“I’m… I’m getting out early?” The question isn’t directed at Judge. I’m thinking out loud, trying not to burst out of this seat and get my hopes up before I know the whole entire story.
“Yes, ma’am, you are. Six months on the money.” He sounds genuinely happy for me, chuckling when my mouth pops open and closed for a good minute.
Six months from now is right before Christmas.
I’ll be home...for Christmas. That’s my mom’s favorite holiday.
“You’re sure this is for real? That this is for me and not someone else?” Setting the letter back on his desk with shaky hands, I drag my gaze up in time to see the old man nodding.
“That’s your name on it, isn’t it?” he counters, tapping the tip of his fancy pen right above my full name. “You’ve earned it, Villanueva, and deserve the chance to show the system you can keep this up on the outside. You’ll need two years on parole to mark your time as completed, of course. Still, there’s an opportunity for early release there, too, if your parole officer sees it fit.”
You’ve earned it.
Of everything he just said, that’s what sticks out the most. Wow. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to hear that? How long I’ve been waiting to finally get the validation that all of my efforts to stay on track haven’t gone unnoticed? I’ve worked so hard for this, so damn hard, that when the floodgates burst wide open, I don’t try to stop the emotional deluge.
Fuck vulnerability, fuck what anyone thinks. I let it all go, every little thing that’s built up inside me since the day I got arrested, and thank Papá Dios for finally hearing me.
For answering my prayers.
“T-thank you.” I’m not sure he can hear me behind the safety of my hands as my body folds in on itself, shoulders shaking, breaths erratic. “Thank you so much for this. Y-you don’t understand what it m-means.”
Hold on just a little longer, Mama.
Yup, I’m sobbing, afraid that if I so much as move or blink or even breathe that I’m going to wake up from some sick dream, and none of this will be real.
I’m going to be home for Christmas.
“Oh, don’t cry,” Judge says sympathetically, sliding something across his desk. “This old man isn’t good with tears.”
I’m not either; I hate them, earning him the softest laugh as I focus on breathing and regaining control of my emotions. When I finally pick myself back up and wipe away the wetness clinging to my face, I realize it’s a tissue box. I take a couple and clean myself up some more, blotting my eyes and then blowing my nose.
“I’m sorry,” my voice quakes. “I just wasn’t expecting this at all. I’ve been praying this day might eventually come around. Didn’t think it would happen, though.”
Judge smiles and sets his pen down on top of the letter. “I think you’ve learned your lesson, right?”
Yes, yes, I have.
There’s not enough money in the world worth time in prison.
Nodding, I pick up the fountain pen and sign my life away as a megawatt grin splits my face in two. “Absolutely.”
Wait till I tell Andrés.
I didn’t get to tell him, mostly because I didn’t see much of him for the rest of the day. Walker partnered him with Delfino, and Delfino isn’t a fan of hanging around the block all day long. He will if he has to, but most of the time, he and Birks are the first to dip out and wander the halls for hours at a time. I kept waiting for him and Andrés to reappear before the end of his shift, but Lena told me he clocked out while I was in the showers. I’ve been on pins and needles since, anxiously awaiting for the lights to go out so I could pull my phone out and text him.
Me: I have something to tell you.
That’s the text I sent a little over five minutes ago, almost immediately after the block was drowned in darkness. Andrés usually waits until about eleven-thirty to start texting me, but I couldn’t wait tonight. As soon as the doors are locked, and they cut the lights, I was pulling the phone free from my hiding spot and jumping back into bed. Lena’s so used to my new nightly routine that she’s already passed out, snoring softly as usual. I feel bad that I haven’t told her yet, but she’s been in a mood the last few days—I’m blaming Mother Nature—and I didn’t want to irritate her any more by rubbing it in her face. The fact of the matter is, Lena won’t be as lucky. She’s been here longer than I have, and she’ll still be here after I get out.
Andrés’s incoming reply vibrates the phone in my hand.
Chulo: What? You miss me? :P
Yes, I think to myself, biting down on my lip as I type out my response.
Me: Yes, but no—that’s not it.
Chulo: So you *do* miss me? Good thing ‘cause I have an idea... You go first tho. What happened?
Me: I met with the counselor today…
Chulo: Yeah, I know. How’d it go?
Not yet, but it will be.
Me: I’m getting out early…
Chulo: …
Chulo: How early?
Me: Like six months from now early.
Chulo: …
Chulo: …
Chulo: Are you for real?
Me: Cross my heart.
Chulo: Headphones. Get them. NOW.
So demanding.
I fucking giggle like a little girl and pull the headphones in questions from beneath my pillow, plugging the end into the jack.
That’s not where I hide them, don’t worry…
Me: I’m ready.
Not a minute later, the FaceTime call comes through. Accepting it, I quickly drop down the menu and shift the screen brightness all the way so he can actually see me.
He’s got that full-blown dimpled smile going on as he walks through his apartment, shirtless I should add. “You’re seriously getting out in six months?”
“Yup,” I answer quietly, trying not to
