by Zöe Richards

 

It’s hot, the August air is thick. I move my wrist slowly towards me, dragging the weight through shadows and the wet, warm night.  4:21. I remember my front left pocket, and the cigarettes I left inside.

“Hey, ey!”  My voice sounds higher than I’d like it to.  “Hey, let me get the smokes from the pants I came in with.”  The shadowed guard stays still and stiff.

“Come on man.  I’m dying.”  He rises from his metal stool and shakes a Parliament from his pack. 

“Take it.”  I do.  Another night I’ll pass removed from the world, smoking to pass the time.  My eyes follow the yellow puffs of smoke and watch as one after another hit the wall of iron bars I lie behind. Like a river carving away at the earth. 

 

Today is Sunday, and Ruby’s hanging from my neck.  I’ve just finished painting the porch again, and she’s thanking me the way wives do.  Her sweet, familiar kisses linger over my shoulders, but my eyes are on a little imperfection on the railing; a tiny, insignificant bubble.  Inside there’s a trapped bug, sucked into the toxic paint.  He’ll probably always be there, unnoticed.

 

My lunch date is having pear and walnut salad with oil and blue cheese.  She seems underdressed for a business meeting. 

“Tell me,” she pauses to crunch down ice.  “Because I think I’m not hearing you correctly.  You’re going to bring me the two hundred price coopers, and I’ll give you the 60 tritons.  Seriously, Lars, you must be, clughlhh” she chokes on her drink.  “Hmmhm, you must be kidding.”

I’m tired, and try not to listen.  She’ll invariably have more shock to express.  “You’ve been working for Garrison how long now.  I’m going …” she continues on, and I can sink down into my hand.  I hate this job.  I’m sick.  Her breasts frown at me, and all I want is to get the hell out of here.  My nostrils flair; it smells as if they burned someone’s toast.  “…come on, I mean we all know it’s not even possible to take her seriously…”  She’s still going.  My sleeve looks dusty, and I let my head drop down, thankful for the darkness.

 

“Ei, bitch I’da beat you the fuck out of Oakland if…”  I focus on the ground beneath my feet, try to ignore it.  Here, every day is the same.  Walks at two through the barren courtyard, monochromatic dinners and lunches, low voices, clanking, fights.  All the wonderfulness of life, all of the little, daily mysteries we experience have been eliminated.  There’s nothing to wonder. 

 

He sticks out his hand, and I accept, although I didn’t have to.  He notices I’m sweating but I don’t avoid his eyes.  This is the first time we’ve met since that day at the bank, and, God willing, the last time I’ll ever see him. 

“So you’re clear on how it’s being divided up.”  I just want this over.

He laughs. “You brought the money?”  Jesus Christ, I’m a fucking thief.

“Yes.” 

The dried corners of his mouth turn up. “Good.”  I stiffen my body, try not to cringe. 

 

The kids are together, splashing.  June has her water wings on.  This morning we  took Ruby’s car, and I’m still thinking of how meticulously she drives when she’s with the kids.  I love her for it.  There’s a bar here, and I’m tempted to get drunk.  The plastic $4.50/cocktail sign stops me.  The Claremont Country Club looks how I’d think the people who are members would expect it to look.  Clean, whites and blues and greens, filled with beautiful people tired from exercising.  I half expected them to be selling perfumes and teeth bleaching materials. 

“Daddy!”  I look to their wet, happy faces. “Dad, I learned how to go all the way to the bottom with just one breath!  Watch! Watch me do it!”  Crissie proceeds to swing her body around with force I didn’t know a six year old could manage.  I let a little laugh out and clap my hands even before she’s reemerged.

“That was excellent.  Have you shown your mother, I’m sure she’d love to see it.”  She just smiles and flails away from me, I’m not sure she heard me.

“Sir, excuse me sir.”  A pimply boy in tight white shorts is standing next to me.  “We’ve checked on the name of the guest who you said you’re the guest of, and he checked out already.  We’re going to ask you and your family to leave.”  I look around at the abandoned pool area.  We’re literally the only ones there.  I don’t fucking believe this.

 

Sleeping in prison is an oxymoron.  This is the thirty-eighth night that I’ll spend drifting from memory to memory, taken by my mind’s intense current of regret.  I’m thinking of all the breakfasts I’ll miss, all the orange juice and children’s’ laughter.  That perfect innocence.  I’m thinking all the clothes I used to own, and how I’ll never have a choice again. 

 

I won’t believe it.  There are six or more cops at the doors of my house, each with a pair of handcuffs dangling from their right pockets.  They’ve brought with them short shadows and the smell of new leather.  They’ve framed me, they’ve taken my money and left me here with the crime.  Robbery?  How many years, and is there a chance –

Knock.  Fuck.  Knock

“Mr. Tesler.  This is the police, open your door or we will be forced to open it.  Lars.  We know you’re in there.”  For a moment they leave me alone, and whisper amongst themselves about what the next action should be.  “Lars, rape is a felony offense, and if you…”  Rape? 

 

Its morning, and I can’t stop smiling.  The world’s warm, and people have regained their senses.  There are possibilities again, and the openness of the day almost lifts me from the ground.  Today is different, it is the day I will start the life that I’ve dreamed of since I was fifteen.  Money.  I watch the intersections flow in and out, and the people filling up the street in waves of random community.  Being alive means something.  The wholeness is overwhelming. 

 

 

I know my cell better than I knew my wife’s body.  Every little crack, the exact feel and effect of the cold, colorless, stone.  I spend twenty-one brutal hours a day in here.  Concrete haunts me. 

 

I’m yelling, begging.  “Ruby, please, you know I wouldn’t.  You know me.  I don’t even know the girl, it wasn’t like that.  Please!”  She has to believe me.  “You have to believe me!”  Her hands look soft and I want to reach out, take her and bring her close to me.  But I don’t, I’m afraid she’d pull away.  She’s sitting with her back to me, shaking a little.  “Rape, Ruby?  Really? I don’t even think I could.”  She starts to sob silently.  She’s giving up on me, I’m starting to lose it.  “You know I wouldn’t.  Jesus fucking Christ, Ruby! It’s not possible.  It wasn’t like that”

“Then what was it like?!  Tell me Lars, because I’m dying to know.  Your car at her place.  Bruises?  Torn skin and blood.  Her words!  Christ Lars, even if you didn’t do it, they can prove you did.”  Truth stings my skin.  I turn away from her faceless position.  “Please, Ruby.  You’re my wife.  I didn’t.”  God help me.  Rescue me.   Cruel destiny is coming and my legs are heavy.  Please, don’t. 

“I can’t raise the girls like this. I won’t”

 

Today’s a muddy day.  The guy from Pleasenton who shot those kids on a school bus is sitting next to me, chatting and chatting about his weak bowels.  He thinks he’s a celebrity

 

“You could give them everything.  All of the things you’ve wanted, the life you’ve dreamed for yourself, freedom.  It could all be yours.  Take it!”  He pauses to read my face for an idea of where to go from here.  I try to fake disinterest; twirl my pencil lightly between my index and middle fingers. “See, Max and me can’t do it alone, we’d need you to…”  I let him continue on, even though I already know what he’ll ask of me.  I’ve prayed for an opportunity, just one chance.  But could this really be it?  It all seems so flat, ugly.  Still, I know I’ll do it.  I’ll help them.