Conleigh
Present Day
I was seven years old the last time I hugged my father. I can still remember the way his goatee tickled my nose when he kissed my forehead as he promised he’d walk me to school the next morning. “I’ll see you in the morning, caterpillar. I love you.” He called me caterpillar, because he said one day I would blossom into a beautiful butterfly. When he’d take me on his weekends we’d always go to the butterfly garden. I always thought it was so magical.
His large fingers tugged on my dark hair as he smiled down at me. I looked up into his hazel eyes, getting lost in the flecks of green and gold. The My Little Pony nightgown I was wearing dragged on the floor, brushing against my purple carpet. It was a size too big, but I loved that spaghetti strapped gown because he gave it to me.
I clung to his belt loop with my small pointer finger curled around the worn denim. He pried my finger loose with a lopsided grin. I scowled, but then I smiled as he tickled my rib. “Daddy has to go.”
“I don’t want you to go. Please, daddy, please stay, just a bit longer.” I pouted my bottom lip and held my breath.
My mom sighed from the doorway to my bedroom. I didn’t spare her a glance; I knew the exhausted expression she’d be wearing, it was the only one she wore when he came around. Her patience with my father had ran out when I was a baby. They were practically babies themselves when they had me. They were barely juniors in high school when I was born. With government assistance and help from my mom’s parents they graduated high school and were married briefly. My dad worked delivering pizzas, taking any job he could to support us, while my mom went to nursing school. They didn’t know what love was, even though they attempted to pretend at first, or so my mom has told me, the few times I have gotten any conversation out of her where my real dad is concerned. In her eyes, he’s been dead since the moment he received his sentence.
“Five more minutes,” he conceded, picking me up and putting me to bed. Kneeling on the floor next to my twin bed, he stroked his fingers across my forehead, forcing my eyes shut. “Go to bed, my sweet girl.”
My eyes fluttered as he continued to wave his hand over my eyes, whispering promises that were broken even before they left his lips. I can recall the low, heated whispers as my mom walked him to the door, then the slamming of that door jarring me from my near sleep.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Bailey questions as I shrug my red sweater over my head, exchanging it for my black cable knit one instead.
“Yeah, I promised, and, why wouldn’t I?”
She shrugs, her blonde hair falling behind her shoulder with the motion. Her baby blues soften as she semi-smiles. “I just worry about how this will affect you.”
“Okay, mom.” I shake my head. I have been hounded to death by mother about this very topic for three months now. “I’m fine. It will be fine. It’s only one day.”
She snorts. “One day at a prison.” Her face scrunches and she rolls her eyes.
“Bails, I know you love me, but I am doing this for me. I need this. I need…I don’t know——closure.” I sit on the bed with my legs crisscrossed. Gathering my brown hair in my hands, I twist it into a bun and secure it with a hair-band.
“Okay, I’ll back off.” She holds her hands up, her lips twitching with unspoken words. “Does Ezra know you’re doing this though?”
Biting my bottom lip, I shake my head. “You know how he feels about my dad. It isn’t a fight worth having. Besides, he won’t be back from his trip until late. It will be over by then and I won’t even have to mention it to him.” I shrug it off, but deep down it does bother me that Ezra isn’t more supportive of my being in contact with my father. I suppose as my boyfriend it is in his nature to be overly protective of me, much like my mom is, but I need him to be on my side with this. This is my first real chance to sit down and spend the day with my dad. They call it A Walk with God. It’s an experimental program where inmates who have earned good behavior get one day where their children can come and spend the day with them. It’s mainly for smaller kids, but my dad was one of the few who qualified, only twenty of fifteen hundred as a matter of fact.
Bailey, my childhood best friend and former roommate sighs, but doesn’t press me. We were roommates our first two years of college and until I moved in with my boyfriend, Ezra. We’ve been friends long enough now that she knows when I decide on something, that’s it. I don’t go back. A lot of planning has gone into this day and my dad has worked hard to maintain his good behavior so we can share this day.
Over the years, we have talked through letters and briefly over the phone, but I’ve never went for visitation, until today. My dad didn’t want me to see him locked up and my mom agreed that it wouldn’t be good for me. What changed my dad’s mind? I’m not sure. Maybe time. So much time has passed since I’ve seen his face in person or felt the warmth of his embrace, the calming feeling that a girl only gets from her dad. The peace that quiets any storm. At least that’s how I remember him making me feel…like he was a hero who would always protect me. That was all lost to me when I was seven though. One choice changed both our lives, forever.
Bailey stands at my closet, fingering through my wardrobe, deciding on an outfit to steal from me. She has work today, I do too, but I called and said I was sick. I wouldn’t miss a day with my dad for anything.
Leaning over the edge of my bed, I grab my boots from the floor and lace my them up over my skinny jeans.
Bailey turns her attention back on me after grabbing my grey tunic and leggings. “Just be careful, and text me later.”
“I will.” I groan and sling my purse over my shoulder, following her out the door.
“Later, bitch,” she teases as she gets in her car.
Outside, I rush in hopes of grabbing a quick coffee from the Starbucks across the street. I am in desperate need of caffeine.
I’m standing in line waiting for my name to be called for my order when a call comes through from my mom. I sigh and answer knowing she won’t stop calling until I do anyway. “Good morning,” I say, already dreading the speech that is sure to come.
“Good morning, sweetheart. What are you up to today?”
As if she has forgotten.
“Getting a coffee,” I tell her just as my name is called.
“That’s nice. Are you on your way to class?”
She knows I’m not, today is Saturday, but part of me wants to lie and tell her what she wants to hear.
I don’t do that though. I get my drink and head back across the street to my car, as I talk. “Mom,” I say on a sigh. “You know what today is. You know where I am going and why.”
“I just don’t want him to hurt you or let you down.”
“He already did that when he went to prison thirteen years ago. It’s a little late to be concerned.” I take a sip of my latte careful not to burn my tongue.
“I didn’t call to argue, Conleigh Nicole. I’m your mother and I worry. Prisons are dangerous and you’re a pretty young girl.”
“I’ll be fine. There’s going to be plenty of people around. Lots of small children. There will only be twenty inmates present, including my dad. Stop being such a mom,” I joke, attempting to lighten her mood.
“It’s my job,” she says, her tone soft.
“I’m getting in my car. I’ll text or something when it’s over.”
“No, you’ll come for dinner and tell me about it. Okay?”
“Tomorrow,” I concede.
“Sunday, family dinner, don’t forget,” she confirms and tells me she loves me and to be safe for the millionth time. My mom wants the best for me but we’ve never been what I would call close. Sure, she has provided me a good life, but I don’t go telling her my secrets or asking her for any real advice.
“Bye, mom.”
“Bye, sweetheart.”
After surviving her call, I start my car and spend a moment enjoying my coffee while my car warms up.
My cell phone rings again. A text from Ezra.
Honeypie: Have a great day at work. I can’t wait to see you.
Snookems: You too! When does your flight land? Mom wants me over for Sunday dinner.
Honeypie: Late. I’ll probably crash as soon as I get in. You should go see your mom.
Ugh! Didn’t he just say he couldn’t wait to see me?
Snookems: Driving, talk to you later xx
Yeah, we totally have cheesy nicknames for one another.
I’ve loved Ezra Joseph since my freshmen year of college. Technically, two years and counting. He graduated last semester and he’s working at his father’s corporate advertising firm. He’s the lowest man on the ladder and the boss’s son, therefore he’s working overtime to prove his worth not only to his father but to his peers. He doesn’t want them seeing his position as a handout from daddy, but it also means we are seeing less and less of each other. Take right now for instance, he’s in Miami working on a jingle for a fast-food chain that is growing in popularity in the South. Ezra is good at what he does, and I’m so proud of him, but at the same time, I hate it, because he’s moving up quicker in the company than he has let on. Even his group of friends is changing. He goes for drinks with the guys from work now instead of hanging out with Holden and the guys from his frat days. That guy, that version of Ezra, the funny guy I fell in love with seems to have disappeared and been replaced with Mr. Career. I know I shouldn’t be jealous of his job, but a big part of me is.
I’m scared that we are heading toward a break or worse, a breakup. We’ve been dating serious and steady for some time. I don’t expect a ring on my finger any time soon, but I feel like we are standing still in our relationship, while he moves on with his life, leaving thoughts of us like dust in the wind. I don’t know what I want to do with my life. I’m not as career driven and goal oriented as Ezra is where my future is concerned as far as a solid career. I’m pursuing my teaching degree in special education, because I want to help people, but my heart isn’t in it anymore. I’ve been writing dark, erotic books. Ezra blows them off like they are a foolish hobby, and I guess in a sense they are, but I’ve been submitting excerpts to publishers under a pen name.
I’m scared though. Afraid of what Ezra and my family would think. Truth be told, I am scared to let anyone know the words on the paper belong to me. They aren’t happy words. Nothing like those who know me would expect me to be writing in my spare time. Ezra knows that I write, just not what I write about. I’ve been secretly tweeting and blogging online under a pen name as well. A few of my posts have a lot of hits, plenty of retweets.
I feel so torn. The rest of my drive though, I can’t help but get more ideas for new stories.
Two hours later, as I pull into the visitor parking of Hildegar prison, I begin to panic. I’m getting to see my dad for the first time in nearly thirteen years. My hand trembles as I take the keys from the ignition. I’m already on the verge of tears. Will he know me? Will I recognize him? Sure, he has seen the pictures I’ve sent of myself over the years, but this is different. This is face to face.
Taking a deep breath, I remind myself that even though it’s been years and he has done bad things, this man is still my father, an important piece of my life that I have been missing for way too long.
Before exiting my car, I retrieve the two forms of identification needed from my wallet. I’ve already been pre-screened for today’s visit, but I still have to produce ID.
Walking slowly, I make my way to the visitor’s entrance. I’m really going through with this. I’m really going to meet my dad for what feels like the first time in my life, because thirteen years is a long time, and we’ve both grown and changed. He’s no longer the hero who tucked me in at night, and I’m no longer his little caterpillar who believed he could save the world. No, those people are long gone.