A Prison Break Ch. 02

I couldn't remember if I got her to say she wouldn't be crazy and try hooking out in public. I thought I had asked already. I couldn't muster the guts to bring it up again. "Now, you want to tell me what we talked about at the end of last night?"

"There's no point. You've already said in a few ways that last night was a huge mistake. So... talking about anything last night... doesn't matter anymore."

Something was obviously upsetting her about the end if not the entire evening. I tried to think. It was at the last, the part I just could not remember. "I don't agree it doesn't matter."

"Well, I don't agree with you not agreeing."

I sighed. "Okay, let's stop thinking and talking about last night for a moment. Now... would you please tell me why you hate me so much?" I figured I might as well ask.

"I... I don't hate you." Her eyes welled up again.

"Okay, you don't hate me. Could you then tell me why you have the attitude towards me?" I emphasized the word for emphasis, not to be an asshole.

"Maybe it's... it's you who has the attitude, not me."

I was either still in an alcoholic haze or she was living on another planet. I lit another cigarette, then sipped my soda. I tried to remember the other things I had planned to say about last night. I kept drawing a blank.

Lana finally looked at my face. "So... is this... this talk finished?"

"What do you want to say or tell me about last night?"

"Nothing. So... are we done with this talk?"

I crushed my cigarette in the ashtray and pushed my chair back. "In a second. I'll be right back."

Lana exhaled sharply as she stared at the center of the table.

I went to my bedroom and wasn't sure if what I was going to do was good and right, or extremely stupid and wrong. I picked it up and returned to the kitchen. I walked up to her. She didn't look at me, just kept staring at the center of the table. "This... this isn't payment for last night, it's... I don't know what to call it. But... you should have it. I offered her the fifty dollar bill. She looked at it.

"I don't want that!"

"All right. I'll leave it on the dresser in my room, it'll be there if you want it. Don't think of it as payment for last..."

She broke in, "I DON'T WANT IT!" She shoved her chair back, got off it opposite me, and started walking quickly to her room.

I had clearly made the wrong choice. I knew she needed spending money. That's why I was giving it to her. Or... was it a blackmail payment? Maybe it was a loose end of last night I just wanted to get rid of. Hell... I don't know. I bet though, that if I hadn't offered it to her, she'd have shouted a demand for her money. Why did she play me all week with the teases, then prop me last night, to just refuse the cash today? None of this shit made sense to me! I figured I should apologize to her, even though I would find that irritating as hell. I heard her bedroom door slam. Shit.

I held the bill and slowly walked down to her room. My other hand formed a fist and I raised it to knock. I froze. I heard her crying. My gut knotted once again plus that sensation that I was something lower than scum. What the hell was going on? She was the one who said 'let's fuck,' not me!

I spoke softly, "Lana? Are you okay?" I knew it was a stupid question. "Open the door, let's..."

"GO AWAY!"

I tried to think of something else to say. I had no idea what was going on with her. I was still dealing with a hangover and obviously I couldn't handle it and her at the same time. She was upset, I had no idea of how to help her. I looked at the fifty in my hand. I turned and went to my bedroom. I put it on the dresser, then was going to lie on the bed and saw it was stripped. I went to the mud room and started the washer, then returned to the bedroom. I closed the door and lay on the mattress pad, using a bare pillow. I switched on the radio to NPR, soft volume, voices to fall asleep to. I dozed off about ten minutes later.

I awoke from a fitful sleep, sweaty, my T shirt sticking to my chest. Someone was pounding on my door. "What is it?!" I swung my legs over the edge of the mattress. For some reason I had a vision of a cop hammering on the door. A wave of fear coursed through me.

"I want my money!"

I rubbed my eyes. "It's on the dresser. Come in and get it."

The door flew open and banged against the doorstop. I looked up. Lana was in her short black skirt, but with white sneakers not the shitkickers, and a black T sans the rips. She grabbed the fifty off the dresser, then headed out the door.

"Where ya goin'?"

She didn't turn around nor slow down. "Out!"

For some reason, I got really pissed and almost ran after her, but didn't move from the bed. I muttered, "Fuck the little bitch." My gut tightened thinking about the drive and visitation tomorrow. I lay back and fell asleep again.

* * *

CHAPTER 7

We were not quite half way to the prison. The day was hot. I had my window rolled down all the way. The AC had stopped working a few years ago. I glanced at Lana again. She hadn't said anything since getting into the truck. Her arms were folded over her chest. She had been staring out her rolled down window since I had pulled out of the driveway. Her fairly long brunette hair was flying around her head in the wind.

She had gotten home around midnight last night. I had been watching TV. If I hadn't said "Hi" she probably wouldn't have said anything to me as she walked passed the couch on her way to her bedroom. She didn't slow nor look at me, but did say, "I'm back."

This morning she wandered out of her room about nine o'clock. I was in the kitchen having a double espresso, maybe it was a latte because I had milk and sugar in it. She didn't say anything to me, just walked to the fridge and said, "We need more orange juice." She was wearing the long sleeve top and the running pants. She had a drink of water, then started back to her room.

I had said, "We'll leave same time today, in about an hour."

"I don't think I'm going."

My gut had tensed. "Lana... you have to go."

She turned around. Her eyes glaring. "Why?"

"We both promised Barb to visit her every week. And she's your mother."

"Maybe... maybe I don't wanna go anymore."

I'm sure my eyes glared back at her. "It's not about whether you want to or not. It's about Barb, your mother." I had nearly growled my next line. "Be ready at ten."

I knew I might be cutting my own throat telling her to come with, or possibly saving my ass if she came along otherwise Barb might keep asking why Lana hadn't come, and knowing me, I'd fold and tell her the truth. I always had a hell of time lying. I blamed that on my Catholic schooling, the goddamn nuns, ethics, morals, all that shit just caused me to walk around full of guilt and feeling like a sinful prick, not able to enjoy a fuckin' thing.

She just glowered at me for a few seconds, then turned around and went back to her room.

She had been ready at ten.

I glanced at her again. She was wearing another surprising outfit. A loose, medium blue T shirt, pleated, beige shorts that went down to her knees, white anklet socks, and her sneakers. I had never seen her in shorts like that.

I broke the silence. "Are you going to tell Barb about being accepted at those two schools?"

Lana waited ten seconds to answer. "No. I told you. It doesn't matter."

I sighed. It was going to be another visitation from hell today. I almost wanted to thank Lana for being a little bitch again. It was taking my mind off my guilt, shame, and regret about cheating on Barb. Maybe she wouldn't be able to see it in my eyes today. I started worrying about it again, and that goddamn ball of guilt inside started expanding.

Once in a while, I'd buy a takeout lunch and bring it, or some treat for Barb, fruit or candy. Last Easter I brought her one of those candy filled baskets, the ones with color cellophane over them. I didn't do that kind of thing very often because I had to ask permission in writing 21 days prior to the visit. Then if I got the permission, we had to arrive early so the guards could check it, then after that, it usually took forever standing in line to get the food miked at the single microwave in the snack area. I also didn't do it very often because the Saturday before I'd most likely be dealing with a hangover and not have the energy to go to the grocery store. Maybe the hangover made me not give a shit too. As we turned into the prison parking lot, I wished I would have gotten some sort of treat for a diversion during the visit if nothing else, but that would have entailed changing the rules of the state penal system.

We went in through the visitor's entrance. We signed in and put our metal stuff, other than coins, in a box which was locked up and we were given a numbered tag. One time I almost asked, 'Does that mean my handgun and switchblade?' Luckily I hadn't had a couple beers before check-in. You don't say that kind of shit in a prison. One time some little boy had a small jackknife. The fuckin' guard went ballistic on the woman with the kid.

The lines for check-in wasn't bad today. One line for men and boys, the other for females. I knew the guy with the wand today, well, knew his name. "Hey, Antwan, how's it goin'?"

"Copacetic, man. Wazzup with you?" He moved the wand up and down my spread inseams.

"Same ol', you know?"

"Gotcha on that, cuz. Turn around."

To be honest, once in a while, after a few beers, I'd actually get jealous, thinking Barb might be screwing one of the 'screws', the guards, here. You always hear about that kind of shit happening in prisons. Or... maybe it's on fictional TV shows. It's gotta happen. I mean, women in prison, male guards, quid pro quo and all that, and there had to be quite a few really hot lookin' chicks here. Barb being one.

So far, Barb hadn't been lesbian raped. She was more concerned about the gangs and the drug trade, but so far she had gotten by. The prison was segregated by race-- black, white, and Latino by blocks or floors or whatever they called the groups of cells. It was also overcrowded. For her first three months here, Barb had lived with 200 other inmates in the gymnasium. For some time, I've wanted to ask Barb what happened to black Hispanic women, what gang they'd be in. I never have though because I try not to ask questions that remind her of her situation. I let her bring that stuff up. I mean, I'll ask about prison life, but before I open my mouth, I always try to make a judgment on what would or wouldn't bum her out even more.

From the very start of Barb's sentence, Lana and I had made a rule for ourselves, that whoever got through the check-in procedure first, would just go into the cafeteria and wait for Barb, or meet Barb if she got there before us. I usually got through the line first. I did today. I tried to spot Lana in the line to just give her a wave or nod, but she was probably standing behind of one of the fat women in line. I went into the cafeteria. I looked at our usual table. Barb was there. She waved. That was a good sign. I made my way to her.

The cafeteria was divided by race too, I mean even on visiting days. At first I thought it was somewhat odd that everyone, at least the regular visitors, would sit at the same table every time, I mean within each racial group, but then I realized it was just human nature, you know, what's known is most comfortable, that sort of thing. I guess most people don't like change, even in small things.

Barb stood up. We hugged and kissed. Nothing overly romantic. Definitely no tongue. That was enough for her to get visitation privileges taken away. I tried my damnedest not to think about cheating on her two days ago with her very own daughter. I whispered our code into her ear. "Your week go all right?"

"Yeah. It was okay."

That didn't mean she had an okay week. That meant she hadn't been raped, threatened, physically harmed, or forced to do some shit by some other prisoner or a gang. Sometimes Lana and I walked up to her at the same time. The code was so I'd know whether to immediately tell Lana to give Barb and me a few minutes alone. Even before Barb was incarcerated, I wondered if there'd be anything I could do if she had been threatened or assaulted. I'm sure the guards or administration would say she had to report it, and as far as I knew, at least from movies, you don't snitch in prison. Some of the women inmates I'd seen during the visitations were very frightening. In a room alone with them, I would have been scared. Muscles bigger than mine.

We sat down. I held her hand on the table. "So, how was your week, really?"

Barb gave me a sad smile. "It was all right." She glanced towards the door. "Is Lana with you?"

My gut tensed. "Yeah, longer check-in line for women." Most of the visitors were women.

Barb blinked. "You know, that... that makes me feel so much older."

My brow pinched. "What?"

"I guess Lana is a woman now."

I tried to give her one of my warm smiles. "Barb, you are anything but an old lady. Jeezuz, c'mon."

Her eyes teared a little. "Thanks for saying that."

I thought about that photo in Lana's linen closet. I really wanted to ask Barb about her parents, get her to expand the story of the 'disowning,' but I didn't want to get her sad. Barb's other hand came onto the table. It also held my hand. I saw her eyes tear up. I spoke softly, "What... what is it, Barb?"

"Nothing. I'm... I'm just glad you and Lana come and visit every week."

I again felt like the biggest asshole extant. I leaned towards her, held her shoulder with my free hand and kissed her cheek. I moved my face in front of her but her head was still bowed looking at our hands. I spoke softly again, "Are you really okay, baby?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I'm... just being silly." Her hand on top of mine rose and her fingers wiped her eyes. It returned to my hand. She cleared her throat softly. "How... how are you doing with... the sober thing?"

I sighed and leaned back in the chair. Years of shame and regret surfaced again. "I'm..." I exhaled. "I'm a weak, lousy, stupid, undisciplined man, Barb. So... not doing so well with the sobriety thing. I... I keep trying."

She looked at me. "You're not stupid, or weak, and... and I know how hard it is to stay dry."

"How are you doing with it?"

"I... I guess the group is helping. I... I'm still getting very depressed, but... I guess I don't think about having a drink all that much anymore when I get sad or... or frustrated." She rolled her eyes and an embarrassed smile appeared on her mouth. "Like it would matter in here. Although... I think it's possible to... to get alcohol in inside."

I quickly spoke, "Don't."

"I wasn't planning to."

"So the group therapy stuff is helping?"

"I... I guess. It's sad, but... better than those AA meetings I've gone to. I guess... we talk about more than drinking. I mean... maybe it's helping me to know other women have had... bigger problems than me. Sometimes though... well... all the time really, you... you have to watch what you say too, so... so no one has something on you."

"Yeah. I figured." I saw her eyes well to the brim.

"I... I've been thinking about... about..." She let go of my hand again and grabbed a few napkins to wipe her eyes and muffle any sobs.

My heart sank. I knew what she was going to say. I knew what she was thinking about, about who actually. Barb was racked with guilt. She was thinking about the sixteen year old boy she had killed with the car.

"I... I tried to write another... another... l-letter to h-his parents, b-but... it's... always... the s-same. I... kno-know there's n-nothing I c-can say th-tha..." She started crying harder.

At her sentencing, Barb had turned to the angry, grieving parents. She had started sobbing, saying she was so sorry, that she'd do anything to change that night, telling them she knew whatever she said meant nothing to them, but that she'd be sorry and full of regret for the rest of her life. I had been glad she hadn't said she wished she was dead instead of their son, for a couple reasons. One being that would mean Lana would be parentless, and two, the kid had only been a few hundredths of a point below the legal alcohol limit himself. It had been 1AM or thereabouts, past curfew. Where the fuck were the kid's parents then? Barb's lawyer had told her not to contact the parents in any manner. I think that had to do with the civil lawsuit they had against her.

I shifted my chair closer to her and put my arm around her shoulders. Her face turned towards my neck. I saw one of the female guards staring at me as I kissed Barb's head. She quietly sobbed a few times. After about a half minute, the guard started shaking her head. I kissed Barb's hair again, then gave her an extra squeeze with my arm. "Honey? Sorry, but I'm getting the eye about the hug." Inmates could hold children as long as they wanted, adults or teenaged kids were different.

Barb nodded. "'kay." She got it together, sniffled and then pulled away.

I shifted my chair slightly away from her. The guard gave me a nod then looked at another table. Barb reach for a fresh napkin and blew her nose.

Lana walked up, pulled out a chair and sat down. She stared at Barb's bowed head as her mother wiped her nose a few times. "Hi." Lana folded her arms over her chest.

My gut knotted once more. Shame, guilt, regret, all that crap rose within me. I was angry at Lana for not at least giving Barb a brief hug. I glared at her but she didn't meet my eyes.

Barb gave Lana what I had started calling a 'frown-smile,' then rose from her chair, walked around the table and leaned down to hug Lana from behind.

"Hi, honey." Barb kissed Lana's temple. I watched Lana's head lean away from the caress.

"I said hi already."

"I know." Barb frowned, then gave Lana's head a kiss before returning to her chair.

I stood up. "How about I get us all sodas? Diets for you two?"

Barb nodded. "Uh-huh."

Lana exhaled, her eyes stared at the high windows. "I don't..." She took a breath. "Yeah, diet."

I headed to the bank of vending machines, my gut in turmoil, wondering what Lana was saying, if anything, and if she was staying mute, how Barb might interpret that. I had planned to get it out of the way early. If it was going to explode, why get more anxious waiting for it to happen? There were a few people at the soda machine waiting. I went to one of the candy machines. I got three different candy bars, then returned to the soda line. I looked at the table. Lana was still gazing at the windows but I saw her mouth moving. Barb at least didn't look shocked nor was she crying. I took that as a hopeful sign.

When I returned to the table with the sodas and candy, neither were speaking. I handed the cans out and put the bars in the center of the table. "I'll eat the one that's left over."

Barb looked at her daughter. "Lana? Which one do you want?"

"I don't care."

From zero my ire shot up to nearly the explosive point. It happened like that sometimes. "Which one do you want, Barb?"

She looked at me instantly. Her eyes slightly larger than normal. I must have had more edge to my voice than I thought. Barb said, "You pick first."

I had an almost undeniable urge to take my arm and sweep all the damn bars onto the floor. What the hell was the title of that really old movie... Jack Nicholson, something about playing the piano and an asshole father? Whenever it was I saw that movie, it seemed really dated but I recalled relating to his character a lot. He had used his arm to sweep all the dishes off a restaurant table because the waitress was giving him a hard time. I told myself to cool down. I looked directly into Barb's very pretty blue eyes. She really was beautiful. "All right, but... you pick a number from one to three."