The person people recognize has become the person he thinks he is.
“It is a severe financial commitment but one I am willing to make. Haverly is confident enough that, within a few months, you could be out on bail. This is unheard of, but with the right people on our side, you just might get a second chance.”
Never asks whether or not I am listening.
“You understand what I’m saying, Zachary? You get a second
chance. You can be someone else.”
Never asks whether or not I am even here.
“Look, I am not saying you’re a loser. What I am saying is that it’s looking like you will be portrayed as such. You are talented and capable of living a good life. We all make mistakes. You are capable of a second chance.”
He never asks about me.
He never asks his son if he is okay. It never enters his mind.
The work to be done is the “matter at hand.” I hear what he’s saying, but somewhere it starts to blend in with the noise of the room.
The phone call ends.
I am taken back to my cell.
With some certainty, I might have imagined the call.
Just like you forget to turn off the lights before leaving the apartment, it’s not really there until you are forced to return. The same thoughts bring me to a revision; I see and hear bits and pieces of the call and by the time I feel sick again, I will already be at the toilet, on my knees, ready to let it go.
I will have saved myself from having to clean up after my sickness.
Save myself from the small messes.
When there is only you, the cell, and the thoughts that stick around, the simplest changes become the biggest. They become the highlight of a time without beginning or end. They work like a slap on the shoulder, the same slap on the shoulder that should have shaken you free, the gesture that should have made you realize that very little of it was genuine.
Instead it made things blurry.
Guilt is a good cover story. But then someone visits and I don’t have a whole lot to say other than, “Yeah I did it.”
Today she visited me.
I had trouble remembering but the walk to the visitation yard gave me enough time.
Veronica looked like Veronica.
Her enthusiasm was as genuine as ever.
She said, “Hello” like it was a normal occasion. But she never greeted me that way, which made me question whether or not she was only here to see what had happened since the murder.
There were other people, a lot of people, visiting other prisoners, but though I looked and tried to count, I could not settle on a number.
12?
17?
I couldn’t just pick one number.
It might as well have been 100.
A hundred people around me. A hundred people listening, talking about me. My time in the relative isolation of my cell had made me more aware of what I could not be without.
I could not just sit there and listen to Veronica.
I could not listen to her.
This wasn’t a conversation.
I instantly became aware of so many voices, and every voice was an opportunity to look and react before I had a chance to explain myself.
Give me a chance to make a first impression.
Give me a chance to be myself.
But then, all I could think was: if given that chance, what would I say?
Veronica spoke with confidence.
She had been doing better since returning to Elite Aesthetics.
I lowered my head so that others couldn’t see me, only her.
“Are you okay?”
She seemed concerned, but I couldn’t tell if that was genuine or more so just because she was talking to me. She chose to visit me; she has some stake in this conversation. The attention drawn to us is shared. She is as receptive to their looks as I am to my guilt.
When I did speak, she criticized me for sounding different.
“You aren’t making any sense.”
I would repeat myself a number of times but it only made it worse.
Veronica changed the subject.
One of the officers told me I had fifteen minutes left.
It didn’t make a difference.
She continued talking.
I didn’t listen.
They were maybe talking about me.
What could they really say?
The considerations were many but difficult to categorize. Every possibility was as bothersome as the past.
Instantly I became angry at the thought.
They felt that they were allowed to think of me in those terms. It was rash to believe that people had the right to label you as something you weren’t.
No matter if they are right, they could only be wrong.
It wasn’t in their right to make someone out to be something without hearing first what they had to say.
No one is sold based solely on the way they act and look.
But almost as instantly I understood that I was wrong.
It made me feel sick again.
I hoped our time had nearly elapsed.
I heard her grin, as genuine as can be. I could not bear to see their glances, hear them maybe speak about me to each other, so I did my best to focus on her, the only person that may have seen me for who I really am.
Someone that didn’t judge me based on my errors.
Someone that said those words to me and meant it.
She loved me. It could only be the kind of love that exists in the past tense. For her to be genuine, she couldn’t love me now.
Veronica moved on.
I could tell that her visit was her way of making sure she had moved on. By the look of it, it’s simple enough to say she was sure.
There was no talk of the party.
There was no mention of Rios, who, when I tried, could no longer be anything but a name I had heard numerous times. No mention of the past, only the present, and how Veronica had been doing well.
“I got a small promotion! It isn’t much, just a half-dollar, but I’ve never gotten a promotion before. It’s, I don’t know, like Jeffrey’s way of telling me that I’m not going to be fired again. That, I don’t know, I am there to stay. Part of the team. Accepted. You know?”
I’d imagine that I understood, or might have understood.
“It makes me happy.”
She reapplied lipstick. I watched.
I had nowhere else to look.
If I dared look elsewhere, I might actually settle on a number.
If I settled on a number, I had this idea that it might imply that I wanted them to look at me. I refuse to believe this.
She puckered her lips, saw that I had been watching, giggled, and said, “I feel good. I’ve been hanging with some of the other employees. They have this circle of friends that’s just full of creativity. They always have some amazing idea; every night is something new. Like, James, he just, I don’t know, always knows of the latest trends. Everything: New places to eat, new hangouts, concerts. Since being around them, I’ve spent almost every paycheck.”
I thought about the likes.
How many likes she would have attained by being friends with this group.
“But I’ve never been happier!”
I thought about friends and followers I had but couldn’t remember any of their names. I tried but came up with nothing.
It used to be an admirable number.
Every once in a while, Veronica looked down at her phone. She texted and she skimmed messages, catching up, staying caught up.
I watched.
Thought for a second about what I may have been missing.
Without being able to type or talk, all I had now were my thoughts.
All I had now was Meurks.