Page 100 of The River Is Waiting

Thinking back, I recall how we used to enjoy our nature walks when you were a little guy. You seemed so fascinated by all the creatures we’d spot in the woods, the ponds and streams, the fields, and I felt so proud to be able to share my knowledge of the natural world with you. My expectation back then was that you would follow in my footsteps and become a man of science, perhaps in the field of zoology. It was no secret that I was unhappy with you when you went in a different direction and chose to study art in college. I’ve come to realize only lately that my disapproval was based on my own ego. You had every right to pursue what you were interested in, instead of creating a life in my image. This is late in coming, Corbin, but I apologize for having devalued your artistic impulses.

Though this does not come easily, Corbin, I need to admit something to you. Despite the circumstances that led to your little boy’s death, you were a far better father than I was. That became crystal-clear to me the time Natalie and I visited you, Emily, and the twins. I’m ashamed to say this, but seeing the loving way you interacted with your wife and children made me feel jealous of you. I had to admit to myself that I did not have the capacity to love the way you did, so I took the coward’s way out. I made no further effort to visit you and your family.

Corbin, I don’t know how you’ll react to the things I’ve shared in this letter. I have no idea if they might bring us closer together or drive us further apart. I’ll leave it to you to decide. If you write back and tell me you want me to visit you, I’ll contact your mother and ask her what the procedures are. If I don’t hear back from you, I’ll understand that you don’t want me to come. As you know, I amnot someone who can pray to a nonexistent god, so instead of prayers I offer you my deepest hope that you will remain safe and that your time in there will pass as quickly as possible. I love you and look forward to the day when you walk out of there a free man.

Sincerely,

Dad

It’s too much to take in all at once—too overwhelming and confusing—so I put his letter down and pace the cell. Take deep breaths. Then I sit back on my bunk, pick it up again, and read it a second time.

“If I had been a better father…” Is he actually owning up to his flaws?… And Jesus, I didn’t seethiscoming: his giving me belated permission to be myself. Are you actually humbling yourself, Dad? I didn’t realize you were capable of doing that. And you’re saying you only came to see the twins once not because you were indifferent to them but because you were envious ofme?

His letter is such a total mindfuck that I sit here, stunned. How do I feel? How am Isupposedto feel? What’s my relationship with him supposed to be like now? When Manny enters our cell, I barely notice him until he speaks to me. “Hey, man, did you forget you’re getting out of here? What the hell are you crying for?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

February 2020

Days 918–20 of 920

After supper chow on Sunday, I head over to my last jailhouse AA meeting. They changed the time a few months ago, from late morning to early evening. The membership has changed some, too, since I started coming. Santiago and Red Sox Danny have been good additions. Durnell’s gotten released and I hear he’s doing great. Meth Mouth died in his sleep last Thanksgiving. That was a sad one, but Dusty’s death was even sadder. I remember him talking about how scared he was when his discharge was coming up. Didn’t take him long before he was back here again, telling us he’d been rejected as a candidate for a liver transplant and reacted to the news by going on an extended bender that he funded by pickpocketing shoppers outside Walmart. There was a yellow cast to his skin now and nobody wanted to sit next to him because he had “keto breath.” He ended up in the hospice here and died last month without any of the inmate tributes that the more popular “back-door parolees” get.

Frank is chairing today’s meeting. I think back to when he first came in and what a know-it-all he acted like. He’s still not one of my favorites, but he works a good program and his shares are usually worth listening to. Of all the things I’ve heard in here, something Frank said that first day he showed up has been the most useful: that having hope was never going to hurt me, but having unreasonable expectations could clobber me and startme drinking and drugging again. I remember trying to get away from him because I was like, who washeto givemeadvice? But what he said stuck with me and the more I thought about it, the more I realized that what he said was true. Knowing the difference between hope and expectations has helped me ever since.

At the end of the meeting, I say goodbye and thank everyone for keeping me sober. “Same,” someone says. “We’ll miss you, man.” “Have a ginger ale on me.” When we hold hands and say the Serenity Prayer, I’m standing next to Frank. At the end, he gives my hand a squeeze and says, “Good luck out there in the Wild West.”

Walking back to my housing unit, I think about how I’ve spent two and a half years romanticizing what freedom was going to feel like. One of the emotions I hadn’t expected to feel was survivor guilt. How many times had Lester Wiggins been denied a sentence modification? Why had they even refused to grant him a merciful release when he was close to the end? Why do I deserve to walk out of here and move on when I ended Niko’s life when he was only two?…

Back in B, I’m glad to see that it’s Captain Graham and CO McGreavy working this shift. Both have always been decent to me. I tell them that tomorrow’s the day I get out of here, and the captain says, “So we heard. Some of your friends are waiting for you in the rec room. You guys got one hour, that’s it, so go on. Get.”

I do what she says and walk into what turns out to be my farewell party, organized by Manny and okayed by Graham and McGreavy. Most of the guys on our end of the tier are here. Pacheco, Angel, Daugherty, Boudreaux, and the new kid, Jesse. They give me an embarrassing round of applause and, to stop them, I put up my hand like a traffic cop. Refreshments-wise, they’ve pooled their commissary resources: teriyaki beef jerky, chocolate chip Pop-Tarts, buffalo chicken nuggets, spicy pork rinds, mini Hershey bars, Gatorade, and Royal Crown Cola. With the help of a hair dryer and a paper bag, Boudreaux’s made string-cheese-and-chili-with-beans nachos. It’s a frickin’ feast!

And what’s a party without music? Angel has his radio dialed to an old-school R & B station and when Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get It On” comes on, a couple of the guys break out their slow-dance moves as if they’re grinding against their women. Manny’s moves flirt with being X-rated, so who knows wherehisfantasies are taking him. Luckily, the song ends before CO McGreavy pops his head in. “Ledbetter’s leaving tomorrow,” Angel tells him. “Captain Graham gave us the okay.”

“I know, I know. Just keep the music down.” But when James Brown’s “I Feel Good” comes on, McGreavy starts doing a little two-step and joins the sing-along.

An hour later, as the party wraps up, I make an attempt to thank everyone and say how much the effort means to me, but it sounds so sappy, I cut it off midsentence and just tell them I’m going to miss them. “Stick around then,” someone quips.

“Nope. Not a chance,” I tell them, and they answer with a cheer.

Back in our cell, I thank Manny for his loyalty to me and for organizing the party. “Hug?” he says. I tell him okay and hold him tight, then tighter. He’s already given me the address of the motel he and his sister will inherit, but he writes it down again in case I lose the first. I promise him that when he gets out in a few more years, I’ll go down to see him and Gloria. “You fucking better,” he says.

Before I go to bed, I make that list of what I’m walking out of here with—signed legal paperwork, the letters I’ve saved, my sketchbooks and art supplies, the photos of Maisie that Emily sent, and my lucky river stone. Because I gave away most of my shit, I only have to use one of the two plastic bags they gave me. At lights-out, I get into bed, then remember I forgot to pack the river stone. No sense in groping around in the dark for it. I’ll drop it in the bag first thing in the morning.

I drift in and out of restless sleep all night, my mind going in a hundred different directions.And let’s not forget the individual who may end up paying the highest price of all—Niko’s twin sister, Maisie…You ain’t turningmeinto your Uncle Remus or your magical Negro!…You’re the baby killer,right?… Code Purple! Building B, first floor!… Seeing the loving way you interacted with your wife and children made me feel jealous of you.… Mind-body. Mind-body. Mind-body.… You’ve gotten too involved with that kid.… There’s a salt shaker missing. You swipe that, Ledbetter?… So let’s go with the Klonopin then. Sound good?… We have this big blank wall now. How would you like to make it your canvas?… This call originates from a Connecticut Correctional facility.… Seek the light, dear Corby. Move toward the light.… She’s not coming here, Corby. End of subject.But then Maisie did come, thanks to Mom. She seemed uncomfortable at first, then warmed up a little, then gave me that unexpected wave goodbye. As I think about what a gift that was, my restlessness subsides and I finally fall into a deeper sleep.

I wake up a little before four on Tuesday. The day is finally here and I feel happy, sure, but not what you’d call joyous. My stomach’s clenched and my hands are a little shaky. I’ve been told it could be a long morning before I’m able to get in Mom’s car and look at this place in the rearview mirror.

Manny’s snoring away up top. When I get out of bed, I go to the back window. I can see from the lamppost light that it’s started snowing. The visitors’ lot has about an inch already. This isn’t going to screw things up, is it? I haven’t heard anything about accumulation.

McGreavy must be doing a double shift, because at four thirty, he unlocks our door and enters the cell. He gives me my instructions: shower, get dressed, strip my mattress, and leave the laundry on the floor. At five, I should go over to morning chow as usual. At around seven, he says, a first-shift officer will escort me over to Discharge. “Hey, nice party they gave you last night,” he says. “Not everyone gets one of those.”

“Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m going to miss some of the guys here, even a few of you COs,” I tell him. He nods, then points up at Manny, still asleep on the top bunk. He says he bets I won’t miss that snoring though. I laugh and tell him no, I won’t miss that. “I just hope he lucks out with whoever they move in here next.”

McGreavy says he’s going off shift pretty soon. Do I have any questions?

“Yeah. Do you know how many of us are getting out today?”

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