7 #2
I remembered a time I laid in a bathroom, waiting for a fix, and took a friend's revolver.
I put three bullets in, spun the cylinder, and pulled the trigger at my head three times just to see if it would go off.
By the law of averages, I should have died.
The fact that I was still alive meant God didn't want me to go out then.
The prison had a program to remove gang or offensive tattoos for certain inmates, and they extended it to me.
I got almost everything on my torso removed except for one: that snowflake with the paw in the middle.
That was a pivot in my life that reminded me of a time I felt nothing was worth holding onto.
I buried that memory, but it stayed as a reminder of where I came from.
I prayed for Diane often, asking for her forgiveness and that her soul was at peace. Other inmates started coming to me, asking me to pray for their wives and families. They said that when I talked, God listened. I didn't know about all that, but He became the most important thing to me.
He became so important that when I was told I was going to be released early from Ironvale for good behavior, I actually felt like I should stay. I still had work to do. I didn't want to leave Jawar and the others who depended on me.
One day at recess, I sat with Jawar and asked him how I could stay for my full sentence.
"Don't you see this is God’s work?" Jawar asked, smiling.
"But there's so much work to do here," I argued.
"Look around, baby goat," Jawar said.
I looked, and I saw inmates who looked happier. Some were reading Bibles I’d helped them get.
"What you’re doing is already taking hold," Jawar told me.
"Now you gotta get out there. You’re ready.
This is God talking to you. This is Him answering your prayer.
You came in here one way, and He built you up after you got broken down.
Now you gotta go out there and help others like you so they don't end up here. "
“I don’t wanna get outta here without you, brother.”
I felt horrible in that moment, maybe a little selfish even, because I didn't want to leave him, but I knew he was right.
"I’ll be fine," he said. "Don’t you dare worry about me. I was here before you, and I’ll be here after you, continuing your work.”
The release process was a cold, clinical machine. I went through the motions, the paperwork, the fingerprinting, the handing back of the few possessions I had left. Right before they led me to the final gate, Jawar pressed something into my hand, wrapped in a small piece of fabric.
"Open it when you get out," he whispered. "I’m always going to be with you, man."
We hugged for a long time, and I didn't care who saw the tears in my eyes. He felt like the only real thing I had left in this world.
"I’m going to come visit you every week," I told him, feeling emotional.
Jawar pulled back, smiling from ear to ear like he was watching his kid brother go off to college. "No. I want you to get yourself together first. Get all your stuff situated, and then we can talk about visiting me. If you come before that, I’m not going to see you. Now get your ass out of here."
I walked through the gates and the heavy steel clicked shut behind me.
Prison does something to your soul; it makes the world outside look too big, too bright, and far too loud.
I stood on the sidewalk, clutching my small mesh bag of belongings.
No one was there to get me. I felt lost, stranded, in a way.
Ironvale had been my home for three years, three months, and nine days.
If I counted my pre-trial detention, I’d been behind bars for exactly four years and one day.
And now, I was free.
Sighing, after I reached the bus stop, I leaned against the small shelter station and unwrapped Jawar’s gift.
My heart hurt.
His bible.
It was now mine. The same one I’ve had since. Tears threatened to spill at the sight of the worn book that I had given back to him. Only for him to bequeath it to me.
What an honor.
I hoped he was okay. Knowing him, he wouldn’t have a problem getting his own in there.
I swore to keep it forever.
“Thanks Brother,” I whispered with a smile.
Rewrapping it, I looked to the heavens and thanked God.
I had a few letters in my bag I hadn't opened yet. One was from Malcolm. I sat on the bus bench and finally tore it open.
Sup Buck,
I know it's been a while.
I got our lawyers to try and bring down the sentence.
I'm sorry you had to go through all of this. I hear you're doing well, just stay strong and please be good. I tried to get you out early by pushing the 'under the influence' angle.
I miss you, man, but for the sake of the band and the legacy, for Sean and everything, we have to keep you out of the limelight.
We’re being watched all the time, and you were kind of a loose cannon.
The best I could do was get you your life back, even if it took a while.
Hopefully you'll do better with it this time. We all moved to California.
James is back with us and we're trying to keep a good image, so I hope you understand why I couldn't visit. Connor is kind of nuts right now, but we're trying to hold it together. The band isn't the same without you, but you'll always be my drummer. Kick ass when you get out.
— Malcolm.
I felt like crying, but I understood.
I was the sacrificial lamb, but I’d done this all to myself. The best I could do was live right this time.
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