Helpless

"Everybody get down on the ground! Put your hands on your head don't make a move." I remember that day clear as blue sky, that day that condemned me to a life of incarceration. I had gotten out of my van with two assault rifles, thinking that nothing could go wrong, and then it did. As soon as I made a move on the vault, the police burst in to shut it down. It was as if my entire life flashed before my eyes, as they handcuffed me, and I knew at that moment that I had made a mistake. The next few weeks went by in a blur, from the trial to the sentencing. I almost didn't notice anything until they locked me in the cold, dark, cell. I can still smell that now as if I was being chastised by the prisoners that came before. Not that I don't have anything to regret, because if anything, I deserve all this and more. Still, there's no way that I would ever do something like that again. I've learned my lesson, and that's why I deserve parole.

That was 3 weeks ago, and since then, they released me from the facility and granted me parole. I was never happier in my entire life. Darn it, I wouldn't have been happier if I actually succeeded in robbing the bank. Now, I get to go home, to see my wife and kids for the first time in five years. I hope Margaret's doing fine. She's the most loyal person I know, and I love her more than I love myself. I hope that she's still willing to take me back.

"Kingston, you okay? You're being super quiet." Martin, my best friend who was in the area, inquired.

"Yeah! I'm fine, I'm a little rattled, that's all. I've been inside that place for longer than I could've been president!" I was saying with a smile. I need to practice my interpersonal skills more. In the slammer, you only ever talk when you're trying to face off with someone else. "So how's Margaret? Have you talked to her at all?" I asked with a hopeful gaze.

"Nah, man, I haven't seen her. I was only in the area for this job interview and thought I'd drive you back." He said, "Why?"

My answer's the same as before. "I haven't seen her in five years!" He doesn't seem to understand the effect that much time in prison could have on a person. We started pulling into the driveway of my house. I thanked Martin quickly and ran up to the front door, knocking as hard as I could. The person answering the door is a shriveled, pale, old lady. "Who are you? Where's Margaret Stevens?" I asked, in shock.

"Oh honey, you must be the husband. Margaret died three years ago. They put the child up for adoption." She said, her voice dripping with sympathy.

______________________________________________

I can't believe it. I just can't. That's not the Margaret I knew. The Margaret I knew wouldn't have done this to me. I don't know what I'm going to do now. What can I do? Sweet Lacey is up in a foster home right now, without her father, and what can I do? Nothing. I can't do anything to stop it. Never before have I felt so helpless. Not when I first broke a bone in a prison fight. Not when I got thrown into prison in the first place.

"Are you okay, mister?" I can hear the voice, but I don't care. I run out into the street and I walk away. I walk wherever my feet take me. Sometimes I punch lampposts, kick the trash cans, but I can't get over it. Why did I have to rob that bank? I took myself away from my wife, away when I should've been there, by her side, even in death. I have no purpose. No family. At least in prison, I had something to live for. Now I don't even have myself to fight for.

_____________________________________________

"Time of death, 8:30 PM. Take him down to the hospital." Officer Wilkes said. I was starting to pull the man into the ambulance when I see his face, the face of Kingston Fisher. I was his prison medic back in the day, back before I got transferred to the City Hospital. I never thought I'd see him again.

"Come on, Emily, move it." my partner said, and I finished hauling him into the ambulance. Jeez, I haven't seen him in forever, and now he was dead! I was standing in the ambulance, thinking as it was driving. Kingston always seemed like he never belonged there. He just wanted to go back to his family. I had heard about a Margaret Fisher dying in the Oncology Unit, so that could've been why. We started driving up the intersection, I got into the passenger's seat, not willing to face my former ward. I hope that he died fast and painless because he was a good man.

"Which road are we taking today? Merrill or Lynshire?" I asked my partner.

"The interstate, Emily. We gotta get him there as fast as we can, because we may not be able to preserve his body for a funeral." I know he has no family, but I still don't object when he says this, because I want it to be true. I want him to have a good funeral. It is getting so commonplace for released convicts to commit suicide. I'm not surprised, since they have to go back into the world a mark on their record. I know firsthand from convicts on their second offense that they find it easier in jail. Easier because you have a stable flow of food and a roof over your head at night. I'm not surprised that Kingston chose death over life. It can't have been easy for him. I only wish that my daughter Lacey turns out okay. The last thing that I want is for her to think adoption makes you lesser than. We sped down the interstate highway, and I sent a prayer for Kingston, hoping that whatever comes next for him is merciful and that they recognize his pain.