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 17th
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.
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