Last Weekend
I’ve spent years trying to convince Gracie not to come up here, but she’s stubborn just like me, and today is visiting day. I’ve never been as nervous in my entire life as I was when I woke up this morning, and one would think I’d be getting led to the fucking gurney, not to see my kid.
Davis brought me a new comb and told me he’d take me to the showers so I could shave and get cleaned up before she gets here. Normally, C.Os won’t escort an inmate on something as mundane as that, but he has kids too, so he gets it.
“You about ready, Blackburn?”
I stop pacing my cell and glance at the bars. Davis is there with a towel and his ring of keys in his hands. As soon as I nod, he unlocks my cell and pulls the door open.
“Come on then,” he instructs with a nod. I fall into step beside him and am grateful he hasn’t put cuffs on me. Death Row in Sing Sing has its own facilities apart from gen pop that the Warden lets me use, so I won’t have to worry much about any of the new kids today trying to take me down for being the resident “big guy.”
I’m in such good spirits by the time we get to the showers that I could go straight to the death house after this and die a happy man, having laid eyes on my baby one last time.
I turn the faucets and get a temperature I can handle, open a fresh bar of soap, and start washing myself up as best I can. I don’t want to smell like just another fucking guy in the clink when I see her. I want to be presentable, and maybe look as much like the man she probably remembers.
As I turn my back to the wall and begin to soap up my hair, it suddenly hits me that Gracie isn’t the little girl I remember. Hell, she’s a grown woman now, and I wonder if she still looks like both me and Doreen, or if she looks like her own person these days.
I wonder if she’s maybe a momma at this point; if she’s married, or even hooked up with someone. I have a thousand and one questions I want to ask her, and in a couple of hours, I’ll get to do just that.
I let out a breath as I finish washing the soap out of my hair, then go over my body one more time with the bar, making sure that at the very least, I’ll smell like this generic bullshit, as opposed to sweat and regret. Gracie deserves much better than what I can give her, but I’m gonna do my best to not look or smell like a piece of shit when I see her.
I turn the water off and walk over to the partition, grabbing the towel and wrapping it securely around my waist. I walk over to the entrance and ask Davis for the comb before I make my way to the mirrors lined on the opposite wall of the showers and wipe away the steam with the palm of my hand.
“Goddamn,” I say to myself, with a shake of my head. I didn’t care much before about how I look these days, but now I have a reason to, there’s not much I can do about it. I’ve been inside for fifteen fucking years, waiting for this nightmare to finally end, and I look like I’m heading toward sixty instead of fifty.
If I live to see fifty, that makes Gracie … twenty-four?
I sigh when I realize just how much of her life I’ve missed. I pull the towel free from my waist and rub my hair, drying it as best I can, before I start to run the comb through it. I could do with a shave too, but Davis has done enough for me and I don’t want him to get into any shit over my visit today.
After spending a few more moments staring at an old man I don’t quite remember, I secure the towel back around my waist and walk to the entrance of the showers.
“I’m ready to go back to my cell, man,” I say to him, sliding my feet into the standard issued prison slippers he brought for me.
“Where are your clothes?” he asks me, raising an eyebrow.
“Got a fresh shirt and pants on my cot. I didn’t wanna get them wet. It’s a quick walk, Davis. Please?” I ask, glancing down into his face.
He rubs his chin for a second, then nods, and we make our way back to my cell.
“I’ll be back just before she gets here to come for you. Got some rules and shit we gotta go over before I take you up there,” he says after I step into my cell and he locks the door.
I nod and wait for him to leave, before dropping the towel to the ground and pulling on a fresh pair of boxers. Even those are white—like the shirt, my pants, and the fucking walls that stare at me day in and day out. I refuse to be angry today, and I won’t let the overwhelming bland color get to me; not when I know Gracie is on her way, if not already here.
She’s always been like me—early for everything. Ten minutes early is better than five minutes late, right Daddy? I close my eyes and sigh as I pull my pants up and think of her tiny voice and how she would always repeat little things I said to her. Only the good stuff, though. Gracie never uttered a bad word that I would yell at Doreen, and I tried my best to shield her from that bullshit, but life has a weird way of bringing out the worst in people when you try your damnedest to be good.
I sit down on the edge of my cot after I’m dressed, and pull out the numerous letters she’s sent to me over the years from beneath my pillow where I have them for safekeeping. I open each one, from the very first one she sent, and start to reread them while I wait for the time to go by.
Davis returns about an hour and a half later, as he promised, opens the cell door, and produces some shackles.
“Rule number one: you’ve gotta be chained up while we walk to the visiting room. I won’t be going with you, but Officer Morgan here will,” he says, nodding at the newest C.O. who’s standing next to him, eyeing me warily.
I slide the letters back under my pillow, nod, and get to my feet. As they proceed to wrap the chain around my waist and connect it to cuffs at the wrists and ankles, I listen as Davis continues with his rules. Well, I’m not listening, really; I’m more interested in getting up to the room and seeing my kid, but I do a damn good job of acting like I’m paying attention—so much so that when Davis leaves me with Morgan, I decide the best thing to do is keep my mouth shut and let him lead me to where I need to go.
The new kid is nice—very talkative, even if I don’t respond to him right away, and he seems genuine like Davis does, so after we get past the other cell blocks and up to the main floor, I open up and start joking with him.
Twenty-five minutes later, we’re walking down a hallway I’m not familiar with, and my nerves begin to fray. I’m getting closer to Gracie than I have in fifteen fucking years, and the thought is turning my stomach in the best way possible.
In her letters, she always signs them love Gracie, and now I’ll be able to look into her eyes and see if she really does still love me.
A few more steps, and Morgan puts his hand on my elbow, stopping me short. “I’ll unchain you once we get inside. I hate to do that to you in front of your kid, but that’s part of the rules.”
I nod as he pulls the door open, and as he damn near trips and falls, I start laughing. He turns to look at me and chuckles, holding the door open to let me go in first. I don’t look at Gracie right away because I’m afraid that I’ll burst into fucking tears, and that’s not the man she remembers.
Once we’re inside the small room, I glance up at Davis, careful not to look at Gracie yet, and he nods at me as he begins to say some shit I can’t hear through the glass. Morgan tells me to raise my arms to my waist, and he leans down to uncuff me. He wraps the chains around his arms and tells me he’ll be right outside the door.
“You have one hour,” he reminds me, giving me a pat on the shoulder.
I take a deep breath as I sit down and finally look at my Gracie—my one last thing worth fighting for. I reach for the phone and chuckle when I realize she’s still very much like me, not looking up right away, but when she does … my God, when she does … I let my breath out in a rush and smile at her as she picks up her phone and says the sweetest words I’ve heard in a very long time.
“Hi, Daddy.”