I couldn’t say 100 percent before, but I can now: suits aren’t my thing. They smother me from the inside out.
Marshall and I wait outside a conference room for the parole board to call us in. I don’t know what I was expecting. A courtroom, I guess, or maybe some grimy room within the prison itself where when I walked down the hallways I’d hear the yells from prisoners getting into fights.
I need to stop watching so much late-night TV.
My cell vibrates in my pocket, and along with good wishes from Nazareth, Leo and V, there’s a text from Scarlett. A text from her own phone that she pays for herself. It’s simple and strikes straight to the heart: I love you.
Three little words and her faith gives me the courage to move mountains, which is what I need. Me: I love you, too. I’ll text when I’m done.
Scarlett: Good luck. Just think how fantastically boring life will be when the hearing is over and we head back to school. New normal for the win.
It’s early January, and it’s our last week of winter break. What no one else knows is that I’m not going back. On the last day of school before break, I went into the school board office and picked up my high school diploma. No fanfare, no cap and gown, just me knowing I have a lot of decisions to make and a few months left to make them.
I glance up to spot Marshall stalking my cell, and I raise an eyebrow. “Privacy?”
“You haven’t told her.”
No, I haven’t. “I’m telling her tonight.”
“Cutting it short, aren’t you?”
The honest answer? “I’m afraid if I told her earlier I’d let her talk me out of it.” I’m not as brave as Scarlett. If she were me, she would have already told me what’s going on and have gone forward full throttle, and that’s the reason why I’m doing what I’m doing. I need to become her equal. I need to be as brave as she is in how she lives life.
Marshall places a hand on my shoulder then squeezes. “You’re making the right choice.”
I think so, but the question is, will Scarlett? Will she understand that what I’m doing will hopefully help me figure out who I am? Or will she feel betrayed?
“Do you think she’ll go with you?” Marshall asks.
The idea of being without Scarlett causes my chest to hollow out. I want her with me, every step of the way, but I don’t think she’ll follow me. She’s stronger than that, and I need to become just as strong as she is. “No.”
“Mr. Lachlin?” A woman with short brown hair sticks her head out the door. “We’re ready for your statement.”
I nod, and Marshall slides in front of me. “Remember, this isn’t the parole hearing. It’s an opportunity for you to tell them your emotions regarding your mother’s death and your father’s possible parole. Are you ready?”
As I’m going to be. “Let’s go.”
We walk in, take seats and some words are said. Marshall talks, the people at the other end of the conference table talk, and while it’s important to listen, I can’t. It’s all buzzing in my head. Then there’s a nudge on my arm, Marshall angling his head to the words I had written on the piece of paper to keep my thoughts in order. It’s my turn to speak, my turn to announce my truth and no longer stay silent.
“First, I want to thank you for the opportunity to speak to you on behalf of my mother. To be honest, I wish I could say that if she had lived through what happened that night between her and my father that she would be in this chair talking to you and telling you not to offer him parole, but I can’t say that because it would be a lie.”
I glance up, and each of them watch me. Not one of them is on their phones or taking notes. I have their full, undivided attention.
“Throughout my childhood, my mother bounced from guy to guy. Many of them I met, probably many more I didn’t. My mom needed someone in her life to feel secure, which is ironic because rarely was she safe in any of those situations.
“Mom and I were vagabonds drifting in the world. In between staying with guys she dated, I found a home base with my grandmother, Suzanne. She was my mother’s mother. Sometimes my mom would stay with us, but there was a hole inside her that drove her away and into another man’s arms.
“I lived my life fearing the day my mother would show at my grandmother’s and tell me she had found someone new. Someone who would love and take care of us. I never understood why she couldn’t see the people who loved her in the safety of my grandmother’s trailer, but she didn’t, and I’ll never know why.
“I’ve spent nights on cold floors, went hungry more times than I can count, and watched as my mother was physically and verbally abused again and again. There were a few times I found myself at the wrong end of one of her boyfriends’ fist, and I have to admit that I found myself grateful that I was the one who was hit, not her, because somehow in my eight-year-old mind, I thought I could handle the pain better.
“It hasn’t been until recent years that I learned that my mother had kept in contact with my father—a man she had met when she had turned eighteen. She had told me once that she had fallen madly in love. I don’t know much about the love my parents shared, but I do know about the mad. Of all the people my mother had been with, it turns out he was the most abusive.
“What had driven them apart initially was me. My father didn’t want me, my mother did, but she agreed to never bring me so they could be together. I tell you this to paint a picture of who my mother was. She made bad choices, but she also loved me. Her love might have been destructive, but it was mine, and as a child, I took any type of love I could get.”
I think of how Mom would hug me tight when she’d walk in the door. I think of how we’d stay up for hours, and she’d talk to me about the maps. I think of how I’ll never be able to show her another report card with an A. Of how I’ll never be able to tell her about Scarlett and how I learned to love. I think of how someday, I’ll never dance with my mom at my wedding, and I’ll never place my child in her arms.
A million moments stolen from me. Moments I’ll never be given back.
“The summer before my freshman year, my mother and father had entered what I presume would be called a honeymoon period. She thought they were fixed and would be together forever. One of her last mistakes was making this assumption and bringing me to stay with him. It was a day of many firsts for me. It was the first day I left the state of Kentucky, it was the first day I had a strawberry milkshake, it was the first time I had ever seen anyone so angry that my heart literally stopped beating.
“I’m not going to go into detail on what happened that night. There was a trial, and I’m sure you have the information and evidence that convicted my father. I understand that three years have passed, and that he possibly has had time to change, but I’m going to be selfish here and explain to you that three years has not been enough time for me to change.
“When my father killed my mother in front of me, I froze. I froze after my father smashed a chair over my back in anger. I froze when my father started beating my mother. I froze as I watched her die by his hand. I froze on the witness stand during the trial. I froze whenever my grandmother or my older cousin tried to touch me in comfort. I froze whenever I tried to tell my best friend what happened. I froze, and I’ve stayed that way for years.”
My throat closes and the edges of my mouth turn down. I clear my throat once, twice, a third time and when I take a deep breath, I’m too close to a sob.
“It’s okay, Mr. Lachlin,” says a man with gray hair and a kind expression. “Take your time.”
I take a drink and hate how the hand that holds the bottled water shakes. I clear my throat again. This time, I create enough of an air passage to continue.
“Over the past few months, through the love and dedication of some very important people in my life, I’m starting to change. The change has been hard. It’s been a push and a pull, and there are times I have fought it every inch of the way.
“Even though there has been change, I’m going to admit, I don’t know who I am, and I’d like a chance to figure that out. I’ve spent a good portion of my life believing I had to stay on my family’s property, but I know now I can leave, and that has opened a whole realm of possibilities.
“It’s overwhelming and frightening, but for the first time since my mother’s death, I feel alive. It has taken me three years to get to this point, and I’m asking you to please allow me more time to explore myself, these changes and my new possibilities.
“What my father did froze me. He might have had time to change, but I haven’t. I need this time, and if he’s released, I’m scared I’m going to return me to my previous state. He’s the one who put me in this position, and it’s up to me to change, but I need that time. I ask that you please take a long look at the crime, at how violent it was, at how he hurt me physically and emotionally, and then remember what I asked you here today. I ask that you please deny him parole and to keep him in prison. Thank you.”