I didn't know what to feel when I saw the back of his ponytail in that picture. Whereas once I couldn't believe he'd left without me, now I couldn't believe he had been caught. All I could think about was all the time he was going to get.
"Ten years minimum," one of the cons said. "They gave him a dime the last time, so the judge will give him at least that much."
Another con pushed his way in to look at the paper.
"No way. They'll give him twenty. They double it the second time around."
"Ain't no good time either," the first guy said. "The motherfuckers done took that away. He ain't never getting out."
"Stacked!" One of them shouted. "They'll stack it on his first sentence, so he'll have to finished serving that time before he begins the next."
That could have been nee with him-facing all that time, but all I cared about was being back together with him. No matter if it meant twenty more years in prison. He wouldn't have gotten caught if had taken me with him. I wouldn't have let him be so stupid as to ask for directions and then go that way. How dumb could you be? That wasn't like Paul. Hello, Police? I've just escaped from prison, I'm driving a stolen car, plate number: I'm a big fucking idiot-and I'm traveling on Route 66 headed right at you.
I wrote him a letter and asked him why he had left without me.
Two days later, I was summoned to the Control Center. Mr. Curtis, the Deputy Warden, was holding the letter I had written to Paul.
"Are you sure you don't want to talk about this?" he said.
He was placing me in administrative isolation pending a security reclassification hearing. This was standard practice when they had information that an inmate was planning to escape.
When I had finally read the letter had been slipped under my door, a few days before, it was from Paul. He sent it to me the same day he left-apologizing for leaving without me.
"I didn't come get you," he wrote, "because you don't have that much time to go. And I needed to do this on my own. You know how to do your time now. But please know, that I will always love you."
The letter Mr. Curtis was holding was my response.
All incoming mail was screened for contraband, yet out going mail was sealed and private. When I mailed my letter to Paul, I hadn't considered what happens at the other end. My letter was screened when it arrived at M-R. They sent it back.
"You wrote some pretty heavy stuff in this," Mr. Curtis said.
I didn't know what to say. I was embarrassed about what I had written, even though I couldn't remember most of it. I was trying to express what was tearing me up inside. I remembered telling Paul how I missed him and would give anything to be with him-including going over the fence myself-just to see him again.
"I don't believe you really intended to escape," Mr. Curtis said. "But I have to lock you up pending a hearing. It's standard procedure."
Not only couldn't I see Paul, now I couldn't communicate with him either.
"I'm assigning the Inmate Advocate to work with you. The outcome of this has consequences I'm not sure you're capable of understanding."
Mr. Curtis was an African American, and like Miss Bain, he surprised me by seeming to be kind.
They moved me back to A-unit, and into an isolation cell. A few days later, the Inmate Advocate came to see me. The guard unlocked nay door and brought me down to the card room. The housing unit was empty with most inmates away at their assignments.
Miss Brown smiled, as I sat opposite her, and then waited patiently as I swapped chairs. The first one had a crooked leg and wobbled slightly.
"I had a hard time getting comfortable myself," she smiled.
I didn't know who to trust anymore, so just nodded politely.
"Sometimes, when you find someone else who doesn't belong-it's as good as belonging yourself," she offered. "I know this isn't easy to talk about, but we have to get you prepared for your hearing. The consequences could be serious, and ..."
"I don't care," I said. "They can increase my security or do whatever they want." And I meant it, too. For once, I spoke the truth of my feelings without fear of the consequences. I had Paul to thank for that.
"Do you have a cigarette?" I asked.
"I don't smoke," she said.
Of course she didn't. She looked too straightlaced and reminded me of a vegetarian character from one of Paul's novels. She wasn't wearing a wedding ring either. For a moment there, I wondered if maybe she was gay. At least that would've given us something to talk about.
"I don't have anything to say," I said.
She looked toward the guard's desk.
"I'll be right back," she said.
She closed the door behind her, and I put my head down on the desk.
Whatever they were going to do, I just wished they'd hurry up and do it. It didn't matter anymore.
The door opened again, and I heard her enter. She placed something on the table and slid it across to me.
It was a journal, with a black and white cover-similar to the one I was given when I first went to work for The Oracle. I looked up and saw Miss Bain standing there.
"I don't think Paul would have wanted to see you self-destruct," she said.
"Hey Miss Bain." I looked down at the floor. I'd not seen her since storming out of her office the day she bawled me out. It was nice to see her, but I was embarrassed by how I must have looked.
She sat down opposite me at the table.
"You look like you could use a shower," she said.
In spite of myself, I smiled at her.
"You
