Disclaimer: I don't own any characters of Downton Abbey. I'm simply borrowing them from Julian Fellowes to have a bit of fun.
As John Bates held the pen in his right hand all he would allow himself to focus on was the weight of it. The pen felt heavier than it should, it's thickness and metallic casing no doubt adding to the heaviness. It was merely a simple pen, and he only needed to use it to sign his name on a sheet of paper. He had read the information printed onto the standard white page more than once as he was buying himself time to consider if he really wanted to start an endeavor such as this. Would it be worth it?
For little over a year he had been calling the prison in York his home. He had learned the rules and game play of prison rather quickly in the first few months of being there, and had done his best to keep himself to himself. After a couple run ins with some of the other prisoners they had realized he wasn't one to be bullied or pushed around. He was relieved when they began leaving him be. The solitude had been his safe haven until recently.
He thought he could make it to the end of his sentence without feeling trapped. All things considered, his sentence wasn't near as long as most of the men in the place. He had been given grief about that at first as well. He thought he could handle the days as they came and went, simply going through the motions, but he found an emotion had actually found it's way to him in a place like this.
Loneliness.
Of course he was surrounded by people but not all the time. When he was in his cell, which was the majority of the time, he was alone except when he had a cell mate. He had had two companions since arriving, and they had both been transferred for one reason or the other. He never asked why. It was those times in his cell, after he had counted the cinder blocks for the countless time, that he realized he longed for someone to talk to; someone not in this God forsaken place. The internal struggle had been building within him to decide if that was something he really wanted, to write to someone he didn't know. Would it make him seem desperate? In a way, he guessed it would, but then again maybe he was desperate for communication. It was a basic human want or even a need. He began convincing himself that his time inside the foreboding walls would seem less daunting if he had some form of connection to the outside world even if he would never know who that connection was.
He had thought about the type of people who may want to be pen pals with a convict. His mental images and judgmental thoughts had swayed his opinion some on the matter. He pictured men and women who had a sorry excuse for a life and nothing better to do than write to people who would either never have a life outside the prison, or who would have a much different reality from the rest of society when they got out. How could he justify this notion though? Surely not everyone would fit into that category. Some people may reach out to comfort those who were locked up and not allowed simple pleasures which had been taken for granted. He reasoned he might end up corresponding with someone who fit that description instead of the former.
He had read the words on the paper to the point he was sure he could recite them, not that there were that many. It went over the process of how the program worked. It was self explanatory really. The pen pal he would be assigned sort of made the guidelines about what was communicated and how much was communicated. A physical address for the person would never be shared but a post office box instead. The cost of the postage would be his responsibility. When he entered prison, he was allowed to put money into an account. He hadn't spent a pence of it since he had been there, so the cost wasn't a pressing issue. The last part stated the correspondence could be as much or as little as wished by both parties. Well, at least if things didn't go as planned he wouldn't have to write very often.
"Are you going to sign the bleedin' paper or not Bates?" asked the now irritated guard who had given John the paper to look over.
John looked up, startled by the voice of the guard.
"It's not a contact. If you don't want to do it then I'll escort you back," he continued with a stern tone.
John gave the guard brief eye contact before he gripped the pen tighter and leaned over the paper slightly. He placed his left hand on the paper to keep it from moving and brought the pen to the line in which his name would be placed upon.
With a deep exhale, he moved the tip of the pen across the paper until his signature was complete.
It was official. He had signed up for the prison pen pal program.
Releasing the pen from his grip, he stepped back to allow the guard to take the now signed piece of paper. He wasn't sure if he felt relieved he had signed it or felt ill. It didn't really matter now. He had signed up and soon would be communicating with someone on the outside.
"Your assigned person will be given the information, and they will correspond with you first. Now, let's get you back," the guard stated before following John out of the room.
The lock lurked until it was firmly in place on his cell door. He took a deep breath of the stagnant air before sinking down onto his small, straight backed chair. His mind began to wonder as his fingertips rapped absentmindedly atop the small wooden table. He had never been one to revel in the unknown. It had never been kind to him, but this time he was taking the step into the unknown himself hoping it would make all the difference.
That night as he stretched out as best he could on the small bunk he called a bed, he couldn't help wonder who the letter might come from. Would it be a male or female? Would they be local or live internationally? Would they have anything to really write about? He decided he would not to be picky on the topics of conversation. It was a small blessing the prison even allowed this sort of thing. He would discuss anything really just as long as he could forget about this dreamless, dreary place if even for a short while.
His anticipation would get the better of him until the first letter arrived.