Yeah, we totally have cheesy nicknames for one another.
I’ve loved Ezra Joseph since my freshmen year of college. Technically, two years and counting. He graduated last semester and he’s working at his father’s corporate advertising firm. He’s the lowest man on the ladder and the boss’s son, therefore he’s working overtime to prove his worth not only to his father but to his peers. He doesn’t want them seeing his position as a handout from daddy, but it also means we are seeing less and less of each other. Take right now for instance, he’s in Miami working on a jingle for a fast-food chain that is growing in popularity in the South. Ezra is good at what he does, and I’m so proud of him, but at the same time, I hate it, because he’s moving up quicker in the company than he has let on. Even his group of friends is changing. He goes for drinks with the guys from work now instead of hanging out with Holden and the guys from his frat days. That guy, that version of Ezra, the funny guy I fell in love with seems to have disappeared and been replaced with Mr. Career. I know I shouldn’t be jealous of his job, but a big part of me is.
I’m scared that we are heading toward a break or worse, a breakup. We’ve been dating serious and steady for some time. I don’t expect a ring on my finger any time soon, but I feel like we are standing still in our relationship, while he moves on with his life, leaving thoughts of us like dust in the wind. I don’t know what I want to do with my life. I’m not as career driven and goal oriented as Ezra is where my future is concerned as far as a solid career. I’m pursuing my teaching degree in special education, because I want to help people, but my heart isn’t in it anymore. I’ve been writing dark, erotic books. Ezra blows them off like they are a foolish hobby, and I guess in a sense they are, but I’ve been submitting excerpts to publishers under a pen name.
I’m scared though. Afraid of what Ezra and my family would think. Truth be told, I am scared to let anyone know the words on the paper belong to me. They aren’t happy words. Nothing like those who know me would expect me to be writing in my spare time. Ezra knows that I write, just not what I write about. I’ve been secretly tweeting and blogging online under a pen name as well. A few of my posts have a lot of hits, plenty of retweets.
I feel so torn. The rest of my drive though, I can’t help but get more ideas for new stories.
Two hours later, as I pull into the visitor parking of Hildegar prison, I begin to panic. I’m getting to see my dad for the first time in nearly thirteen years. My hand trembles as I take the keys from the ignition. I’m already on the verge of tears. Will he know me? Will I recognize him? Sure, he has seen the pictures I’ve sent of myself over the years, but this is different. This is face to face.
Taking a deep breath, I remind myself that even though it’s been years and he has done bad things, this man is still my father, an important piece of my life that I have been missing for way too long.
Before exiting my car, I retrieve the two forms of identification needed from my wallet. I’ve already been pre-screened for today’s visit, but I still have to produce ID.
Walking slowly, I make my way to the visitor’s entrance. I’m really going through with this. I’m really going to meet my dad for what feels like the first time in my life, because thirteen years is a long time, and we’ve both grown and changed. He’s no longer the hero who tucked me in at night, and I’m no longer his little caterpillar who believed he could save the world. No, those people are long gone.
Chapter 3
Conleigh
Inside, I sign in and hand over my driver’s license and student ID card. Next, I am patted down and searched. Before I can go to the visitation room, I’m given a briefing about today’s events and what contact is acceptable.
I wish I could’ve brought Ezra with me. His feelings about my father aren’t so great. He thinks he’s a low-down dirty criminal, and maybe he is, but he’s still my dad. He was a guy who made a really bad decision. He’s a man who has been serving his time and paying for that mistake every day of his life. A mistake that cost him watching me grow up. A bad choice that cost him the love of his life.
As I walk into the room, the laughter of children warms me and rapidly eases my nervous mood. If these kids can be all smiles and cheers, I can too, right?
I look around the room, feeling awkward and unsure of where to stand or sit. Kids of all ages, between three and twelve, are laughing, chatting, and playing. The room is somewhat large, filled with picnic style tables and seating. However, the bars on the windows that are high up on the walls of the room, are a startling reminder of where we all are and why. No amount of laughter can change the fact that this is indeed a prison.
Spotting an empty table in the corner, I take a seat and wait. It isn’t long before a woman taps a microphone and asks that everyone please quiet down and find a seat. Three guards circle the room, getting wandering kids to their seats. A young mother and her two boys sit across from me and I give them a brief smile. The boys appear to be twins, who I’ve placed to be aged around five. God, my heart hurts deeply for these boys. This isn’t the way life should be for them, but here they are, all smiles, eager to see their daddy.
“Thank you all for coming. A walk with God is a unique and special program. Our hope is that the children aren’t forgotten, for they are the silent victims. I ask that you all remain seated and quiet while introductions are made. Today will be emotional but rewarding.”
After a small applause, the woman begins calling names of the inmates, one by one. I have to fight tears of my own back as the kids run to their father’s embrace. The expressions on their innocent little faces will haunt me forever. They hold so much hope, love, and a twinge of sadness. Everyone claps every time a father hugs his child.
The event organizers said they didn’t want this to be a sad occasion, but a celebration. For me though, this shit is depressing as fuck. I am thankful to be a part of it, to witness what is taking place today, but I think of all the children who will never have this opportunity.
The men present today are criminals, but I know that good people do bad things—we all make mistakes. We all have good and bad in us.
I keep watching and listening, waiting for the moment where my past and present will collide.
I asked my mother to be present at the event with me when I was first informed that my dad had met the requirements and requested I attend, but she declined. I was hurt and angry with her at first, but now I appreciate that she turned me down. Today is about me and him. No one else should be here to take away from our brief time together.
When it’s my turn, I’m frozen on the spot. I can’t breathe, let alone move from my seat.
“Alan Meyers.” My father steps through the door wearing that lopsided grin, the one he last gave me the last time he hugged me. He scans the room, his once curly dark hair that hung in his eyes is cropped short.
I can feel my tears welling up, threatening to spill out. I have to fight them back.
The man who had once promised me the sun and the moon is scanning the room, searching for his little girl. However, I’m no longer small. I’m grown, an adult really. This caterpillar has shed her cocoon.
Finding my senses, I stand. His eyes lock on mine, but I can’t make my feet move. He crosses the room in four long strides.
“Conleigh,” he chokes my name out and holds his arms open.
Feeling much as I did as a child, I can no longer fight my tears as I throw myself into his welcoming arms. This is what peace feels like, getting to see him for the first time in so very long.
The room erupts with praise and joy. We are both crying but today is joyous. I forgave my father a long time ago. I made peace with the choices he made, the mistakes that brought us to today.