Made
an Angel Cry
By,
Justin
H. Montgomery
“She was the
most beautiful thing I ever saw…when I laid her down, I promised, I promised to,
I promised to never hurt her.”
“I’m sorry Mr.
Williams. I really am. This is difficult for everyone involved especially
for your daughter Lisa…”
Allen S.
Endover, Esq. pushed a packet of legal
papers across the laminate table top to Mark Williams. There was a cheap blue pen atop the stack.
“…but, you
really have no choice in this matter.
Your drug use, your wife’s drug use, both of you being in prison for
long sentences, and the fact that neither of your extended families are willing
or able to take care of Lisa, this is the only way Lisa can live.”
“Yeah. She deserves a chance to live.” Mark said.
“Yes Mr. Williams,
she does.”
Mark fell silent
and stared through the paperwork. His
long black hair fell into his face. It covered his brown eyes. Mark clenched and unclenched his jaw without
thinking. The muscles rippled beneath
the skin making his Siouan features harden.
“Mr. Williams?”
Endover’s voice
echoed in the nearly barren room. The cinderblock
walls were painted white. Thick layers of
wax buffed to crystal made the green linoleum floor shine. A sheet of plexi-glass for a window afforded the
guard on the other side a clear view of the attorney client privilege. The room was cold. It was as cold as the metal door locking the
two men in.
“Mr.
Williams? Are you alright?”
“This is just
hard you know?” Mark said. His voice was a monotone.
Endover nodded.
“I know it is
Mr. Williams. But you are doing the
right thing. I promise you that. You are doing the right thing for your
daughter.”
“The right
thing…yeah.”
Mark reached for
the pen. That movement in the free world
was simple. In the free world thought was unneeded, just lean forward, grab the
pen, and sign away your daughter. Mark’s
shackled hands made that movement a process.
He raised himself up onto one buttock, grasped the chain between the
cuffs with his left hand, and then took the pen with his right. The process was made more difficult by the
white jumpsuit he wore. The canvas-like
material shifted and bound each time Mark moved. It clutched and clawed. It choked and strangled. IMU was silk screened on the back of the
jumpsuit in large black letters. This
visit with Endover was the longest Mark had spent out of an isolation cell in a
year. He was doing a program in the
Washington State’s Intensive Management Unit in the Stafford Creek Corrections
Center for introducing methamphetamine into the Washington State Penitentiary
Walla Walla via the visiting room. All
but the most basic human contact had been taken from him for the remainder of
his sentence…
…five years
“Tell me again
what will happen after I sign this?”
Mark asked.
“Mr. Williams,
we’ve been through this already.”
Endover said before checking his watch.
“I really am very busy. I have
four more people to talk with today in this institution. I don’t have time to go over and over what-“
“I know, I’m
sorry, but please. I don’t want to make
the wrong decision. Tell me again
Allen. Please.” Mark all but begged. “Please.”
“Mr. Williams-“Endover
said, slightly irritated. “Just sign the
paperwork and let’s get this-“
“God
damnit! I’m signing away my girl!” Mark shouted and awkwardly slammed the
table. “If I want you to tell me what
will happen to her five hundred fucking more times you will tell me what will
happen five hundred fucking times!”
Endover sat back
surprised by the viciousness of Mark’s outburst. A clack and clash of keys opening a lock
announced the guard’s entrance.
“Is everything
alright Mr. Endover?”
“Yes yes Officer
Merle.” Endover said quickly. “We were just discussing the ramifications of
Mr. William’s decision regarding his daughter.”
Officer Merle
was a huge man. His head almost scraped
the top of the door jamb. He carried a
solid three hundred pounds of dense muscle.
His brown hair was shaved down to shiny skin. He wore the uniform of a Washington State
prison guard: A powder blue button up
shirt with dark blue pockets, a shiny silver badge, dark blue slacks, and black
shoes made for comfort while standing.
He had a radio clipped to his belt.
The mouth piece ran from the radio on a pig tail wire up to his shoulder
where it issued a stream of prison radio traffic. Merle stared at Mark with his desert sky blue
eyes.
“I heard some
yelling.” Merle said. “This inmate isn’t giving you any problems is
he?”
“No, not at
all. He did yell but this is a very
emotional time for him. Hard choices
you know. It’s understandable that he
may need to vent his frustrations, but I assure you there is no problem.”
“You sure?”
“Positive
Officer Merle. If I have any trouble I
will let you know.” Endover said with a
smile. “I won’t hesitate to call you.”
Merle glared at Mark. The animosity of guard/convict creased the
officer’s face. They didn’t know each
other but the uniforms both wore ensured proper behavior…hate, mistrust,
suspicion, anger, and condemnation.
Mark grinned up
at Officer Merle revealing an amazingly even set of white teeth. His eyes shined with suppressed hatred for
the man.
“It will be okay
C.O.. I won’t bite.” Mark said.
“…Okay Mr.
Endover, you make sure to let me know if this, inmate, gets out of hand.”
“I will, thank
you Officer Merle. Thank you.” Endover said as Merle closed the door.
Mark used his
stare as a weapon against Endover. The
attorney writhed under the silent onslaught Mark unleashed. A small wet stain formed on the belly of the
plump man’s cardigan. Small beads of
sweat popped like marbles from the skin of Endover’s balding pate. The slacks he wore rode up his crotch as he
shifted in the inmate built chair.
“Okay, Mr.
Williams, you are right. You should
know.” Endover said. His voice cracked. “Your daughter will remain in foster care
until a proper pair of parents can be found who are willing to adopt her. I have to tell you though, at eight years old
with two meth addicted parents, the odds of adoption are slim. She may have to remain in foster care for the
next ten years.” Endover paused and
looked nervously at Mark who was silent.
“I can tell you that the foster parents Lisa is with right now are very
good. She will be well taken care of as
long as she is there.”
“…What happens
if the State moves her? What then?” Mark said.
“I want to know that my daughter will be taken care of.”
Endover placed
his hand on the table, when he raised it; the outline of his hand was left in
sweat. He tried to smile but failed.
“I don’t know
Mr. Williams. There are many
variables. I do know that 99% of this
State’s foster homes are very good. Your
daughter will receive quality care wherever she goes.”
“…Except if she
lands in the other 1% of homes”
“Well, it’s
highly unlikely she will go to-“
“Except-“Mark’s
voice was icy. “If she lands in the
other 1% of homes.”
“I don’t think-“
“Except for the
other 1% where the pedophiles, or abusers, or emotional wrecks profit off the
misery they inflict on the kids they are supposed to take care of.” Mark leaned forward and his chains rattled
against the table and chair he sat in.
“Isn’t that right Allen? There’s
a whole world of evil in the foster care system. One people don’t see. One the State justifies as necessary.”
“Yes Mr.
Williams.” Endover said. “There are some people who slip through the
screening process. But, it is rare. Odds are Lisa will be safe.”
Mark leaned his
head back and started counting the holes in the sound proof tiles on the
ceiling. Really, it was over. The delay, the questions, nothing would
change the outcome of the meeting. His
daughter was gone already, this was just the paperwork.
A memory, not
much more than a photograph, briefly played over the ceiling tiles. His daughter, smiling, in a white Easter
dress, stood between the sofa and coffee table of the apartment he had just
rented in Seattle. The dress was bought
by Mark’s mother and was thrown into the closet. Lisa was six and precocious. She was single minded like her father. She had dragged out every box to find the
unworn dress her grandmother had given her.
She had put it on and come twirling into the living room like a
ballerina. Mark hadn’t been expecting
her. It had been hard trying to lie his
way around the needle in his arm.
Mark sighed.
“Okay, where do
I sign?”
---
The
heavy metal door slammed shut behind Mark.
Cuffed behind his back for transport, Mark was forced to bend forward at
the hip to stick his hands out of the cuff port so Officer Merle could unhook
him.
“You
got thirty minutes Williams.” Merle
said. “Make them good.”
“What? The superintendent said I could have an hour
to call my daughter!” Mark exclaimed.
“Now
you got twenty minutes.”
Merle
slammed the cuff port and smiled at Mark through the small window set in the
steel door. The sound echoed off the
three blank walls of the IMU’s “outside” recreation yard. The walls were twenty feet high and ended in thick
steel fencing that cut off the cloudless blue sky.
Mark
wanted to cut officer Merle’s throat then piss in the hole after the pig bled
out. Instead he turned and crossed the
five feet of concrete to the phone. The
blue box, like a call box on a California freeway, was bolted to the wall at
chest level. Heavy metal cable ran from
the base to the receiver. A metal bolt
and bracket kept inventive psychopaths from tearing the receiver off to
bludgeon themselves or others. Mark’s
thick fingers barely fit through the three slots cut into the steel face plate
of the box.
Twice
he dialed the wrong number.
The
third time a recorded message prompted him to enter his inmate PIN number. Another security measure. The State even wanted to incarcerate his
voice. The digital age provided the
prison. The phone rang three times
before a woman answered. Her initial
hello was cut off by the automated message informing the call recipient
that: The phone company had a call from
a Correctional Institution, the call
would be $3.15, if the party wanted to refuse the call to hang up, and, if they
wanted to accept the call press five.
There
was a brief pause. Mark thought the line
had gone dead.
“Hello?” Mark said.
“Hello? Mr. Williams?” A woman said.
A
lift at the end of the word, the lilt, the highness of pitch, her tone, Mark
tried to use them all to draw out the person behind the voice. Was she a monster? Would she beat his daughter? Would she starve Lisa? Was this woman who was in charge of his
daughter’s parenting a good person?
“Mr.
Williams?”
He
couldn’t tell.
“Mr.
Williams? The recording said this is
Mark Williams?”
Why
couldn’t he tell?
“I’m
going to hang up if you don’t-“
“Yeah,
no, don’t hang up. I’m sorry. This is Mark Williams. I’m calling to speak with my daughter Lisa.”
“You’re
silence had me worried.”
“This
is hard for me.” Mark paused trying to
frame his question. “Is, is she
alright? I mean, she’s eating and doing
well there in your home. Mrs. Um-Mrs.”
“Now
would be a good time to tell you the rules Mr. Williams.” She sighed.
“You can’t know my name. I was
instructed to keep that from you. This
number will be blocked by the prison after the call. I know this sounds harsh but it really is for
the best-“
“Why
do people keep telling me that?” Mark
said softly.
“Pardon
Mr. Williams?”
Mark
stopped himself from yelling obscenities at the woman.
“Sorry,
nothing, go ahead.”
“As
I was saying. This is for the best. Your daughter needs to adjust to living in a
foster care environment. She needs to
understand that her life with her parents is over. It will make it easier for her to move on.”
“Do
you have to be so cold about this?”
Mark’s anger built. He had a hard
time keeping it out of his voice. “I
mean, you sound like a bitch.”
“That
is an understandable comment.” She said
matter of fact. “But it doesn’t change
the situation.”
“No-“Mark
sighed. His anger disappeared with the
woman’s logic. “No, I guess it doesn’t.”
“Okay,
if you’re ready, I’ll get Lisa.” There
was a pause, when the woman spoke again, she spoke with authority. “Remember sir, I will be standing here
listening. Do not try to ask your daughter for any information about where she
is. I will end the call
immediately. Do you understand?”
Mark
swallowed his tears.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
During
the moment of silence, Mark thought back to the Easter dress day. His daughter had looked puzzled by
everything, the syringe, the bag of powder, the spoon, the water. She had asked a hail storm of questions. Each one pelted him. They bruised him like the lies he told. No baby, because daddy’s sick. Because this is his medicine. Because I have to take it this way. Because, because, because. Because daddy is a drug addicted piece of
shit that can’t tell his only child the truth.
He finally started yelling at her.
She had run from him. In her
panic she had tripped and split her head on the edge of the coffee table. Blood had flowed ruining her dress.
“Hello
Daddy!” Lisa shouted.
She
was so happy.
“Are
you better now? How is the
hospital? Are you coming home soon?”
He
was still a fucking liar.
“No
baby, Daddy’s not better yet.” He paused
choking on all his failures. “I have to
stay in the hospital a little while longer.
How, how are they treating you there in that place?”
“It’s
okay; I have my own room, but-“Lisa’s voice dropped. Mark heard her tears. “I want you to come home okay? Just come home right now Daddy. Can you come home right now?”
“Oh
baby, don’t cry. Don’t cry Lisa. Please don’t okay.”
“Daddy
come home. Please okay. Come home.”
There
was a tapping at the door to the yard.
Officer Merle stood with another guard who looked like a fat maggoty
piece of cheese. Merle tapped his watch,
twirled his fingers, and grinned. The
twenty minutes wasn’t close to being up, Mark knew it. He also knew it didn’t matter. He didn’t have a daughter anymore.
“Lisa
baby, I have to go okay? I’ll come to-“He
broke on the lie. His tears flowed. “I’ll come and get you as soon as I can
okay? You be good. You be a good girl for Daddy.”
“Daddy! Please talk to me longer! I need you to talk to me longer! Daddy don’t go! Daddy! Daddy!
Daddy don’t go don’t-“
Slowly,
with his tears falling to spatter on the concrete floor, Mark hung up the phone
on her one last time.
More stories to come...
Wow. Just wow. :'(
ReplyDelete