“Calculators is cheatin’!” It was an outcry that parallelling what the painter who is told to use a camera rather than a paintbrush might exclaim, or what the singer who is asked to use autotune instead of his own pure, unadulterated voice might say. It was the characteristic abhorrence of calculators by someone who appreciates math as a form of art, as one of the activities in which humanity engages to impart circumstantial perspectives of the uniquely human experience. Sure, delegating to a machine can be efficient, but it also deprives us of exploring and marveling at things often overlooked. My friend's indignation was my excitement.

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His name is Odies, but he goes by Smoke. He had asked me a few days prior if I would help him prepare for the math portion of his upcoming GED exam. Of course I agreed, being the guy at the institution that everyone seems to go to for math help. I was particularly excited to help Smoke, because although we couldn't be more different, we get along quite well. On top of that, he kept mentioning how much he likes math.

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It only took a few minutes with him to see just how true that was. He definitely knew what he knew, and he had a blast doing it. Within the hour, we covered our table with papers filled with long division calculations. Our war against calculators was a productive one. We were having fun, but even this was difficult for Smoke.

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He was shot in the arm the day he was arrested. It left him with a condition that causes painful nerve damage, and it also atrophied his arm. There were a handful of times that we had to stop so that he could do nothing but endure the pain and consequence of a 16-year-old mistake. Unsurprisingly, this didn't stop him. He has a quality about him that I can only associate with fire, and anyone who knows him likely agrees.

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Maybe that's why he never became discouraged after he got a problem wrong, or when he didn't understand something. He worked hard, smiling brightly when he learned something new. It struck me that my friend never smiled so often. Prison left him during those moments. What it left behind was that which remains invariant in us all, but also that which the ugliness in the world would have us believe does not exist: pure human spirit.

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Prison sucks that out of you, if you let it. If you're not careful, you'll find yourself sullen. You'll give up on yourself and the world too. It becomes a state-sponsored dose of what psychology calls learned helplessness. Suffering intermittently from these conditions myself made it that much more of a delight to see Smoke further relieved from them, especially as he fights his other ailments.

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Math relieved both him and me of these conditions during our study session. We didn't have to make any jailhouse wine, take any weird drugs, pursue any adrenaline rushes, or exercise until we fell on our faces. It's an obscure notion, but math helps people in prison! When I told Smoke about the PMP, his eyes widened. He was surprised to hear that such an organization existed. He wanted to sign up right away!

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We agreed to sit down once a week or so for a study session. He is excited to begin his adventure. I'm excited too. It's like I get to relive parts of my ongoing adventure vicariously through his new journey. He is waiting to be paired with a mentor. Whoever does get paired with him is in for a treat!

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