All for Lucy

Henry was tired. The kind of bone-deep weariness that came from long nights and even longer days. Prison could do that to a person. He had been there for a long time. Almost twelve years. But not a single one of those four thousand days had passed where he regretted what he had done. 

He got mail now and then from Elena, his ex-wife, telling him that life was still going on in his absence. She, herself, had retired early, and his daughter, Lucy, had remarried two years ago. From Elena’s letter, the husband seemed nice enough. He was a salesman by the name of John, and though he didn’t meet Henry’s standards for his only daughter, he had to be an improvement from the last man. Henry didn’t like to dwell on that too much. 

What he did dwell on was the kid being put in the cell opposite to him just after dinner. For the past two years, that cell had been empty, and Henry was bored to tears without someone to talk to. Sure, he could listen to the other monkey mouths on his cell block yammering on about the good old days with whichever gang or whatever crime-lord, but Henry yearned for eye-to-eye communication. The only other cell that Henry could look into was inhabited by a man the general population called Stitches. Rumor had it that he gave one of the guards a buck fifty on his first day and hadn’t spoken a single word since. 

“Hey, new neighbor,” the young man said, resting with his arms through the bars and a smirk etched on his coppery face. “What does a guy have to do to get a drink around here?”

Henry chuckled, “There’s a perfectly good water fountain right over there.” He pointed to the toilet situated in the corner of the cell. “I’m Henry.”

“Jay,” the kid said. “Pleased to meetcha.”

“So, what are you in for, kid?” Henry asked. 

“Grand theft Lambo. Me and the crew got caught a few days after borrowing a few for an indefinite amount of time. Got five years for it, and let me tell you, it wasn’t worth it.” Jay shook his head. “What about you, old man?”

“I’m not old.” 

Jay looked at him doubtfully. “Well, your at least forty years older than me, so… old. And you called me ‘kid’ but did I complain? Nah, ‘cause that’s just one of your old man-isms.”

The guards, in their prim navy uniforms, slapped the bars of each cell, yelling “lights out” to the inmates. 

“I got letters. Was put in for murder,” Henry stated plainly. In the quiet, Jay blinked at him. Once, then twice. 

“Nah, man. You can’t just leave me with that. There’s always a story.” The dim, fluorescent lighting of the hallway cast dark shadows across Jay’s face. 

“Go to sleep, kid.”

__________

“I expect your life story before I get out,” Jay said a few days later as he ate his breakfast, waggling the plastic fork at Henry. 

“Okay.” Henry looked at him and laughed, taking another bite of food. He chewed and swallowed before speaking again. “Five years is a long time, you may just forget about that.”

Jay wrinkled his nose, “Nah, man. I'm catching the chain in two weeks.” Putting down his spoon, Henry frowned at him. Jay continued, “They had to move me outta my old block ‘cause this dimwit decided to tear out all the plumbing in his cell. The whole block flooded, and they moved us outta there real quick.

"Wasn't too mad, though. Got a new pair of bo-bos outta the deal."

__________

“I’m serious, old man. Quit your man-of-mystery act and tell me about the guy you killed because he poisoned all your plants.”

__________

“Come on, man, you’ve got to give me something!”

__________

“It was a hooker, wasn’t it?”

__________

“Were you secretly a mad man and killed people who turn you on because you were obsessed with your mother?”

“I’m pretty sure that was the plot of Psycho, Jay.”

“You’re not denying it!”

__________

It was nighttime. The incessant buzzing of electricity and the snores coming from further along the hall were the only noises in the air. Henry lay on his cot staring at the cracking ceiling, thinking. Jay’s sentence would be up tomorrow, and maybe, just maybe, he could use that. 

Though Henry sent letters to his daughter often, she never responded. If only he could explain himself. If only he could speak with her, tell her everything. If only he could hug her, just once more…

“Hey, Jay, you awake?” Henry whispered into the darkness. 

“Old man, why would you even think I’d be sleeping?” Jay answered lowly. 

Henry turned his head towards the kid’s cell. “If I tell you what I did, can you do me a favor when you get out of here?”

“Yeah sure, whatever, man. I got your back as long as it ain’t making me stalk your wife or somethin’.” Jay’s shadowy profile sat up.

“I shot Lucy’s first husband--” Henry started, but Jay cut him off. 

He whispered fiercely, “The heck man? I thought you were classy, but that’s ju--”

“Would you like me to continue or not?” Henry rolled his eyes. If the kid would just listen, he would understand. With an audible click, Jay closed his mouth. 

“Thank you, now, as I was saying: he was a horrible man, shady, and they eloped together. I had always supported her, so I, reluctantly, supported this marriage. After a few months, Lucy started to come around less often and stopped smiling as much. As her father, I knew something was up. I went around to their house one day and heard her screaming inside.” Henry took a breath. In, two, three; out, two three. “She was pleading for him to stop something, screaming that he hurt her.

“I knew I had to do something, so I called Lucy and asked her to come over to my house. I watched her leave and entered the house once she was around the corner. It’s all kind of a blur after that, my adrenaline was racing, and I wasn’t as young as I used to be. I remember bashing his head in with a statuette. I drove home and had dinner with Lucy.

“The cops came to my house the next day, and I plead guilty. Haven’t spoken to her since.” The silence in the hall was deafening. 

Jay spoke after some time, strained, “What was the favor?”

“Can you tell Lucy? That it was all for her?”

__________

The next few days were hell for Henry. Only when the guards came to his cell, to tell him he had a visitor, did he allow himself to hope. The guard handcuffed him, and they walked down the block, past Stitches, and into the visitor’s area. 

A long table, with hard glass splitting it in half, loomed in the room. Stations with orange prisoners lined his side, while colorful, angry, tearful family and friends passed through the other side. Pressed down into a chair and attached to the table, Henry saw her for the first time in twelve years. 

Lucy looked beautiful as ever. With her chestnut curls and bright eyes, she looked like an angel if one ever existed. The worry lines which had been present when Henry saw her last had shifted into laugh lines. The beginnings of crow’s feet crinkled at the edges of her eyes. She looked happy, though perhaps a little worried, as she sat in the hard, plastic chair on the other side of the glass. Henry picked up the telephone. Hesitating only for a moment, Lucy did the same. 

“Are you okay, Luce?”

A watery smile graced her lips, and as she opened her mouth, a tear fell down her cheek. Her voice, soft and diluted, crackled over the wire. “Yeah, dad, I’m doing okay.”

Prison Slang Glossary (by mention):

Monkey mouth: a prisoner who goes on and on about nothing.

Buck fifty: a cut that needs more than 150 stitches.

Letters: a prisoner who is in for life 'has' them.

Catching the chain: when an inmate is leaving.

Bo-bos: prison-issued tennis shoes.