Solitary Refinement Chapter 1

Dearest Elizabeth June 18 2017

I hope you and the children are well. I miss you guys so much it’s painful. I still cannot believe I’m in prison. Convict, inmate, incarcerated, prisoner, criminal. I never ever thought that these words could be used to describe me.

It all sounds so fruitless to tell you now but it’s just like I said in court. I had been laid off from my job, more workers than they could afford once some of the investors pulled out of the contract. I didn’t want to come home from work early to tell you I had to look for work again, not again.

It was raining that day so I took the bus. When I was at the bus stop I was talking to a guy about how he hasn’t seen me at this time of day before because I just got fired. He was a big guy, broad shoulders, shaved head. He told me he owned a business and was actually looking for able bodied men who take directions well.

“I can do it! I’m your man, let me see it’s Friday today so I’ll get you a resume and references and meet you on Monday? Does that work for you?” I said to him.

“ That won’t be necessary, I trust your word. If you tell me you’re solid I’ll believe you. Just don’t let me down.” He replied.

That bastard! He was so friendly, so kind. You always said I was too trusting of people and I should have listened to you. What was I thinking! Getting hired at a bus stop without any kind of interview or anything. I should have smelled the bull shit right away but I couldn’t, all I could think was how I wouldn’t have to tell you I’d lost my job.

I was so happy. I’d been saved. After one day “working” with this man I find myself slammed in jail, the court, and now here. All so fast.

Day one he just told me that we were just picking up some cash from somebody who owed him on the way to the work site. So we pulled up to the back of this building and he told me to wait by the door with a bag. I just stood there waiting, totally oblivious they were robbing the place until alarms started ringing and cops showed up to cuff me. The bag I was holding had a gun in it I didn’t know about, the other guys had bolted out a different exit.

Now I have to listen to the people here drone on and on about things I really can’t care about. They keep talking about programs that they offer here. Education, skills training, that sort of thing. So many guys here haven’t even finished high school. For me though it all sounds so pointless. They keep reminding us to take our programs seriously as they prepare us for rehabilitation into society. I know how to live in society! I was real good at it too. I had a job, I paid taxes, I got educated. I was a construction worker for goodness sake I was the damn poster boy for responsible citizen. Working hard to support a family, rain or shine. Exercise in the evenings, cycling to work to reduce my carbon footprint. All the stuff these programs are supposed to prepare me for. Now I’m stuck here for five long years.

I can’t even pretend to care about how any of that matters. Right now all I can think of is how today is Father’s Day and I’m in prison. I’m going to end this letter now and go to the visiting area in case you guys decide to surprise me with a visit. It’s the only thought that’s gotten me through the day.

Sincerely,

Your Husband

Dear Elizabeth

I hope this letter finds you in good fortune. I know you must be weary from minding both children all on your lonesome, I hope the money I left you is enough to support you until I’m out of here.

They say that crime doesn’t pay, I should have listened because here I am, rotting for my crimes. I always knew that getting caught was a risk, that’s why I made sure to hide the money in more than one place. One place the cops would find and one place where you could find it and use it while I’m gone.

Don’t worry about the store I lifted it from, it’s all insured. I know it was a gift shop for sick kids and some people might think that’s messed up. I just thought nobody would expect it or have prepared for a robbery at ‘Lil leppers toy shop’.

I write this letter by candle light.

Remember the candle lit dinners I used to make you? Or the times I had candles throughout the bedroom when I would try to be romantic? I was never very good at that.

This candlelight is decidedly different.

I need it to see by even in the middle of the day. My cell is so dim, even with a small window. I suppose window is a generous term. It’s smaller than the piece of paper I’m writing on and it’s more than an inch thick. Tarnished and dark with dirt on the outside, and even more so from the sins of men on the inside.

What did you tell Allister about why I’m gone? When you read him books and when he makes up stories about great heroes and terrible villains, does he understand that I am one of the villains?

And Olivia? Do you make sure you dance with her and watch her spin? Does she know she’s beautiful? I think the worst part of all this is not being there to make sure she knows she’s precious.

And you, my darling, squeaky pie, first mate. You already know, but I’ll say again. I’m so sorry I’m not there with you right now, warm next to you in the bed. I’m sorry I’m not there to be with the kids. I’m sorry I’m not there to drive in the snow and make you coffee you won’t drink because I always make it too strong. I’m sorry I can’t stink up the kitchen when I cook for myself and you have nobody to watch spooky shows with.

I love you.

I love you more than tacos, beer, and coffee. I love you more than Christmas day and New Years Eve.

I didn’t realize what I had to lose before it was gone and I was stuck here.

I know now.

Being away from all of you is the worst punishment imaginable. If I could go back to the time of sentencing and choose between jail time and having both legs removed, I would happily choose dismemberment.

When I first got here I was counting the days. After a while that stopped, after a while everything feels the same. As though my senses have been cauterized by this brutal monotony.

Sleep, get screamed at, eat, get screamed at, outdoor time, get screamed at, chores, get screamed at, eat more, sleep more, get screamed at more.

It all blends in my memory to a strange grey mass of fear and screaming.

I used to judge the others based on their crimes too. That also stopped after a while. At first I thought,

“ the murderers and rapists, they’re the ones that really belong here. I’m better than them.”

After a while that thinking dissolves. We all knew the rules of the society we lived in, and we all broke them.

It’s the price of admission.

In a month my automatic opinion when I walked in a room went from:

The tall rapist sitting alone to Ricky who’s allergic to strawberries.

The murderer who’s really loud to Kyle who really hates peas and takes cream in his coffee.

Trevor, oh Trevor. He got here 4 years ago for robbing a bank. His wife had cancer and couldn’t work anymore. She’s died since. 6 years ago, he won a silver medal in the Olympics for javelin.

At first You walk into the mess hall and see a collection of crimes attached to faces.

Now I see a collection of men paying for their sins. After you share a thousand colourless tasteless meals with a group of people, after you fold a thousand identical white t-shirts; you start to feel the things that made you feel so different before just kind of evaporate and become unimportant.

It’s not like you’d think. I don’t feel overwhelmed by evil, I feel overwhelmed by the fact that anything good never gets to grow. It’s not the amount of badness that gets to you, it’s that it’s not countered by any goodness; none that lasts anyways. It just breaks my heart that any brilliance is wasted, any beauty shrouded, and any generosity or charity something to be punished for.

I miss the outside. I miss the sky on days it’s so bright and so blue it hurts my eyes a little. I miss Olivia peeing on my side of the bed. I miss the kids yelling from the bathroom for me to come wipe their bum. I miss your cooking. I miss the smell of fresh cut grass on the rare occasion I remembered to cut it. I miss the shape of you, and the smell of you.

I miss you. I hold on to the memory of you at all times. When I get out will you be there waiting for me? Will you forget me? Will you still want me?