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.

 

 

Man Accused (Part I)

Part I

His name is Samuel Gawain. You’ve never heard of him. Sam never had a television show, never ran in a fifty yard touchdown to clinch the big game. Hell, he never even picked up your trash or put that can of Pringles on the shelf in your grocery store.

                Samuel had a family once, and I’m not here to tell you that they’ve completely forgotten about him. It wouldn’t be true. What wouldn’t deviate from the truth would be to inform you that even they began to wonder whether or not Samuel was as innocent as he claimed.

This didn’t happen overnight. They were there to answer the probing questions oozed by even the vicious members of the media. They (along with a large portion of their church congregation) picketed the courthouse before, during and after the trial. Through it all if his innocence was questioned, they shouted down the claimant with facts and faith, and love.

Loving husband of eleven years. Father of two kids. Deacon. Active volunteer with the Humane Society. Most of all; He’s never hurt a fly. There was one problem with all that.

In the latter portion of the trial, the prosecution had produced an eye witness.

Samuel’s family had a great deal of tools to combat those that seemed bent on locking away their loved one, but when this eye witness came forward Samuel’s family was stifled.  

The eye witness informed the court that Samuel had not only hit the victim with his car, but had not even bothered to stop and check on her status.

Samuel watched the eye witness with a measured look. He was not exactly an old man, but could no longer be described as young. He had thick black glasses and a pale blue faux leather jacket. The more the eye witness spoke the more his frizzy hair rocked precariously back and forth atop his head. His name; Detrick Bush.

Samuel continued to study him as he spoke. Bush wasn’t lying. At least in the typical sense of the word. Samuel knew he did not hit that woman. Further, he knew that this man Bush believed that Samuel was the cause of that woman’s death.

At first, Samuel abhorred the man, cursed Detrick Bush and his damn testimony. Worse still, on more than one occasion, pictured himself bludgeoning the eye witnesses’ already lifeless corpse. This feeling of hatred Samuel carried bottled-up inside him throughout the two week trial.  It wasn’t hard, only too pointless to act , Samuel just knew that if he was to make a move to harm Detrick or even only speak out in anger, he would prove the witness’ point.

So Samuel sat in silence as his freedom faded away. The days in the courtroom got longer, the thoughts bleaker. Within a few days, his sentence was rendered. Quite simply, he was separated from everything he ever knew and loved. 

Days became weeks, and after Samuel’s relocation his remaining relatives and friends became more distant. Those that visited did so less often after only a short time.

His wife and children came every Sunday, making the three and a half hour drive. Regardless of the hells he endured through the week, Sundays made it all worth it. He got an hour, in a large cafeteria-like visitation room. Samuel would hold hands with his wife, ask his children about what their weeks were like. He would give advice when it was prudent, but remain silent in order let them make their own mistakes in some cases. At the end of every visit, Samuel would be ushered away, as his family was escorted from the room. His wife would cry, he’d join her. And then, by force, his emotions would begin to wear away at his truths. Back in his cell, he’d question their love, their faith, their trust. Samuel realized he was breaking down the foundation of his own family in his mind. After further contemplation, he grasped that it was probably happening in the real world as well.

Weeks became months, some friends wrote. Though it was likely they did so out of some sense of duty and guilt. Though one acquaintance insisted that Samuel’s wife had begun seeing a fellow parishioner.  Samuel wrote back expressing his confusion as to why someone that called themselves a friend would see it fitting to communicate such news, true or otherwise. The letter was never sent, Samuel trashed it instead.

At the end of the first year, Samuel got to go before the parole board. A hearing was held. Samuel was placed before three directors of the prison. His counselor, and two individuals he had never met; the warden (Samuel has noticed a picture of the man at some place and time during his stay), and a man that Samuel had never before seen, but who was announced as a chief of security.

The trio lazily flipped through files that no doubt detailed every horrible thing Samuel had ever been accused of, a timeline of his behaviors and actions up to this point while incarcerated and several other partial truths. He was informed that although he had no instances of poor behavior, it was too soon for them to have an in depth understanding of what his sustained conduct may look like over time in comparison to his full sentence.

No reduction in time, no freedom.

Liberty had become a vague and mythic concept. Something that was talked about but never seen, or held by only the extremely rich, and thus unattainable by the common man.