Man Accused (Part II)

It wasn’t long after the hearing that Samuel started to realize how much he had memorized about his own cell. He knew how many individual bricks made up the space (632), how many times the cell’s previous inmate had had a bowel movement (789), and the all-important how many - how many minutes it would take for the toilet to refill after a flush (2.5). Had Samuel wished, he could’ve calculated if done back-to-back how long it would’ve taken the cell’s previous occupant to do all that business based on the timing of the toilet, but he never got quite that fed up.

                Of course to keep things interesting, there was the occasional cellmate that came and went (through no fault of Samuel’s mind you). They just came in, got a better deal with less time, or plea bargained their way right out of prison altogether. Samuel himself had been through three already.  Only one had bothered to learn his real name, the other two just called him “Slick” because he liked to keep his hair trimmed and styled when he had product to do so. For a long while his wife made sure he was stocked up on it. She’d allot for it by putting money on his books, this allowed him to purchase hair gel (along with several other personal items) straight from the prison’s commissary.

Years four, five and six came and went, after such a long time, Samuel no longer worried about the hells he faced inside the can, it was what he lost outside that kept him awake at night. There was of course the loss of his wife, tarnished relationship with his children, and barely existent friends. The strain of these integral parts of his former life being eroded away sometimes brought him to his limit. And although one might not think of it immediately, there was also the light anchors of simple things; like being able to go to the corner store on a whim and get a Twinkle and a Mountain Dew, or seeing a movie on Friday night. These too, seemed to drag him down, even being austere pleasures, they were still denied.

At what Samuel knew to be the 17^th day past his 7 year mark, another Sunday visit was upon him. As his wife made her way into the room he quickly noticed that his children weren’t with her.

                When Samuel began to ask about the boys, she interrupted and begin vomiting words in his direction. She hadn’t even sat down. She had stopped awkwardly in the middle of the room. It was hard to tell exactly what was being said between the tears and the velocity with which the words were being dumped upon him. Samuel was able to pick up the message. Seeing Leon…Time to move on…I’d like a divorce.

                He listened intently, it seemed after the brunt of her emotion had been jettisoned she was finally able to slow her rate of speech, and the tears dried up. She produced a few sheets of paper and a pen. She held it towards him, her hand trembling. By the time Samuel had taken the documents, she had already steadied herself.

                Samuel signed the document, and a strange memory wormed its way into his mind in that instance. He thought of Detrick Bush. The memory of the man had become less of a presence for Samuel over time. But that didn’t mean he still didn’t ponder the man that had put him here and altered the course of his life forever. Derrick didn’t have a personal vendetta.  Derrick simply thought he was correct, had believed he was doing nothing more than the right thing. Derrick had accused Samuel, pointed a finger in the hopes that another person’s life might not be impacted by a perceived threat.

                In nearly twice the time that most people stay at a fulltime job these days, Samuel had learned quite a lot in prison. Stay sharp, focused. Keep your head up, but mind your business. Forgiveness shouldn’t go hand in hand with forgetting.

                Samuel handed the signed papers back and whispered, “I forgive you. Please have the kids write me.” He called for the guard, and was escorted away.