04-04-2019, 04:09 PM
"Well, those days are over, honey. I'm sobered up now, can't get a drop in prison. Got my AA chips and everything."
Helena sat and listened with a blank look on her face again, remembering playing checkers using his 3-day and 1-week coins whenever he was inside before and she could have friends over. And stories of how guys got booze smuggled in were a standard amongst the "uncles" who'd visit.
"I... I've been going to church in here too, honey. Getting right with the Lord. I know Jesus is going to show me the way." He took out a little hand-made wooden cross out from under his jumpsuit to show it'd been hanging on his neck this whole time. "I made this in the shop. There's one for you too."
Wade gestured to a small gift box on her side of the glass that separated them.
Helena lifted open the box lid and saw a cross identical to the one he was wearing. She set the lid back down on top of it.
"Maybe you can wear it to my next parole hearing. And something nicer than what you got on, and the board'll know I've got you on the outside to look after now. I'll get a real job and take care of you and we can be a family and it'll never happen again."
A look containing ten viewings of Scarface's worth of "Fuck You" appeared in Helena's eyes. A look that made Wade miss the look of infinite disgust and rage he'd gotten from Propappou a few minutes earlier.
"'It'll never happen again.' Now Julie owes ME a pack of smokes."
The look didn't leave as a big smile spread across the lower half of her face and she picked up the little box and stuck it into her inside jacket pocket, then began rooting around in it.
"I made something for you too, Wade. Something special. Spent a lot of time thinking about it."
Wade Parker leaned forward and smiled as Helena fished in the lining of the jacket, the pockets long torn into the lining, making for easier shoplifting. At last, she produced a folded-up piece of lined yellow note paper from the depths of the jacket. She stood up and looked at the guard on her side of the glass and the one on the other side.
"Leave us for a minute, please," she asked them. "And tell them to turn off the cameras too."
Both guards nodded and stepped out into the hallway. When they were gone, she sat back down and faced him.
"You wrote me a fucking poem," he asked, too upset that she didn't bring him any of the things he'd asked her to get for him on the outside and ready to mock whatever it was to question what she'd said to the guards or notice that they did so without a word upon Helena's request. She noticed the red lights on the cameras shut off and smiled.
"No. I just wrote it down because I wanted to get it right." She looked down at the paper, then fixed him with a gaze that he'd never seen from her. "Now, shut up."
He found himself no longer wanting to speak as she read.
"You've just decided to join the Aryan Brotherhood. After I leave, you're going to go out into the yard, find the biggest group of tough-looking black guys you can find, and start loudly proclaiming your new-found ideals and beliefs to them. Use the N-Word a lot. Tell them how they're inferior to the white man and ought to be rounded up and sent back to Africa, go ahead and get creative with it. Whatever they do to you after that, you're going to accept it and not fight back. This is all your own idea."
Helena sat and listened with a blank look on her face again, remembering playing checkers using his 3-day and 1-week coins whenever he was inside before and she could have friends over. And stories of how guys got booze smuggled in were a standard amongst the "uncles" who'd visit.
"I... I've been going to church in here too, honey. Getting right with the Lord. I know Jesus is going to show me the way." He took out a little hand-made wooden cross out from under his jumpsuit to show it'd been hanging on his neck this whole time. "I made this in the shop. There's one for you too."
Wade gestured to a small gift box on her side of the glass that separated them.
Helena lifted open the box lid and saw a cross identical to the one he was wearing. She set the lid back down on top of it.
"Maybe you can wear it to my next parole hearing. And something nicer than what you got on, and the board'll know I've got you on the outside to look after now. I'll get a real job and take care of you and we can be a family and it'll never happen again."
A look containing ten viewings of Scarface's worth of "Fuck You" appeared in Helena's eyes. A look that made Wade miss the look of infinite disgust and rage he'd gotten from Propappou a few minutes earlier.
"'It'll never happen again.' Now Julie owes ME a pack of smokes."
The look didn't leave as a big smile spread across the lower half of her face and she picked up the little box and stuck it into her inside jacket pocket, then began rooting around in it.
"I made something for you too, Wade. Something special. Spent a lot of time thinking about it."
Wade Parker leaned forward and smiled as Helena fished in the lining of the jacket, the pockets long torn into the lining, making for easier shoplifting. At last, she produced a folded-up piece of lined yellow note paper from the depths of the jacket. She stood up and looked at the guard on her side of the glass and the one on the other side.
"Leave us for a minute, please," she asked them. "And tell them to turn off the cameras too."
Both guards nodded and stepped out into the hallway. When they were gone, she sat back down and faced him.
"You wrote me a fucking poem," he asked, too upset that she didn't bring him any of the things he'd asked her to get for him on the outside and ready to mock whatever it was to question what she'd said to the guards or notice that they did so without a word upon Helena's request. She noticed the red lights on the cameras shut off and smiled.
"No. I just wrote it down because I wanted to get it right." She looked down at the paper, then fixed him with a gaze that he'd never seen from her. "Now, shut up."
He found himself no longer wanting to speak as she read.
"You've just decided to join the Aryan Brotherhood. After I leave, you're going to go out into the yard, find the biggest group of tough-looking black guys you can find, and start loudly proclaiming your new-found ideals and beliefs to them. Use the N-Word a lot. Tell them how they're inferior to the white man and ought to be rounded up and sent back to Africa, go ahead and get creative with it. Whatever they do to you after that, you're going to accept it and not fight back. This is all your own idea."
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