CHAPTER 1
Now
ROMAN
Standing in the visitor’s parking lot at the back of the prison, I watch as they close the reinforced steel gates behind me, physically closing the worst chapter of my life. Fifteen long fucking years I stayed behind bars for a crime I didn’t commit. Sharing meals and a yard with the dregs of human society. I didn’t belong there but who would believe a nineteen-year-old kid over a high school teacher with a sparkling clean record. Even now all these years later I can still clearly see Terry on the stand with a huge smirk on his face as he stood tall, squared his shoulders and clearly identified me as the person who broke into his home and brutally assaulted him. The bastard did an Oscar-worthy performance as he recounted how I was obsessed with him and how he had told me time and time again that he wasn't homosexual until I snapped that night and broke into his house to attack him. Somewhere in the mayhem of that night I lost track of my phone and according to the piss poor public defender they gave me, the phone was never recovered at the scene. So I had no other way to prove that I was invited over that night, that we were a fucking couple because nobody else knew. That asshole told me he fucking loved me just a few days before, yet was able to swear on the Bible, sobbing whilst thanking the kid who called the cops when he saw me going into his teacher’s house.
Taking a long deep inhale, I turn from the gates, putting the prison and what has been my life for the last fifteen years figuratively and physically behind me. I’m not the person this whole town believes me to be. In front of me now is my future. I need to find a way to live my life even with this felony charge hanging over my head. I know my mom never doubted me. She encouraged me to fight at every appeal to clear my name but without any kind of evidence of our relationship and my DNA and fingerprints on the damn baseball bat I had no chance. So I put my head down and did my time.
Seeing my mom’s car clunking into the parking lot and stopping in front of me has me almost falling to my knees. She visited me a few times at the beginning but it was so hard for her seeing me like that and I couldn’t stand her tears, so I had asked her to stop coming. She fought me on it of course, but in the end I think she realized it was just as hard for me.
“Mom.” The word falls from my lips, sounding as broken as I feel when she rushes from the car and barrels into me. Her petite frame is swallowed by my massive biceps as I hold on to her like a life preserver I have been drowning without for so long.
“I missed you, baby boy,” she cries against my chest and I can feel my own sobs shuddering out of me. “Everything is going to be okay now, you’ll see.” The confidence only a mother can have is evident in her tone and her gaze as she steps back to take me in. “Dear lord, son, were you eating the other prisoners?” she asks, poking her finger against my barrel chest. “I’m gonna need to buy a second refrigerator. Come on, let's go home.” And as easy as that I fold myself into her rusty old car and drive away from my living nightmare.
If only I could have actually left the nightmare that is prison behind. I’ve been home for just over a week and am still adjusting to life outside of a cage. The first morning I woke up at seven a.m. and stood for a full five minutes in front of my bedroom door waiting for it to pop open. Along with the strict schedule embedded in my brain, I find that I can’t sleep in silence, because prison is never silent. So after tossing and turning for hours I put on the shopping channel and managed to get a few hours sleep while the lady with the far-too-white teeth promoted the benefits of owning a stairmaster to the insomniacs of the country who are awake at three a.m. Not going to lie, I considered it. If I wasn’t completely broke with no prospect of decent employment with an aggravated assault felony on my record.
I realize now the prisoner advisor who sat with me for an hour before I was released may have skipped a few things that would be good to know now. Like, how am I supposed to react to the stares and the whispers when I walk down the road. Or how I’m supposed to start a conversation with my little brother who used to idolize me and is now all grown up, has a career, a boyfriend and no doubt thinks I am the scum of the earth. I abandoned him, I never allowed him to visit me, he's never heard my side of the story from me. I have no idea how to make it right with him. You didn’t tell me that, Greg from the prisoner advice service, did you? No, you just told me how to apply for a job at McDonald’s.
My parole officer is cool, much better than good ol’ Greg. She didn’t make me feel like a piece of shit. Instead she actually seemed to care. We spent an hour just talking about my family and my plans to reconcile with my brother. She was supportive of that of course, encouraging even. Obviously there was no point in telling her that I didn’t do anything or that I was innocent. She has probably heard that a thousand times. So instead of wasting my breath on that, I accepted the terms of my parole and agreed to start looking for employment immediately. I left with her contact information and a genuine feeling that I could call her if I needed anything.
My mom, though, is the real MVP. There are no deep conversations, interrogations or questions about my time inside or even my plans for the future. Instead she supports me with subtle things she does for me, like making breakfast at eight a.m. every morning. It’s like she knows without me telling her that I need routines in order to stay sane.
She didn’t comment when I woke up screaming in the middle of the night fighting off invisible inmates or when I jumped at the sound of the front door slamming shut. She knows I’m struggling, but instead of pointing it out she offers me chamomile tea before bed and practically tiptoes out the door. I don’t think I can ever thank her enough. So when she corners me yet again about my brother, I give her all of my attention.
“Just come with me to the art show this Friday. I’ll be there and you can show your support for your brother’s amazing accomplishments. You should see his work, Roman, he's so talented and he's so happy.” Mom smiles wistfully across the breakfast table while talking about my brother. As much as it hurts to know that I missed so much of his life, I am unbelievably happy for him. I have no doubt that me not being there wasn’t easy for Ryan. I’m sure people have attempted to tar him with the same brush as they did me and I want to apologize for that, for everything, for being so fucking stupid and I want to be a part of his life again. Whatever that might look like.
“I don’t know, Mom. I don’t want to ruin his big night, maybe it's better if I wait until I can speak to him alone rather than at a party,” I suggest through pure cowardice and she knows it.
“You need to let him know that you are out, Roman. He’s your little brother and I will not lie to my son any longer, so please think about telling him the truth. He was a teenager back then but he’ll understand now,” she urges as she pats my shoulder then heads out the door to work, leaving me alone with my thoughts and fears.
Can I really do it? Walk into my brother's life after all this time, when he's surrounded by his friends, celebrating his accomplishment. Does it make me a selfish asshole, a fucking coward to face him when Mom is there to step between us like when we were kids. Or perhaps it makes me brave to walk into a room filled with his friends. Fuck! I don’t want to embarrass him, I don’t want him to have to tell everybody I’m his ex-con brother fresh out of the joint. His boyfriend is a lawyer for fuck’s sake. He probably won’t let Ryan talk to me anyway.
When Friday comes along and Mom is putting on her glittery black dress to go to Ryan's art show, her excitement and pride for her youngest son shines and it’s then I know I can’t just stay home and miss the opportunity. I also couldn’t ask my mom to lie or withhold the fact I'm home. Ryan deserves to know, I’m just not sure that turning up at his big event is the best for him. I don’t want to hurt him more than I already have by ruining his moment.
In the end, my mom practically drags me into the car when I still can’t decide if I should go or not. I’m being a coward and she knows it. She also ain’t having it.
Staring up at Savage Ink Tattoo Shop from the passenger seat of my mom’s car, I’m still overwhelmed by all the emotions I experienced on the journey from Fort Collins. The fear of my brother's response to seeing me after all these years wars with pride for his incredible accomplishments and wanting to be there to cheer him on. I can’t in good conscience walk in there and ruin his show no matter how much I want to see him and support him.
“Go on in, Mom, I'll come in and talk to Ryan as soon as the show is over. Text me when the party starts and hopefully he’s in such a great mood he won’t kick me in the balls.” I shrug and laugh at the memories of us play fighting as kids. He would always go for the nut shot.
She watches me for a moment, like she's assessing my intentions. I swear all moms have psychic vision or some kind of ability to not only make a grown man quiver in fear, but also spill all of our darkest secrets with one look.
“I promise, I'll come in once the main show is over, Mom. I don’t want to distract Ry from his show, I'll stay right here until you text, Scout’s honor.” I even hold up three fingers on my right hand and flash all of my teeth mimicking how I used to smile as a child. That pulls a laugh from her even as she rolls her eyes.
“You’ve never been a boy scout in your life, but I’ll trust you on this one. I know you’re nervous but you don’t need to be, he’s your brother. He might be a little mad at first but he would never turn his back on family.” With a final reassuring tap to my arm she slides out of the car and heads into the shop.