by Susanne Beck
That’s not a good place to be in, especially given what this gang represents. I can only hope that we can all hang in there until someone steps forward to claim the mantle of leadership once again.
As for me, well, if the gods are kind, it may be the last day I sit in this cell that is no longer a home for me. Donita kept her promise, and tomorrow, I’m scheduled to be transferred to the county jail to await the beginning of my trial, which starts the day after.
She’s brought some beautiful clothes for me to wear. She says I’m innocent and should look the part, instead of coming to court in the guise of a convicted killer. It’s amazing how much the styles have changed in the five years I’ve been here. I wonder what else has changed?
I suppose it’s best to keep that question tucked away for now. I’m nervous enough having to go up in front of the public to rehash the events leading to the death of my husband five years ago. I haven’t been able to eat anything substantial (even if the cafeteria served something that could be called that) in the past couple of days, and sleep seems more like a distant memory than a living reality.
Donita has already informed me that I’m going up on the stand. What if they don’t believe me? It’s been five years. My emotions, when I think about the killing, aren’t the same as they were then. What if they think I’m lying and that I have no remorse for what I’ve done?
Donita’s coached me well, playing the DA’s role and, frankly, scaring the living crap out of me several times with her lines of questioning. But she assures me that I’m ready. That I can take on the world.
I just wish I believed her.
PART 18
WELL, DONITA KEPT her word. Here I am, in a tiny, cramped cell in the county jail, scribbling on a bright yellow legal pad that she was nice enough to give me. The court was recessed today after opening arguments, as she said it would be.
I wasn’t surprised by the prosecution’s angle, having heard it, almost verbatim, five years ago. In the DA’s eyes, I’m still a jealous, possessive harpy who couldn’t stand the fact that my husband wanted a little time with the boys after work.
Donita was simply brilliant. Her opening arguments were clear, concise and to the point without a wasted word or over-dramatization. She was the consummate professional and appeared magnificently prepared. The jury, which this time was a nice mix of women and men (my previous jury had only the two women sitting on it), seemed to me to eat up her words, and a few times, I thought I caught them looking at me with compassion in their eyes. At least, I hope that’s what it was.
Nothing to do now but stare at the walls and wait to see if I can sleep tonight.
Fear and time make strange bedfellows.
It’s been five long years since I last graced this place, and the fear is still here. Only it seems to have changed direction. Five years ago, I was afraid that I was going to go to jail. Now I’m afraid I’m not going to get out. And, conversely, I’m also afraid that I am going to get out.
Was it just such a short time ago that I asked Ice why she didn’t just up and move away after she was released from prison the first time? Could I actually have been that naïve, that condescending? Just the possibility of that happening with me causes my stomach to jump rope inside me.
My family has disowned me. All of my friends are prison inmates. The degrees I’ve earned are about as useless as the paper they’re printed on. I have no home, no job and no money.
And yet . . .and yet, I still have that sometimes damning sense of optimism about everything. The same sense that sat here next to me five long years ago when I was battling for what I thought was my life. The same sense that tells me, despite everything, that Ice is still alive out there.
What I’ve discovered, you see, is that, no matter how much we might not want it to sometimes, life does go on. The world keeps on spinning. And if we’re really lucky, we learn something along the way.
I’ve learned that love, and companionship, and a simple sense of belonging can be found even in the deepest pits of one woman’s hell. I’ve learned that sometimes good things happen when you least expect them. I’ve learned that freedom isn’t something that can be taken away; only given up. And I’ve learned that no matter what happens to me in this life, I have the strength to overcome, adapt, and even to thrive, despite, or perhaps because of, the adversity thrown in my path.
Would I be the same woman I am now, with the same strength of purpose, if those events five years ago had concluded differently? Perhaps. Perhaps, one day, I would have been able to find this strength on my own; the strength to leave a loveless marriage and a husband who saw me more as chattel than partner. Perhaps.
But without the love and guidance of Pony, Montana, Critter, Sonny, Corinne and, most of all, Ice, I might never have truly realized what I was capable of. I love them all, very much, and will always carry them in my heart, no matter what the outcome of this latest trial.
Enough philosophizing for one evening. Time to lay down and see if my insomnia has become a permanent condition.
* * *
I had a dream.
It started out like the one just months before, with the huge courtroom and all my accusers (the embodiment of my guilt, I told myself rationally) dressed, literally, to kill.
But this time, when each person stepped forward, preparing to place the yoke of guilt around my neck like some blackened albatross, I found myself responding differently. I accepted responsibility for those things I might have done wrong, but refused the weight of their anger for things that could not be changed.
Perhaps I could have been a better daughter, a better friend, a better wife. Looking back on my life from this new perspective of maturity and experience, perhaps I would have made different choices back then.
But the words I had spoken with such conviction to Ice on those long ago days finally bore fruit in my own mind. The actions I’d taken, the choices I’d made, came from within the soul of a good woman. I accepted responsibility for them. I owned them. And I long past paid my debts for them.
Finally, after a lifetime of living under my own soul’s oppression, I put paid to my guilt and let it go. And when I did that, all of the figures who had come to accuse simply vanished in a clean-scented mist.
It was an incredibly freeing feeling.
The mist coalesced into a shape of shifting colors. The outline became more distinct, finally resolving itself into Ice. Her face and form were covered in a shimmering radiance and her hair was blown back from her brow by a non-existent breeze. She smiled, and it lit up the room.
"Ice!" I screamed in my dream, almost delirious with joy. I ran toward her, only to be stopped by her upraised hands. "What?" I asked. "What is it?"
"I need to ask your forgiveness, Angel," she replied, her voice rivaling the best Beethoven concerto in its utter beauty to me.
"Forgiveness? For what?"
"For leaving you. For not saying goodbye. For not giving an explanation."
I knew that there were a lot of questions I needed answered. But some part of me also knew that this was just a dream and I wasn’t about to ruin it with conversation. "Yes," I said, knowing that even without explanation, without words, I had forgiven her, just as I knew, by the love in her eyes, that, in this dreamspace at least, she had forgiven me.
She opened her radiant arms and I flew into them, feeling all the burdens of my heart tumble out of me as she enclosed me within her warm and loving embrace. It might only have been a dream, but the body in my arms was warm and solid, every curve and line remembered, every scent the same as the last time we’d embraced.
I started crying, begging whomever would listen to just grant that I would never wake up.
A hand clasped onto my shoulder from the back, as if trying to pull me away from Ice. I tried to hold on tighter, but as I did, Ice’s form became insubstantial again. I felt my arms go right through her. "No! Come back! Don’t leave me again!"
"Angel," a voice sounded in my head.
"Please, Ice! Come back!"
"Angel," the voice repeated.
"What!!?" I snarled, turning my head.
Donita, very much in the land of reality, stepped back, her dark eyes blinking in surprise. "Sorry to wake you," she said, softly. "You need to get ready. The jury’s just come back. The verdict is in."
"The ver . . . ." I sat straight up on the meager jailhouse cot, raking a hand through my hair and attempting to blink the sleep out of my eyes. "Already? What time is it?"
My lawyer looked down at her gold wristwatch. "A little after eleven."
"The case just went to the jury at ten. This isn’t good, is it."
Smiling, she gave my shoulder a little squeeze. "Not all quick decisions favor the prosecution, Angel. Let’s just go in there like we own the place." Her smile broadened. "I have a feeling you’re gonna like what you hear."
* * *
I’m free.
As I sit on a wooden bench outside of the courtroom, waiting for Donita to finish up her discussions with the judge (she is filing a civil suit on my behalf for wrongful imprisonment) I look down at that phrase I’ve just written as if reading it over and over and over again will cause it to sink in.
It’s such a small word, a minor word, and yet what it represents . . . . God, it represents the world!
As I sit here, I’m looking at a young gentleman with what looks to be his girlfriend. They just came out of traffic court, (the nice security guard told me that much—it’s amazing how much differently you’re treated when you’re sitting on this side of the bars. I’d almost forgotten that.) and they’re heading for the door.
And it just hit me. I can do that too. I can just get up off this rickety, scarred bench, walk those few feet down that highly polished floor, open the glass door, and step into the sunshine beyond. I could just pick a direction and start walking and not stop until my legs gave out. No bars or fence to hold me in; to keep me back; to keep me from people and people from me.
I’m free.
I can’t seem to write or think or say it enough. Free to do what I want, where I want, when I want and with whom I want.
What, where, when and with whom I’m going to do these nebulous things is a question I’ve neither asked, nor answered myself yet. It’s back there, simmering, but I’m gonna leave it there for awhile. I don’t want to spend my first few minutes of freedom frozen in terror like a deer in the headlights of an onrushing semi.
Donita, bless her huge heart, has offered to put me up until I can get back on my feet again. I didn’t answer her right away. I couldn’t. I need to exist in the moment right now. The possibility of a future is suddenly too overwhelming for me to consider.
She smiled in understanding and slipped a business card into the breast pocket of my woolen blazer. She knows I’ll call her once I come down off this cloud I find myself on. I know I will too.
After all, where else can I go?
* * *
Donita gave me a lift back to the Bog so that I could collect my personal belongings and say goodbye to my friends, who were really my family.
How do you say goodbye to people you’ve shared every waking moment with for the past five years? How do you thank them for giving you their love, their support, their friendship? How to you express your undying gratitude for the many times they’ve saved your life and even your soul? What words can you possibly use to cover the enormity of your feelings for them?
I found myself in the strangest position. It was almost surreal. I was allowed to stay in the visitors’ room while my belongings were gathered from the prison to be brought to me. The door into the prison itself was locked against me and a guard stood at my side, for my protection, no less.
Whereas before I was barred from getting out of the Bog, now I was barred from stepping into it.
The door to the prison side opened and Sandra stepped through, her face wreathed in a smile, and her hands filled with a cloth sack bearing my worldly possessions. Placing the bag on the table, she opened her arms, and I ran into them, hugging her hard and starting to cry.
"Angel," she whispered, her own voice heavy with tears, "I’m so proud of you. I knew you’d beat this. We all did."
"Thank you Sandra," I blubbered, holding her strong body close. "For everything you’ve done for me. You helped make this place livable and I’ll never forget that. You’re a wonderful person."
Squeezing me one last time, she stepped away, drying her tears on the sleeve of her uniform. "You made this place better for everyone just by being here, Angel. Thank you. It won’t be the same without you. I wish you only the best of luck in your life. I know you’ll do yourself proud. With a heart like yours, how could not?"
Clearing her throat, she gave me a watery smile. "We seem to have quite a lot of inmates who’ve requested a visitor’s pass for today. Coincidentally, they’ve all requested to see the same visitor. Mind if I show them in?"
Wiping my own tears away, I managed a smile. "Of course not. I’d like to see them."
"Alright then." Grinning, she opened the door.
The sound of cheering, shouts and clapping filled the central square as women streamed through the doorway and into the visitors’ room. I could hear the sounds of my name being chanted with a tenor and an excitement almost rivaled Ice’s entrance into the prison five years ago.
A giddy smile broke over my face as my friends came inside, hugging and kissing me. There were a lot of tears and a lot of laughter, just how I imagined a real goodbye to family and friends might feel. It warmed me right down to my toes.
Pony, Sonny and Critter gathered around me in a tight circle, our heads bowed inward, tears streaming down our faces. Pony and Critter were both due for parole hearings within the next several months, and I had good feelings about each of them and told them so.
When we finally broke apart, I looked at each one individually.
"Pony, if you hadn’t been there when Mouse was trying to rearrange my face, I don’t know what I would have done. Thanks for being there for me and introducing me to the Amazons. Thanks for teaching me how to fight and how to stand up for myself. I won’t ever forget you." Leaning in, I gave her a light kiss on the lips.
Everyone in the room burst out into laughter as Pony’s face turned a fiery red. "Awww, damn," was all she could say.
I turned slightly. "And Sonny, thanks for everything you’ve done for me. Especially helping me build back my strength after my little flu problems. You’ve been a good friend." Grinning, I hugged and kissed her as well.
Returning my smile, she punched me lightly on the arm. "You’ve taught us a lot too, Angel. Good luck out there, alright?"
Nodding, I turned to Critter, my closest friend among the Amazons. We both started crying again, and embraced one another tightly. "You’re the best, Critter," I whispered in her ear.
"So are you, Angel," she whispered back. "I won’t ever forget you. You made this an okay place to be."
Holding the hug a moment longer, we then pulled away and kissed. Reaching up, I brushed the tears from her eyes. "Knock ‘em dead at your parole hearing."
She laughed through her tears. "If I do that, I’ll never get outta here."
From her place in one corner, Sandra cleared her throat, looking faintly chagrined. "Alright, guys, it’s time to get back out there."
There were a few grumbles of good-natured protesting, but then my friends began to file back into the prison, each one touching me and wishing me goodbye and good luck as they passed.
Soon, the door closed with a muted click, leaving the guard and one other person left behind.
Corinne.
Seeing her standing there, her face a curious tableau of loss and pride, I, for the first time, broke down completely, running into her arms and hugging her soft body tightly to me.
It was only with this woman, who was more of a mother to me than my own would ever be, that I could feel safe enough to let the fears of my future out of their tightly locked clo
set. Like a small, lost child, I sobbed on her shoulder. Even the sweet fragrance of her sachet, which will forever signal ‘home’ to me, failed to comfort me. "Oh, Corinne," I sobbed, "what am I gonna do? I feel so lost. This is my home. You are my family. I don’t know if I can make it out there."
"Nonsense," she murmured back, sniffing away her own tears. "You’ll thrive out there, Angel. You’re one of the strongest people it’s ever been my privilege to know. You’ll do just fine. All you have to do is believe in yourself."
"But how do I do that? I don’t know if I have the strength . . . ."
Pushing me away, she gripped my shoulders in an almost painful grip. "You listen to me, Angel. You have the strength of twenty people. You brought a hope and a joy to a place which, before you came, had none. We might have taught you how to exist here in the Bog. But you . . .you taught us how to live."
"But . . . ."
"No ‘buts’, Angel. You did what you did to a bunch of hardened criminals with little hope for a future. You taught me how to feel again, something I thought could never happen. For the first time in a long time, I look forward to getting up in the morning. You did that. No one else. You." She touched my chest with her finger. "That heart of yours is as big as the whole world out there. It’s been caged long enough. It’s time to go out there and show everyone else what you’ve shown us. What you’ve shown me."
Taking off her glasses, she wiped at her eyes. "I think I’ll unlearn this crying thing, though, if you don’t mind," she grumbled, polishing her glasses before balancing them on her nose once again.
Reaching down, she picked something hidden on the chair behind her, and held it out to me. It was the tiny bonsai that Ice had made for me for our anniversary. A fresh yellow ribbon adorned its trunk. "Here."
As I took it, fresh sobs starting again, she handed me something else. It was the book I’d given to Ice, also on our anniversary.
