Gettin’ Out

(content warning: contains some adult language and illudes to possible sexual assault)

“Reid, on the door!” As soon as I heard my name, I jumped off my bunk and stood at attention, my face less than an inch from the iron bars of my cage. “Yessir, Boss!” I’d heard those words “on the door” about a million times over the last six years, but for the first time, I was excited to hear them.

“Do you have your personal items packed up, Reid?” asked Boss Johnson.

“Yessir, Boss!” I answered.

“I’ll be kind of sad to see you go, Reid. You’ve never given me any trouble, and my boots have never been so well polished. What’s next for you?”

I thought about the question, just as I’d thought about it over the last two weeks. Ever since the order came down that I was being released, all I could think about was what I would do with my freedom. Where would I go? What would I do? I had no home anymore. It was doubtful that any of my family would have me. “I don’t know, Boss.”

I never expected to be taking The Walk, and now that I was, my heart was pounding with overwhelming joy and paralyzing fear. The uncertainty of what might happen once I was outside the walls had me ridden with angst. Sweat beaded on my forehead like a summertime glass of iced tea. I don’t even remember the last time I had a glass of my mother’s sweet tea. She always put that big ol’ Lipton jar out on the back porch during the summer and let the sun do the brewing.

It was a long trip from D-block to the front gates. We wound our way through long gray corridors; one sliding iron gate after another would open, then close behind us with a dull clang. For years, that sound had been like a drunk dropping a bottle on pavement—final, locking me in with the stink of piss and regret. Today I’m on the other side, and I hear metal scraping, thumping metal. The sound now is the place telling me it’s done with me, like the world is spitting me out. No longer a dog in a cage.

A few of the old-timers offered words of encouragement as I passed by. “Hope I never see you again, Reid.” “Get out and don’t come back!” I grinned. Mouth shut when walking with a Boss. Like so many other rules I’d learned to live by, that had been drilled into me.

We stood at the R&D—Receiving and Discharge—window, Boss Johnson in his perfectly pressed polyester uniform and shiny black John Brown belt, me in my orange scrubs and Kung Fu Joes—those shitty slippers they give you in prison. Miss Thomas was working the window. She smiled when she presented me with the clear plastic bag containing my personal effects. “One pair of brown boots. One pair of blue jeans. One white t-shirt. One flannel shirt. One pair of white socks. One black belt. One leather wallet. One Casio watch. One keychain with three keys. One gold ring.” She listed off everything as she removed it from the bag.

Boss Johnson pointed at a door and said, “Reid, you can go in there to change, unless you plan to wear your orange out the door.” I grabbed my things and stuffed everything back in the plastic bag.

Sliding into my jeans for the first time in six years was like holding hands with a pretty girl; it just felt good. I slipped on my socks, which I’m sure hadn’t been washed since I arrived, and then slid into my old boots. I put on my t-shirt, a stain—a single drop of blood. I’d cut myself shaving my last morning in the world. I put my old Casio on my wrist. Still keeping time. Takes a licking and keeps on ticking, I thought. Maybe that was Timex. The gold band may as well have been a rattlesnake sitting on the edge of the sink. I considered leaving it there for someone else to find. That part of my life was over.

Johnson eyed me up and down as I walked out of the bathroom. “Looks like you lost a pound or two since you last wore those jeans, Reid.”

“I don’t know how, with all the gourmet grub they have in this place,” I said. Johnson laughed.

Miss Thomas held up a check. “Sign this, and I’ll cash you out.”

“What’s that for?” I asked.

“It’s everything you had left in your commissary account and what money you had in your wallet when you arrived. Your cash was confiscated, but you get it back. We don’t keep it. That’d be stealing.”

I signed the check, and Miss Thomas pulled a stamped sheet-metal box out from under the counter and counted out the cash. “Three hundred sixty-three dollars and thirteen cents.”

“You can keep the thirteen cents,” I said.

“Well, this is all the money you have, sweety, so why on earth would you not take all of it?” she asked.

Boss Johnson laughed. “All these inmates are superstitious. He don’t want no thirteen nothin’.”

Rolling her eyes, Miss Thomas laid the cash on the counter for me to collect. I pulled my wallet out of my pocket, and a piece of paper fell out and floated to the floor. I looked down at it and saw her looking back up at me. Six years, and there she was, her blue eyes peering through stringy blond hair, smiling back at me with crooked teeth. I bent down, picked it up, and stuffed it back in my wallet, then put the neatly stacked bills in and shoved it in my back pocket.

“Is that your daughter?” asked Johnson.

Suddenly, there was a truck on my chest. I could barely get words out. “No, Boss, not anymore.” Her mom had written me a letter after a year, letting me know she’d met someone else and that it was better this way. I wouldn’t have to worry about her and Maggie anymore. They would be well taken care of, and I could just worry about myself.

“You ain’t gotta call me Boss no more, Reid. You ain’tan inmate no more.”

“Sorry, Boss.”

Miss Thomas spoke up. “You better get out of here. The bus into town will be here in about fifteen minutes, and it’s a ten-minute walk to the stop.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Boss Johnson walked me through the sally port and out to the gate. “Listen, Reid, I don’t know what you’re planning on doing with the rest of your life, but this ain’tthe life for a man like you. Whatever you do, stay on the straight path. You hear me?”

“Yessir, Boss.”

“Quit that shit, Reid. I ain’t Boss no more. I’m Correctional Officer Johnson!”

“Yes, Sir.”

“That’s better. The bus stop is just down there. Walk to the end of the parking lot and look right; you’ll see it. Don’t miss the bus.” He handed me a bus pass. “That’ll get you a ride into town. After that, you’re on your own. Good luck to you, Reid.”

“Thank you, Sir!”

I sat at the bus stop for what seemed like hours before the bus rolled up. When the air brakes squealed and the door opened, I heard another sound. A car horn honked, then it honked again. I looked back behind the bus and saw a truck pull up. It wasn’t just a truck; it was my old Bronco.

I waved the bus off and walked back to the big black Ford and peered in the passenger window.

Sitting behind the wheel, there she was with stringy blond hair and blue eyes and braces. “Maggie?”

“You didn’t think I was going to be here, did you?” she asked.

“Well, your mom told me y’all were moving on. I didn’t even know if you’d remember me after six years.”

“Dad, I was eleven when you went in. I wasn’t a baby. I couldn’t forget you. You wouldn’t have been in there if it weren’t for me anyway.”

“Sweetheart, it wasn’t your fault I went in there. It was that man. You didn’t cause any of it—”

“I know,” she interrupted. “Moms had me in therapy the entire time you’ve been gone.” She laughed. “I’m just sayin’, I couldn’t forget you. I love you! You’re my dad, and I’m glad you’re finally out. Now, get in. Let’s get away from this place.”