
I walked past beautiful roses for years…giving a new meaning, and a bit of irony, to the old proverb to “stop and smell the roses”. But here it was true, and the rough-around-the-edges teen boy I had come to prison as fell by the wayside as I came to love the flowers of each Summer. For eighteen years, I walked past this place three times a day on my way to meals. Seasons changed, and so did I… seasons changed, and each year, the roses bloomed anew. Each petal was a whorl of satin, a gentle ruby floating in an emerald sea. I noticed them, appreciated them, loved how something simple and beautiful could grow in this thorn-filled environment.
One day, two years ago, I fell in love. I didn’t know her before coming to prison, and I didn’t know her for my first sixteen years inside, but I fell in love with a beautiful girl who reached out to me after reading something I had once written, like a voice answering an echo you once shouted to the sky. She knew me in this way before we met, my innermost self, and in turn I fell in love with Cooper as I came to know her.
Seeing the roses bloom again, I found myself with a sudden need to gift my girl a bouquet. Fortunately, she is understanding about what I can and cannot do, given my prison sentence. But love had me wanting to give her the best. I decided that she deserved one of these roses…
While I walked past the rose bush daily, snatching one of the warden’s roses was not so easy. It was about ten feet into a no-man’s-land where prisoners are not allowed, a place within view of the officers patrolling the area, directly in front of the warden’s giant picture window. I had to wait until the moment was right. I bided my time, waiting for the right moment to come.
It was a cool Summer morning, the sun not yet above the horizon, when I saw my moment. Officers were facing away, yelling at someone for some reason. I recruited T-Dog to watch out for me, kneeling on the walkway, pretending to tie his shoe. I crouched down slightly, waiting for his go-ahead. When he gave it, I did a combat roll to cover the distance. Landing directly before the most beautiful, brilliantly shaped rose, I looked into the warden’s office and saw no one there. I tried to snap the step, but this was one tough shrub, very appropriate as it spent more time in prison than I have. I came prepared though, and took out my fingernail clippers. Clipping it faster than I can my thumbnail, I got the rose and slid it gently into my oversized coat pocket as I merged again with the prisoner traffic heading back to our cellblocks. Dodging the officers as they stood there standing guard and making observations, I made it back to my cell. The great rose heist was complete.
Once in my cell, I did what any hardcore convict does, and pressed my flower petals between pages of a book. A few weeks later, they were dry and flat, and ready to be handled. I made a collage of a bouquet for my lady, and I could hear her smile when we talked on the phone after she received it. That alone was worth the trouble I could have gotten in.
***While this relationship did not last, I was blessed with having someone I wanted to steal a rose for – someone who once cared for me, and whom I cared for – despite my circumstances.
Chris Dankovich #595904
Thumb Corr Facility
3225 John Conley Dr
Lapeer, MI 48446
