Picture My World

The first request was for a piece having something to do with a pencil. Here it is, only lightly edited. Next up is grunion (!).

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I had heard about the new warden from one of the other prisoners. I prepared myself for the mind games in the two minute walk to the warden’s office. Maybe he’d threaten me with solitary. The guard opened the door and shoved me inside and I nearly tripped over the leg shackle.

The warden was facing the window, his back to the door. The window looked out over the empty exercise yard and distant mountains peeked over the prison wall. The sun was low in the sky, filling the room with a flat light. The door slammed and the warden slowly turned to face me.

“Name?” It was a blend of request and order.

“Prisoner number 65243, Warden.” I had forgotten my name years ago.

“Why are you here?”

“I don’t remember, sir,” I said. I think the warden’s mouth twitched.

“Why are you in this office?”

“Because you requested my presence, Warden.”

“You applied for a day pass.”

I applied for a day pass? Why would I have done that?

The warden held up a piece of paper. “Is this your application?” I couldn’t make anything out from where I stood. “Is it?” he repeated.

“I cannot see it, sir.”

“We’ll assume it is correct, then. I have to ask you a few questions before I can approve this. Sit down,” he said, motioning to a chair against the wall next to the door. I shuffled over and sat down. The sun was now in my eyes.

He took out a yellow pencil, touched the tip with his middle finger, and placed it into a pencil sharpener mounted to his desk. He gazed at me as he turned the crank. I looked down at my shoes.

“You’ve been incarcerated for nineteen years. Is that correct?” I nodded. I assumed it was. He jotted something with the pencil. Yes, it had been nineteen years.

“And you want a pass in order to visit your parents.” He consulted the paper and made a few more notes. “In…” he trailed off.

“In Little Mountain,” I said. Memories of my home town hit like a tidal wave. Dad sitting on the front porch with his paper and coffee. Mom talking to her friends on the phone. Her laughter echoing through the house. Why hadn’t they come and visited me?

The warden said, “That’s not far from here. Easily within a day, anyway.”

The sun had risen above the window frame and the room took on a warmer tone. I still didn’t remember applying for the pass, but I didn’t remember a lot of things. It was still early in the day. Maybe he was going to let me out today? One of the walls had scenic photos of a desert. Its wide open space called to me and I pictured myself sitting there, just taking in the unobstructed blue sky.

The warden said something.

“What?” I asked.

“What, sir. Or Warden.” He snapped back.

“Sorry, sir.”

“I asked you if there was anyone else you want to see. My paperwork says you have a brother named Tom.” He made a scribble.

Tom. My brother had fought for my release for five years. He knew I was innocent. The warden’s pencil flashed again. It looked like he was erasing something.

“Sorry, that was a mistake.”

“What mistake, sir?” I asked.

“Don’t worry about it.”

What was he talking about? I had let my guard down and hadn’t realized he must be toying with me. About what, though? I had a nagging thought like something on the tip of my tongue.

“What were we just talking about, sir?”

“Your family.”

“My parents, you mean. Weren’t we just talking about something — someone else just now, sir?”

“Are you feeling OK, son?” the warden asked. He was staring at me intently now, but I didn’t back down. I forced myself to relax and remember.

“It started with ‘T’,” I said quietly to myself. “Todd or Tim? Were we speaking about someone named Todd or Tim, sir?” I wanted to know very badly.

The warden glanced down at the paper on his desk. He flipped his pencil over and scrubbed the paper with the eraser.

“What will you do when you visit with your parents?” asked the warden.

“I imagine I will sit and talk with them and share a couple of meals. Hopefully they still have my bed and I can spend the night, too, Warden.”

He made some notes and put the pencil down. He asked, “Are you looking forward to this pass?”

“Oh, yes, sir.” I caught myself. “I realize you haven’t made a final decision, sir.” I hoped this wasn’t a game. It had been so long since I had thought about my parents or anyone outside of the prison that my anticipation was clouding my judgment. I was momentarily back in the desert scene, feeling my parched mouth and sensing water was over the next sand dune.

He looked at me again, smiled, and lifted the pencil. He ran his middle finger over the tip and placed it in the sharpener. He was going to issue the pass! I trembled with excitement.

He turned the pencil upside down and I felt my brow tense. I nearly stood up in protest. He methodically started to erase large portions of the page and the room seemed to dim suddenly. I remembered our discussion. My parents. My home town. I couldn’t picture my parents but I knew I had just remembered them. My dad was sitting on the porch, but I couldn’t make him out anymore. What was happening?

“I remember.” I said out loud.

The warden glanced at me. He smiled.

“I remember.” I said it again. But, what did I remember?

The warden pressed a button on his desk. The door opened. He said, “You’ve been denied early parole. Guard, take prisoner 65243 back to his cell.”

Parole? Weren’t we talking about a day pass?

“Sir?” I said.

The warden raised his hand and the guard stopped.

“Why was I here?” I asked. It seemed to be an important question.

“No reason at all. Carry on.”

This entry was posted on Monday, March 7th, 2005 at 4:45 pm and is filed under Writing. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.