The Bars That Hold Us

by Shelly Pratt

  His parents had him buried close to their family home in Padstow. The buildings are old, brick veneer, and tell of a time before commercialism came to town. It’s a suburb that once would have only housed immigrants from the United Kingdom instead of the multicultural plethora of nationalities it does today.

  This early the streets are void of activity. I move unnoticed amongst the living, their curtains still drawn to ward off the outside world. Sometimes I want to draw a curtain on my life to shut out the unwanted. Lately, though, I want to let Saxon in – and that scares me because I don’t want to be vulnerable again. I don’t want to open myself up to getting hurt.

  I park my car on a one-way side street that runs the perimeter of the cemetery. The big, old wrought iron gates are still padlocked this early. People can still get in, as looters often do. It’s just a visual deterrent.

  I slip unnoticed across the dewy grass. There is no need to check the plot map because I’ve been here often enough to know exactly where he’s buried. A whisper in the trees pulls me, guiding me towards his tombstone. My breath catches in the back of my throat when I realize I’m not the only one visiting so early in the morning. I don’t approach at first, needing a minute to process before I can make my legs work, propelling me forwards to the figure that stands over Daniel’s grave.

  ‘Hello, June,’ I whisper. The woman spins around, her hand clutched to her chest. Time hasn’t been kind to her and she’s aged horribly in the last year. I wonder absently if she thinks the same of me.

  ‘Goodness gracious! Mercy, you scared me.’ Daniel’s mother looks relieved at the sight of me.

  ‘I’m so sorry; I didn’t think anyone else would be here this early.’

  ‘That’s okay, love. It’s wonderful to see you – you haven’t been around in a while.’ She dabs the corners of her eyes with a hanky and I feel like I’ve violated her private moment she was having at her son’s grave.

  ‘I’ve been… busy—working. I started a new job.’ I don’t really want to talk about the new job, especially not with my dead fiancé’s mother. The minute I let my mind wander to work, I start to think of Saxon. As much as I feel something for him, he’s definitely not welcome in my thoughts as I stand here and talk to the woman who was going to be my mother-in-law.

  ‘That’s wonderful, Mercy. I’m pleased for you, really I am, but don’t become a stranger will you? Dennis and I would love to have you stop by the house soon, okay?’

  ‘Of course, I’d like that.’ I feel it’s an empty promise, and I feel guilty about that. For some reason, though, I can’t tell her the truth. I can’t tell her it’s too painful to take a trip down memory lane every time I see them. I’m finally trying to move on to some extent and I don’t think it’s fair for them to see me even remotely happy. What would they think if they saw a smile on my face? Would they think I’ve forgotten all about Danny? That I’m over him?

  There is nothing that would make me feel worse than doing that to them. It would feel like a horrible injustice for them to lose a son, only to see the woman he loved now enjoying her life – especially when their only child took a bullet to save her.

  ‘Sorry, am I disturbing you? I can come back later if you’d like more time with… him.’

  ‘No, dear. Daniel and I have had our chat this morning. I’ll leave you two alone.’ The way she talks as if he’s right here is unsettling. For the longest time I wanted him to be; I needed him to be here. To me, a ghost was better than nothing. But as I start to allow myself steps back into reality, I find I can’t cope with the guilt of my actions. If I were to start thinking his spirit is capable of looking over my shoulder I think I would die of remorse and shame.

  ‘You really don’t have to leave,’ I assure her.

  ‘Not at all. You go right ahead.’ She smiles kindly towards me and pats me on the shoulder as she heads away from the grave. I watch her thin frame as she goes, her once lovely, well-fitting coat now hanging off her. Death touches us all one way or another, and it certainly didn’t miss its mark on June either.

  Alone again, all I have for company are my thoughts. Sometimes they want to engulf me and leave me gasping for air. Other times they’re suppressed enough that I can put up a reasonable fight to find a reason to keep on living.

  For a while I’ve needed to do something. It’s not going to be easy, but I think the time has come to allow Daniel and myself some peace. Before I prepare for what I’ve come to do, I need to talk to him—if only in my head.

  I love you, Daniel, I always have. I’ve tried to hold on to you and the memory of us for so long because I needed to know that what we had was real. It was, and it was beautiful. I’m still so angry that you’ve gone—that you took away my choices by sacrificing yourself to save me. You took a bullet for me, and it took your life. I find it hard to imagine you anything other than the strong, vibrant man you were when you were alive – the man who built a life with me over on Lester Street. That home now seems empty without you, but I’ve tried to do better.

  You’re gone, and while I don’t want to let you go, I feel like I have to. Does that make sense? My life has become such a struggle to make it to the surface, and now that I’m there, all my instincts are kicking in and telling me to tread water like crazy or I’m going to drown in this mess.

  I’ve come here to let you go. I want you to rest and find peace on the other side. It’s not the end, it’s just goodbye for now. In order for me to move forward to a day where we might meet again, I need to rid myself of the guilt. Because believe me, I do feel guilty. Why should I breathe, when your lungs have stopped breathing? Why should I smile, when your lips are incapable of kisses or words? Why should I feel anything at all when nothing can touch you anymore?

  But whether I want it to or not, life is moving forward, with or without me. I didn’t expect anyone else to bring me happiness or joy, but there are moments when I’m with someone where I can breathe in, and I breathe out, and everything is okay. I’m holding on to these moments, because with you gone, I have nothing else.

  I need you to know that I loved you, more than anything else. You made me believe that I was the only woman on this earth for you. You touched me, you changed me and I will never be the same. I might not have been your first love, but I’m so honored to have been your last. I know I will see you again one day. Until then, rest easy, Danny.

  My tears stream down my face endlessly. This goodbye seems harder than the funeral because, here, it’s my choice. I’m facing my future without him and it’s harder than hell.

  I reach into my bag and pull out a gardening trowel I brought from home. Not caring if I get dirty or not, I dig a hole in the earth next to his tombstone. When it’s deep enough, I place the tool down and dust my hands off on my jeans. In my bag is a tiny glass jar I brought from home. It used to hold Danny’s favorite jam but, like his life, it expired a long time ago. Its remnants have been washed clean, the glass squeaky clean and ready for a new purpose. I hold it up, the weak morning sun now blurred through the prism of the glass. In a way I need to see Daniel’s death like the sun through this glass. It’s still exactly the same; I just need to look at it differently.

  If I don’t do this now, I may change my mind. Without looking at it or dwelling on it, I slide my engagement ring off my finger. With stubbornness to the cause, I refuse to acknowledge the memory of his proposal. The diamond ring tinkles at it hits the bottom of the glass jar and I screw the lid on tight. I place the jar inside the dugout hole before toiling the earth back into place. I’m careful to cover the fresh earth with long blades of surrounding grass that the cemetery’s lawn mower hasn’t been able to reach. I don’t want anyone stealing it. It belongs with Danny, no one else.

  My tears that I haven’t cared to wipe away dry stiff against the cold of my face. This last year has left me feeling so tired and emotionally drained that I just want to rinse my mind of the effects death has left there.

  I pull my coat a little tighter, my
beanie a little lower, and lie down on the grass next to Daniel’s grave. I watch the clouds move lazily across the sky while I pretend that he’s sleeping under the earth beneath me. My eyes close, my body relaxes. I fall asleep and I dream of him. He’s happy. He’s running through a field of long grass, the tall reeds hiding him from me. I chase, but he runs off laughing. I don’t like that he’s being a tease. I want to talk to him—hold him. When I stop chasing and call his name, he comes back to me, the sun blaring brilliantly behind him. I have to squint to see him. He looks sheepish.

  ‘Don’t go,’ I whisper to him, but all he does is smile. He touches my face softly. He has no words for me, but his expression is trying to tell me something. His hand slides down my face. I can really feel him touching me.

  ‘Miss?’

  I sit up suddenly, my body aching from the hard earth I’ve been lying on. An old man with a rake in his hand is standing over me. He looks concerned; the wrinkles bunched together on his forehead tell me so. His clothes are grubby and his hands are the kind off muddy that never washes off. He must be a caretaker for the cemetery.

  ‘Are you alright?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I must have dozed off.’

  ‘It’s no problem. Are you okay?’

  I think about his question for a minute before accepting his outstretched hand. He helps me to my feet and then fiddles with his grandpa hat as he watches me curiously.

  ‘Do you know what? I think I will be okay,’ I say, smiling at him, grateful for his concern. He returns the smile and then heads back to tending the gardens that entomb the bodies of our loved ones.

  As I walk out of the cemetery and back to my car, I feel a sense of peace come over me. Daniel will always be with me, his memory just doesn’t need to suffocate me anymore.

  #22

  The tick, tick, tick of the clock sounds above the warden’s head, punctuating the resonating scratching sounds his pen makes against the paper on the desk. He has time for business, but not for criminals. So he ignores me as he fills out the documents that need to completed, ready for my release.

  When I first started doing time, I couldn’t ever imagine myself being able to get through it in one piece. Not because I’m not strong, but because it takes a lot out of you—mentally and emotionally.

  Now that I’m nearing the crossroads, it seems surreal that I’ve almost made it. I know from doing my time here that everyone, from inmates through to the guards, is waiting for you to crash and burn. They almost want you to crumble—to fall to pieces and submit to the system and its rules. They want you to break spectacularly and then say, ‘See, I told you so. Just another apple we already knew was rotten.’

  I think I’ve been a bit of a wildcard for them. Unpredictable, even when provoked. Both sides of the fence have had many opportunities. Believe me, they’ve tried. And yet I’ve resisted their provocations so that I can cut down my time in a world I know I don’t belong.

  Besides Jamie, I know that I’m going to have some rebuilding to do on the outside. There are relationships that are in tatters. Some are fixable, others not. I know I may not ultimately win all of my family back and, to be honest, I’m okay with that. The ones that choose to keep their distance wouldn’t be worth keeping anyway.

  The person that worries me the most is Mercy. I know on the inside, she’s comfortable with what we have. But on the outside, it’s a whole new ballgame. I can’t predict how things will be, or if there will even be an us. There are times when I think she’s moved on from her grief, but I’m always left doubtful when moments of sadness consume her. She thinks I don’t notice, or perhaps that I don’t care. She’s wrong. I see and feel it all.

  I know she has limits; that she’s not just going to jump and give all of herself to me. As much as I want that, it would be foolish and reckless. Physically she may be able to deal with my demands, but emotionally she needs to be treated with a gentle hand. I guess after being in a place where all I’ve got is time, the task of making her fall in love with me doesn’t seem that hard.

  There’s a knock at the door, rudely disturbing my fantasies about what life is going to be like on the outside. I don’t turn in my seat for two reasons. First, I have no rights in this place—especially no right to know who the warden’s visitor might be and why they would be calling. Second, I don’t need to see because I can already smell her. Her scent tempts my sense of smell as it’s pushed towards me on a draft as the door closes. Mercy.

  ‘What do you need?’ The warden doesn’t look up from what he’s doing. Okay, so I’m not the only person he treats as though they’re nothing. Mercy briefly glances towards me before focusing her attention on the warden. I’m totally fine with her ignoring me because at least in her case I know it’s an act.

  ‘Clarence wanted me to inform you that the septic system in D Block is backed up and to let you know we’re going to need the plumbers sent in again.’

  ‘That’s the problem with this government,’ he says to no one in particular, ‘they’re not willing to spend a dollar to save a dollar. Those systems should have been upgraded years ago.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ says Mercy. I almost expect her to salute him, which produces a smile on my lips. The telephone rings and the warden snatches it out of its cradle. He swivels around in his chair, as though the gesture itself will remove others from earshot.

  Unable to resist, I reach my hand out and touch Mercy’s. I never take my eyes off the warden’s chair, and neither does she. I know the risks; I just can’t help myself.

  I let my thumb trail around the palm of her hand, caressing her and at the same time reminding us both of more intimate moments. I know what it’s like to kiss her hands while her face is flushed with ecstasy. She knows what it feels like to have them grabbing my ass as I force my way inside of her. Mercy squeezes my hand now—hard. I know she doesn’t want me to stop, just the opposite.

  The warden’s chair starts to move as his dismissal to the caller reaches our ears. I reluctantly snatch my hand back. Reginald Haylock stares at us both intently. I try to keep my expression nonchalant, but he seems suspicious. His eyes flick around the room, trying to place something amiss. He won’t find anything, though. It’s not objects he needs to worry about—it’s people. The air remains still, everything else untouched. Resignation forms in his eyes and he clears the fact that nothing is awry from his mind. He asserts his arrogant manner by placing his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers as he ponders his next move.

  ‘I need to go to the front reception area and sign some documents. Ms. Cole, you can stay here and guard Miles until I get back. I will assume from history that the prisoner will be on his best behavior.’ He’s about to get up, but as an afterthought says, ‘I don’t need to put cuffs on you, do I?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Very well, you can wait until I get back. I’m not quite finished with your documentation. There are a few more pages I need to finish before I send it off.’

  We both watch him like a hawk. He grabs his glasses and pockets his pen. With one last glance around the room, he leaves, shutting the door behind him. Mercy and I face off. The look she’s giving me is smoldering. If she doesn’t quit it we’re going to have a problem.

  I’m about to say something, when she puts her finger to her lips. I listen carefully. The warden’s footsteps can be heard retreating from the door, and then finally the clang of a distant door as it seals back into its recess. Happy we’re in the clear, I spring from the seat and pull Mercy into my arms.

  ‘Jesus,’ I growl, before crushing my lips against hers. She responds immediately, her tongue wild as it flicks across my lips and teeth. Then she shoves me off her, leaving me with a serious case of whiplash.

  ‘What?’ My mind runs a million miles a minute, trying to figure out what went wrong.

  ‘We can’t be doing this in here,’ she hisses. I grin. I always did love a challenge.

  ‘Why not?’ I creep towards her, hands reaching for her hips. She
tries to swat them away, but I’m not giving up.

  ‘Saxon, please…’ She’s becoming breathless as I start to plant kisses all over her neck.

  ‘Please, what?’

  ‘You’re going to ruin everything.’ The breathlessness turns to pleading, which now turns to begging.

  ‘I like it when you beg you know?’

  ‘I’m sure you do, but he’s not going to be that long. We really can’t risk this.’

  ‘Then you’re going to have to pretend you’re not enjoying what I’m doing to you so much.’

  My mouth finds hers again before she can reply. She resists, trying hard to put up a fight for sensibilities. I thrust my cock up against her, reminding her of what she’s missing. She moans a little which ups my excitement factor even more. Fuck the warden – I’m about ready to scrape his desk clear and have my way with Mercy on it. I settle for wedging her between the wall and my hard body.

  The fight goes out of her as I assault her with fevered hands, lips and tongue. I love every soft, feminine thing about her. Her skin is so smooth, her lips so gentle. She smells like heaven and I’d do any saintly thing to be granted access.

  ‘I want you so bad.’ I nip her lip and she gasps, dazed eyes trying to focus on me as she’s brought out of the haze that arousal has induced. I grab her hair and gently tug her head back, trailing my tongue down her chest as I slowly undo her buttons. Her perfume lingers on her skin, enticing me to think about cloudless, sunny days and jasmine vines twisted around backyard fences.

  Like an animal claiming its mate, I rub my unshaven face between her breasts—leaving my scent and claiming her own. Her breath is becoming wild, and I have no idea how I’m going to show the restraint to stop myself from forcing her to go all the way.

  My hard hands find the top of her lacy bra. The material feels softer than anything I’ve had the luxury of wearing in jail. Not for the first time do I wish that we were anywhere but here. I tug hard, the material falling away from her body, exposing her taut nipples. Unable to resist, I flick my tongue over them, one after the other.