If These Trees Could Talk

by Brian W. Smith

  If These Trees Could Talk

  by

  Brian W. Smith

  Prologue

  August 10, 2011

  Elizabeth Tharp had never imagined she’d be visiting a correctional facility, but there she was spending another Saturday evening doing it again. There were so many aspects of the visit that made her uncomfortable, and at times nauseous. The painful experience started upon arrival when she stood in the long line outside of the prison with the other visitors, all looking embarrassed by the fact that they had to be there in the first place. Because prison officials would only allow twenty people through the doors at a time, the wait outside could last up to an hour—and Elizabeth hated every minute of it.

  During the arduous hour long wait to get inside of the building she often found herself doing a lot of people watching to pass the time. Sadness, humor, and anger were all on full display for anyone who cared to pay attention. Being the observant person that she was, Elizabeth watched her surroundings closely, finding interest in how the sad scene was handled by many of the other visitors standing near.

  She watched with interest as many of the young mothers, usually with multiple kids, struggled to hold newborns in their arms while trying to keep their toddlers from running all over the place. Some succeeded at controlling their offspring while others gave lackadaisical attempts and couldn’t have cared less—opting to use their free hand to hold mirrors while they examined their lipstick, primped hair, and removed unwanted specs of lint from their new outfits.

  Visitors who appeared to be between 30 to 45 years of age always stood out to Elizabeth. They seemed far less interested in impressing imprisoned loved ones. Often times, looks of annoyance dominated their faces as they stood there with their arms folded. Price tags never hung from the clothes of this group of visitors. Instead, they usually wore their work clothes while waiting to go inside and see the incarcerated child that refused to listen to the guidance and constructive criticism they once offered.

  Then there were the elderly visitors. This group had the biggest emotional impact on Elizabeth. Watching grandparents struggle to make it up the sloped walk way, and then have to stand up for long stretches of time was visually bothersome. Their facial expressions usually ranged from sadness to fear. Elizabeth assumed it was a wretchedness produced by the realization that children they once cared for, pampered, and protected, had blown the opportunities afforded them—opportunities that more than likely would never come their way again.

  Phase two of the torture commenced for Elizabeth once she was fortunate enough to be counted amongst the twenty people allowed inside. She’d always heard stories about people smuggling drugs in to inmates; nevertheless, she still found the aggressive nature of the officers to be a bit unnecessary.

  Visitors were required to show identification, empty their pockets, and step through a vertical metal detector. Once they made it through the detector without causing it to cry foul, a Correctional Officer conducted a full body pat down; the experience made traveling through airport security post 9/11 seem like a cake walk.

  The security screening process became an even bigger nuisance for those visitors who forgot to leave their cell phones in their cars. The prison did not provide lockers; therefore, they had to get out of line, bring the cell phone to their car, and get back in the line outside—Elizabeth experienced this lesson during her first visit to the prison, and made it a point to never forget.

  Once passing the initial security screening, identification had to be provided to yet another set of Correctional Officers so that they could know which inmates had visitors, and needed to be brought out. Once cleared, groups of ten were escorted towards the prisoner holding areas. The sound of the thick prison doors opening and then closing behind the visitors once they left the visitor section and went into the prisoner’s world always drove Elizabeth to near hyperventilation.

  Just when she thought the ordeal was over, she often got another dose of reality as she watched some of the same people who’d been standing outside in line with her struggle to contain their emotions. Voices cracked and hands often trembled while they attempted to hold germ infested telephone receivers and speak to their loved ones through reinforced Plexiglas.

  As Elizabeth sat down in the booth to speak on the phone she retrieved a wet-wipe towel from her purse and wiped every inch of the phone. It wasn’t until she was convinced that the disinfectant process was completed that she spoke.

  “Hello,” Elizabeth said, trying to provide a comforting smile. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for coming.”

  “No problem. Did you get the money I sent?”

  “Yes, I did. Thanks for sending that. My commissary was getting low—that really came on time.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah, I had a little scuffle in here over the television, but it’s cool. You got some people in here who think they run the place, but it’s not anything I can’t handle.”

  Elizabeth always struggled to find things to say during her visits. No matter how hard she tried, she could never master the art of blocking out the various distractions and barriers that stood between their attempts to connect. The thick Plexiglas that prevented touching; the three hundred pound guard that monitored their telephone minutes; the yelling and crying from the surrounding visitors; it was all overwhelming.

  “Well, everything is the same on the outside,” said Elizabeth, nervously looking around at the other inmates and guests.

  “That’s good. That’s good to know. Look, you know discussing my feelings and opening up is not my strong suit, but I want you to know that I appreciate you standing by my side through all of this. I mean, I couldn’t have…”

  Elizabeth placed her hand on the glass. She never wanted thanks for her support. Her only concern was that Josh was okay. “It’s not necessary. It really isn’t. I just need you to…”

  Their conversation was interrupted by the guard tapping his night stick on the wall signaling that their time was up. It was a bittersweet moment. Elizabeth was sorry it was over, but eager to get out of that prison.

  “As you can see, Officer “Billy Bad Ass” says I gotta hang up.”

  “Yeah, I see him. I’m going to send you a few more dollars next week.”

  “When are you coming back?”

  “It’s going to be a few months. The new school year is about to start and I need to get prepared. This is going to be a busy one. But, I’ll continue to write you and send you as much money as I can.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Tharp….for everything.”

  Elizabeth hung up the phone and quickly headed towards the door. She never bothered looking back when their time was up—she couldn’t stand the sight. With her eyes glued on the steel door that separated the inmates from the visitors, she made a beeline out of the building, eager to leave the stress and sadness associated with that place behind her. That is, until it was time to come back and stand in that long line outside again.

  Seven Years Earlier

  Chapter 1

  May 17, 2004

  Josh sat quietly while waiting for Stevie to come traipsing through the tree line. Stevie always entered into the cleared area from the east and at roughly the same time every evening—around six o’clock—just as the sun was beginning it’s decent. The rendezvous spot was about the size of a jail cell. A tattered patent leather bench seat that once belonged to a 1960’s era pickup truck was their sofa. The top of a discarded kitchen table served as their dining table—the place where they divided up candy bars, potato chips, and any other eatables they managed to hoard in their pants or jacket pockets.

  It wasn’t the most sanitary of places
, but it was their spot and theirs alone. In order to find this place nestled in the heart of the wooded area that separated the upper middle class community of Free Side from the blue collar city called Iron Town, you had to be able to read the trees. A skill even the most educated person couldn’t easily attain. But, Stevie and Josh, mediocre fifth graders who struggled with elementary Math and English, were masters at it.

  Once immersed by the five feet tall weeds, the two boys would walk until they saw the trees with inanimate objects propped against them. Like the runaway slaves of centuries past, the boys would use these innocuous clues to guide them to their safe spot. Should anyone ever venture this deep into the woods and happen upon these harmless clues, the trees would plead the fifth. No snitching. No betraying the confidence of either of the ten year old boys who’d befriended them when the rest of the world had forgotten they existed. Silence would prevail; disrupted occasionally by a few creepy sounds and a brisk breeze. Leaving the intruder lost and panic stricken.

  Josh sat with his knees planted in the rain soaked ground. His dingy jeans were soaking wet from the knees down to the cuffs, as he sat with his butt resting on his legs and heels like a Muslim praying to Allah. His white t-shirt was covered in puke stains that could be seen from a distance.

  The howling wind swooshed around the trees and smashed against Josh’s face causing unkempt strands of hair to flutter and then rest on his forehead. The stiff breeze didn’t faze the child. The mosquitoes that hovered around his nose and ears barely caused him to flinch. He was economic with his blinks while his eyes remained fixated on the weeds just a few feet away. His focus only intensified as he waited for Stevie. It wasn’t until those weeds he’d been staring at started to quake that he knew his best friend was about to emerge.

  Stevie entered the wooded area from Free Side. His starting point was at the edge of a twelve foot long log that stretched down to what used to be a creek, but was now a debris filled gully. He was always careful to never trample the weeds at the entrance; instead, he gently parted the weeds like a mother parting her daughter’s hair just before greasing the child’s scalp. He would then step cautiously into the tree line, turning around only long enough to ensure that the weeds behind him were put back the way he’d found them and looked untouched. To disguise the route to their secret meeting spot, he used clumps of grass, tree branches, and other pieces of debris to doctor up the ground so that his tracks couldn’t be followed.

  Josh performed the same routine when he entered the woods from the Iron Town side. His integration into the forest was easier because he entered behind an old rusty dilapidated shack that sat at the edge of the tree line. Once his tiny seventy five pound frame was engulfed by the weeds, he relied on the trees, with their odd shaped branches that stretched out like arms, to point him in the right direction.

  “Are you there?” asked Stevie, in a pitch that ranked somewhere between a whisper and the tone used in casual conversation.

  “Yeah,” Josh replied. “I’ve been waitin’ on you.”

  Stevie peered through the brush. “I had to wait ‘til he went to sleep.” He walked towards his friend and exchanged fist bumps. “Why are you sitting on the ground? Sit on this sofa. That’s the reason we drug it over here.”

  Josh’s bottom lip started to quiver. A single tear trickled down his left cheek. Without looking directly at his friend he said, “I can’t sit on the sofa.”

  Stevie removed two huge oatmeal cookies from his pocket and a Snicker candy bar. He broke the Snicker in half, stuffing his half into his mouth and tossing the other half to Josh. “Why not?”

  “Because…it hurts,” Josh mumbled.

  Stevie’s chewing went from a rapid pace to a screeching halt. He knew what Josh was saying all too well. “Are you bleeding?”

  “A little bit.”

  “Did you cry this time?”

  “No. I did what you told me to do. I just put the pillow in my mouth and started biting it hard. I started thinking about playing baseball like you told me to Stevie. It still hurt, but at least I wasn’t crying loud like the last time.”

  “Did you do something to make him mad?”

  “I don’t think so. He caught me standing by my mama’s bedroom door.”

  “And that made him mad?”

  “I guess.”

  “Did you wake him up when he was sleepin’ or something?”

  “No. I heard him talking to somebody in my mama’s bedroom. At first I thought it was my mama so I opened the door. But it wasn’t my mama. He was in the bed kissing some woman.”

  “Did he see you standing there watching him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What happened when he saw you?”

  “He yelled at me and told me to go to my room.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I went to my room. And then I heard the front door open. That woman got in a car and left.”

  “And then what happened?”

  Josh wiped his tears. “That’s when he came in my room. He told me I’d better not tell my mama what I saw. And then…and then he.”

  Stevie swallowed the chocolate bar he’d been chewing and slid off of the sofa. With his knees sinking in the soggy earth, he knelt beside his best friend and placed his arm around him for comfort.

  “Bennie didn’t do it to me this time.”

  “He didn’t?” Josh asked, wiping the snot that dripped from the tip of his nose while nibbling on the candy.

  “No, he made me use my hand.”

  “Did it get all over you again?”

  “No, I moved out of the way.” Stevie smirked, clearly proud of his ability to avoid the semen he’d encountered. “Some of it got on my hand, but it wasn’t all over my face like the last time. By the time I got a towel and wiped that stuff off of me he was sleeping. That’s when I grabbed the candy and cookies and came here.”

  More tears started to stream down Josh’s face. “I’m tired of Dutch doing that to me Stevie.”

  “I’m tired of Bennie doing it to me too.” Stevie looked up towards the sky. The sun was starting to set. The branches on the trees swayed to and fro. “We gotta make them stop.”

  “How?” asked Josh. “They’re too big for us to beat up. If we do somethin’ to them the police gonna come lookin’ for us.”

  “So, let’em come lookin’ for us. They can’t take us to jail if they don’t know we did somethin’ to them.”

  “What’cha mean?”

  “I mean we can stop them. You can stop Bennie for me, and I can stop Dutch from messin’ with you. If we do it like that nobody gon’ know. I ain’t never been to your house, and you ain’t never been to mine. Nobody knows we are friends. We can do it out here. Nobody ain’t gon’ know. The trees can’t talk.”

  Josh looked up at the huge branches that draped overhead like a canopy. “Good thing they can’t.”

  Stevie looked at Josh and asked, “You wanna do it?”

  Josh shoved the remaining candy bar in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed it quickly. “Yeah…let’s do it.”

  The two boys spent the next twenty minutes bouncing from subject to subject. Stevie shared the cookies and even managed to get Josh to smile when he gave him a few baseball cards to check out. Bennie, Stevie’s molester, would buy the child baseball cards once a week—the equivalent to hush money. Little did the pervert know, Stevie couldn’t have cared less about the baseball cards. In fact, he hated the game of baseball. He only accepted the cards as bribery so that he could pass them on to Josh, an avid baseball fan.

  Josh studied the statistics on the back of a brand new Barry Bonds baseball card that was in the pile. “He‘s the best baseball player that ever played.” His eyes were glued to the photo. His index finger glided slowly across the card’s surface. His imagination ran wild as he visualized himself one day being on the cover of a baseball card. “I’m gon’ have me a baseball card someday.”

  “No you won’t! “ Stevie blurted out. “You couldn
’t even catch the baseball when we were out here playin’ catch the other day.”

  Years of abuse had stripped Josh of his ability to defend himself—even from playful banter with kids his own age. His shoulders slumped. The joy that flashed on his face when Stevie handed him the baseball cards disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared. Josh’s self-esteem was lower than the earth beneath his scrawny knees, and all it took was the slightest form of discouragement—intentional or not—to change his mood.

  Stevie was a strong kid—in many ways. His Emotional Intelligence rivaled some adults. He saw the look on Josh’s face, and immediately moved to clean up his mess. He threw his arm around Josh again. “I was just playin’ Josh. You might get you a card one day if you keep practicing.”

  “I can’t practice. Dutch got mad at me, and gave my glove to the dog. The dog chewed on it ‘til it tore open in the center.”

  Stevie flashed a comforting smile. “I got a glove you can use. We can practice catching the ball the next time we come out here.”

  “Okay.”

  Stevie, who was a few inches taller than Josh, and at least ten pounds heavier, stood up and started pacing. He was through with all the small talk, and wanted to make sure he and Josh were on the same page. “Now, we need to make sure we know exactly what we gon’ do.”

  “’Bout what?” asked Josh, still kneeling on the damp ground.

  “’Bout Dutch and Bennie.”

  “Oh.” Josh liked the idea of getting rid of the two men, but was in no rush to formulate a plan. The angst in his voice was a clear indication he would have preferred to talk about Barry Bonds than the man that had been sodomizing him several times a month for years.

  Stevie on the other hand, was a thinker. It was plain to see even at the tender age of ten years old that he was destined to become a business mogul. School bored him; which would explain why such an intelligent boy would earn such mediocre grades. While others worked on their assignments Stevie could often be seen daydreaming—thinking of things to create and sell at the end of the school day. Stevie was a talker—that kid other parents insisted be kept away from their child. As a result of his excessive talking, his desk could often be found at the front of the class right next to the teacher’s.