by Lexie Ray
I knew that this was a process, and I knew that it could get messy. But that didn’t mean I could give up. I wanted nothing more than to make sure I set everything I’d gotten wrong right.
When I realized that I had served seven years in prison by the parole board hearing notice I received, anxiety was the first thing I felt. It was hard to explain. Prison had been the last place I wanted to be in, but now, after so many years, I’d become accustomed to it. I had a good deal of work and education under my belt now, but I still wasn’t sure what that was going to translate to on the outside. How would I survive in the real world? I was used to such a set routine, a bevy of things I was supposed to do day in and day out.
What was I supposed to do with freedom?
“You could always blow the hearing,” Marlee said helpfully, grinning as we lazed around the cell.
I studied the letter, reading it again for what was probably the tenth time.
“I just don’t know what I’d do without everyone,” I said.
“Take hot showers,” she suggested, grinning.
“Eat whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.”
“Have sex with men.”
“Lots and lots of sex with men.”
“Go shopping.”
“Get my hair done!”
Marlee laughed. “I think you sounded more excited about getting your hair done than you did about sex.”
“That means I’m old,” I said. “I want to dye these gray hairs away.”
“Well, first things first,” Marlee said. “You have to get through the hearing. Then you can worry about what you’re going to do on the outside.”
I told Jules about the hearing, and she celebrated wildly, whooping so loudly that I had to hold the phone out away from my ear.
“That’s wonderful!” she exclaimed. “You’ll come stay with us once you’re out, of course.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. Even after all these years, I’d never so much as spoken with Marshall over the phone except for that first time, when he told me to stop calling.
“You’re family,” Jules said, her tone telling me that she considered my questioning this to be ridiculous. “You’ll have a place to stay in our home. There’s no arguing about it.”
There was some commotion at the other end of the line and I froze. Marshall probably didn’t like what he’d overheard.
“Give me back that phone!” I heard Jules holler.
“You’re not welcome in my home,” Marshall said, his voice cold.
“Yes you are!” Jules yelled in the background. “I swear to God, Marshall, if that phone is not placed back in my hand immediately, you will be sleeping on the couch for a month. Test me, honey. Just test me.”
“Find somewhere else,” he said, and there was some more fumbling with the phone.
“Mama?” It was Jules again. “Don’t mind him. You’re coming to stay in our home and that’s final.”
“I really don’t want to cause any trouble,” I said. “I’m sure I’ll be able to find something else. Hell, I have to get through the hearing before anything.”
“You’ll do fine,” she said. “Let me know the moment you get your release date. We’ll be at the prison to meet you.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I scoffed. “I can take a bus to wherever you are.”
“Nope,” she said happily. “It’s a special occasion. We’ll be there.”
I hung the phone back in its cradle with mixed emotions. Jules always made me feel so joyful and hopeful, but Marshall cast a dark cloud over everything. It hurt me that he was so up in arms about my presence in his life. All I wanted to do was make amends to him, be his Mama again. He had to let me try.
On the morning of the parole hearing, inmates kept stopping by the cell to offer bits and pieces of advice and encouragement.
“Be honest, above all,” Karla advised, patting my shoulder. “They’ll know if you’re lying about anything, and one lie you’re caught in can mean another year, stuck in here with us.”
“Don’t be honest,” Desiree said, shaking her head. “They don’t know the difference. As long as what you say fits the formula, you’ll be out of here in no time.”
“Smile a lot,” Cheryl suggested. “They like friendly, well-adjusted girls. That’ll convince them you’ll do just fine on the outside.”
“Don’t smile too much,” Marlee warned. “They’ll think you’re a lunatic.”
With all the conflicting advice, I followed Pitt to the conference room for my hearing.
“Should I be honest or tell them what they want to here?” I asked, walking quickly to keep up with his long strides. “Does this smile say confident and well-adjusted, or prison drove me crazy? Look, Mr. Harrison.”
I flashed a winning grin at him and he laughed.
“Don’t be nervous,” he said. “Good luck.”
The entire hearing seemed like a dream. I was so anxious about the process that I felt like I floated through it, barely there. When they told me that I was going to be released on parole, I was sure that I was dreaming. They had to tell me twice, smiling, after I asked them to repeat their ruling.
The walk back to the cell was made on clouds.
“Surprise!” my friends yelled, Marlee in the middle of them, hoisting an enormous cake.
“What’s this?” I asked, looking at all of them crammed comically into the tiny cell. “I haven’t even told you what the ruling was.”
“You’re free!” Desiree said, clapping.
“Or are you staying with us?” Karla asked.
“Either way, we figured there had to be cake,” Marlee explained, shrugging and grinning. It was the sweetest cake I’d ever tasted.
From there on out, time fled from me. Over the next few days, there were so many tearful goodbyes, so many hugs, that I was all hugged out by the time I put on a normal outfit and walked outside, free on parole.
There, standing just outside the prison gate, were Jules and Marshall. They were the only ones there waiting, which is how I knew they had to be my son and daughter-in-law. Even so, as I got closer and drank in their faces, I could recognize little bits of myself in Marshall. He wasn’t thick like I was, but there was a solidness about him. He carried himself well, and he had my eyes—hard to read. He was well dressed, his hands jammed into the pockets of his khakis, and his dress shirt was tucked in. Lord, he was tall.
“Hey, Mama,” Jules said, beaming as she held her arms out to me. She looked like an angel, the sun illuminating her honey-colored hair, her skin the color of a café latte. Her eyes were almond shaped and a gorgeous amber color, and her smile lit up her whole face.
“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” she said, hugging me tightly. I thought I’d been all hugged out in prison, but I was wrong. I’d just been waiting for this hug for years.
“You and me both, sugar,” I said, crushing her to me. “It’s so good to finally see you.”
When we parted, I had to look up to meet my son’s face. He was looking at me carefully, trying to figure me out.
“Hello, Marshall,” I said, keeping my voice as neutral as possible even though I was threatening to dissolve into tears. After all this time, my son was standing right in front of me. It was involuntary. I’d been thinking about him so much that my arms spread themselves, and I leaned in to give him a hug.
“Don’t,” he said quickly, stepping back. I let my arms drop to my sides quickly.
“Marshall,” Jules fussed, a look of warning crossing her pretty face.
“It’s all right,” I said. “That’s all right. Let’s get on out of here. I could spend the rest of my life without ever laying my eyes on this prison again.”
Jules chattered on the car ride back to their house and I tried to follow it, but the reality of actually being in the same car as my son and daughter-in-law was almost too much of a shock. I’d been thinking about this day for a long time, but I’d never actually thought it would come to pass.
/> “Mama?” Both Marshall and Jules were looking at me, and I realized we had stopped in front of a house.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “This is all just a little overwhelming.”
“We understand,” Jules said warmly. “This is it. Welcome home.”
Their house was small, but it was a house. They had a tiny little porch that was swept clean, two chairs sitting on it. The décor inside was cozy, clean, and modern. They didn’t have many knick-knacks lying around, which was nice, but there were stacks and stacks of magazines acting as side tables to the chairs in the living room.
“We read a lot,” Jules explained. “And I just love magazines. I can’t bear to throw them out. Here. Let me show you where you’ll be staying.”
They converted the room they used for a home office into an additional bedroom, the desk and computer shoved into one corner to accommodate a twin bed.
“I know it’s not much, but the mattress is new,” Jules said. “I hope it’ll be nice on your back.”
I’d complained multiple times to Jules over the phone about how my prison bed had ravaged my back.
“This is more than enough,” I said, still struggling to take it all in. “This is too much. Thank you, sugar. Thank you for this kindness.”
“No thanks needed,” Jules said, hugging me again. “We’re family. This is what family does.”
Jules prepared a wonderful supper and wouldn’t let me lift a finger to help her. We ate in only slightly strained silence, Marshall’s close presence halting any conversations.
“I’d like to make sure you know that I’ll be taking on the chores and the cooking until I find a job,” I said. “Then, I’ll be paying rent until I find a place to live.”
“You take as much time as you need,” Jules said. “And you’re not going to slave away. We’re used to doing our own chores, aren’t we, Marshall?”
“We’re very used to not having my absent mother around,” he agreed, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
“Marshall!” Jules hissed, aghast.
“That’s just fine,” I said, but she cut me off.
“It’s not just fine,” she protested. “Marshall, show your mother some respect.”
“I don’t see how that’s going to be possible,” he said. “I don’t see how any of this is going to be possible.”
Jules started to spit something at him, but I raised my hand.
“Let him talk, sugar,” I said. “I want to hear what he has to say. Don’t you have some things you’d like to get off your chest, Marshall?”
“I’m pretty confused about why we’re opening our home to you when you couldn’t even make one for me when I was a child,” he shot at me. “So there’s that.”
“I understand,” I said, nodding. “You and Jules are being very generous to me.”
“And I can’t even believe you’re here,” he said, his face caving in on itself before he mastered control of it once more. “And not in the emotional, touched way, either. I’m in absolute disbelief. I can’t believe this is even happening right now.”
“I was absent for a very long time from your life,” I said. “You’re right to feel this way. This is natural.”
“Nothing about this is natural!” he shouted. “I don’t want you here!”
“That’s not your decision to make,” Jules said. “I live in this house, too, and it just so happens that I’m very attached to Mama.”
“You have no idea what she did to me,” he said, “what she’s done to so many people.”
“I would like to talk about it, if you want to ask any questions,” I said.
“I know all about it!” he yelled. “I lived it, remember? And I saw every second of every news program about the life you left me for. Was whoring that great, to abandon your son?”
Jules’ mouth gaped open and closed, but she couldn’t find the words to rebuke that.
“My priorities have been very messed up since a very young age,” I said. “Being in prison gave me time to get them straightened out. I want a chance to prove to you that I can be the mother you need.”
“I don’t need a mother anymore,” he said. “When I was young? Yes. Yes. I needed a mother very much back then. But now I’ve evolved, you see? I don’t need a mother anymore. I don’t understand what you’re doing here. I want you gone.”
Marshall pushed himself up from the table and stalked away, slamming the front door.
“I’m so sorry,” Jules said, but I waved the apology away.
“I knew that this wasn’t going to be easy,” I said. “Marshall doesn’t trust me, and he’s right not to. I wasn’t a good person the last time he knew me. I abandoned him. It’s going to take a lot to win back his trust. It’s going to take a long time to make amends. I knew that going into this. Please have patience with us, sugar.”
“You take as long as you need, and I mean it,” she said, picking up the dinner plates. “You’re always welcome here as long as I’m living in this house. Marshall can rage about whatever he wants, but that’s a promise.”
Look at this strong, fearless woman my son had married, I told myself, watching her move around the kitchen, dropping the dishes in the sink before getting another load from the table. She was capable of weathering my son’s rages and loving him still. She was a special woman, and I loved her for loving Marshall.
I slipped out the front door and found my son, sitting in one of the chairs on the porch, staring listlessly at the street. I had done this man so much harm by a handful of decisions and a lifetime of absence. How was I ever going to make it up to him?
“Marshall?”
“What do you want from me?” he asked, his voice tired.
“I want a chance to prove myself,” I said. “I want to show you that I’ve changed for the better.”
“You need to give me time,” he said. “I’ve been without a mother my whole life. You can’t expect me to start hugging a stranger and calling her Mama, can you?”
“No,” I said, as my throat closed with tears. I was a stranger to my son. “No, I can’t expect that.”
“Then give me time,” he said, still staring into the street.
“Time,” I said. I knew time very well. “I can do that.”
Chapter Seven
Life was strange sometimes. Jules was so warm and welcoming, but Marshall was absolutely cold. He didn’t look at me if he didn’t have to. I would’ve liked to say that the two opposites evened out, but it made me feel like I was getting whiplash emotionally.
I had to fight trying to stay out of Marshall’s way to avoid provoking him with my presence and wanting to be in his presence, begging him to give me another chance, to see what love I was capable of. I studied him in secret, while he was working on the files he brought home, or reading a magazine, or eating.
“I hate you staring at me!” he’d shout, standing up and glaring at me before stomping out of the room.
“I’m sorry I made him angry,” I told Jules, who scowled after him. “I just can’t help it. I haven’t seen him since he was a little boy, and I guess I’m fascinated with the way he’s a man now.”
“He’ll get over it, Mama,” Jules assured me, but he never did. His temper around me was volatile, unpredictable. I hated it for Jules. She had to feel like she was stuck in the middle. I hoped I wasn’t ruining their marriage.
When I wasn’t working or helping out around the house, I was working through my amends. The Internet was a godsend. I’d found filings from my trial and was able to figure out a list of girls I could start calling. And the simple fact that I could find people’s numbers online was amazing. Technology was an incredible thing.
When I saw the name Jasmine King on the list, it made me frown. She was the only Jasmine, so I knew that she had to be the one, but her last name didn’t ring a bell until that moment. It was possible that she never told me her last name—most of the girls didn’t. It was then that I realized the author of the book, A Message to Jasmine, had
the last name of King, too. Maybe that smiling girl in the printed photo was Jasmine after all. Good for her. She deserved to be happy, especially since I’d first laid eyes on her when she was eating food out of a dumpster in the alleyway behind the nightclub.
From there, it was easy enough to find her number. I took a deep breath—I was always nervous before one of these calls—and dialed. It rang twice before someone answered.
“Hello?”
“Jasmine King?”
“That’s me.”
“This is Wanda Dupree,” I said, fidgeting with the keyboard on the desk. “You knew me better as Mama. As in, Mama’s nightclub.”
There was a gasp of pure, unadulterated horror, then the line cut off. She hung up on me.
I took a long, deep breath again and laid my cell phone down. It’s all right, I told myself. God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. I’d always remember the Serenity Prayer for the rest of my days. That much was evident. And this case fell under the accepting things I couldn’t change category. I’d made an effort to get in touch with Jasmine. She hadn’t wanted to talk to me. End of story.
It was still difficult to shake the uneasiness, so I fell into cleaning the house in an effort to distract myself. But no matter how hard a swept, mopped, or polished, that tortured gasp kept invading my thoughts. It meant that I was a monster. There were girls out there who thought I was a monster.
I had to accept that. I had been a monster. That was just the reality of my situation.
But it still burned. I thought I had come so far and even had good conversations with several of the girls. Others had simply thanked me for calling and ended the call. It varied from person to person.
That gasp, though. I paused in my furious wiping down of the countertop in the kitchen and looked up to the cabinet above the refrigerator. I knew there was something in there that would help me forget about all of this. There was something in there that would help me.
No. I thought about drinking again, and tossing away all my years of sobriety. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want the hallucinations, the nausea, the vomiting, the realization that I was weak. I wasn’t weak. I was strong. I could do this. I could beat this.