I burst into the jail with only a few minutes to spare yesterday. I was drenched from head to toe. I didn't even have time to shake the rain from my umbrella.
My shoes squeeked on the slick floor as I sloshed over to a table piled with forms and tiny pencils. I filled out a request for a video visit with an inmate and rushed up to the deputy behind the glass.
He chuckled when I raced up, out of breath. I slid the slip of paper under the window separating us.
"Neither wind nor rainstorm..." He laughed.
"I know, right?" I smiled at him. We have a comfortable familiarity. I have seen this man once a week for over two months now.
"I'm more determined then a postal worker!" I blurted out.
He laughed again. "Well you even beat them", He said as he checked my ID. "I haven't even seen the mail come in today".
He handed me a yellow post-it note with my sign-in code written in pencil.
I told him I was alone today. My son's girlfriend and her mom both had to work.
He nodded. "You ladies usually come in together", he said. "Have a nice visit". Again, the friendly smile.
I realized I had gone to the next level. Of this son in jail experience. I wasn't as apprehensive, at least of the jail visits. I knew the ropes. The guard and I chatted like a barista and patron of a coffee shop.
I raced over to the video kiosks and plopped my wet belongings on a chair. I signed in and lifted the phone receiver. I could see my face in a small box on the lower left side of the screen. I was surprised by my appearance. My hair was not standing on end. My face looked peaceful and calm. The exterior storm had not ruffled my inner peace.
Just then the screen lit up. I saw my son's face. Behind him, were many men walking about. In blue scrubs, with pink t-shirts underneath, pink socks and orange flip flops. The prison garb made them look harmless. Sweet, even. But in a mother's eyes, our sons always look sweet. Don't we often look at their faces and sigh, remembering the sweet, innocent boy from years past?
We had a nice visit. He talked about the books he was reading, and the commissary he was ordering. A few minutes into our visit, a sturdy looking older man with a shiny, bald head cane up to the screen.
He waved and smiled. I waved back. He had kind eyes.
My son turned around and they clasped hands. The older man patted my son on the shoulder and said something to me.
I couldn't make it out.
"He's my buddy, Mom" said my son. "He told you he's looking out for me".
I smiled at our bald friend, giving him a thumbs up sign.
He smiled broadly, waved and sauntered off in his orange flip flops. I wondered briefly what he was in for.
My son waited for a moment. Then he leaned forward and said quietly, "He's a good guy. Some times he's kind of hard on me, but he watches out for me".
"Like a dad?" I asked.
My son nodded sadly.
We didn't say anything for a few seconds. The absence of a father sat between us. We both felt it through the video screen.
I changed the subject. I told him about upcoming concerts. Fundraisers for his release.
"Do you think you can get me out before Christmas, Mom"?
I told him it wasn't likely. I told him I had talked to his girlfriend. My guess was we'd have him out before New Year's day.
"Was she sad?" He asked.
"A little bit", I admitted. But Christmas is just a day we celebrate the birth of Jesus and time with family. It doesn't have to be on that date." I said softly. I was hoping he wouldn't cry.
But he surprised me. "We could celebrate Christmas when I get out!" he smiled.
Then I remembered that last year we celebrated Christmas in January. My brother and his family were out of town for Christmas. It was a very relaxing celebration that year. No rush or stress.
I reminded my son of this. He nodded. Our time was running out. I told him we had only two minutes. I asked him if had a message for anyone.
He said to tell everyone he loved them.
"Just get me out, Mom".
"We will".
At that the sound cut out. I blew him a kiss. The screen went blank.
Outside I heard the wind howling. It was dark, but I could see sheets of rain through the glass doors.
I wasn't in a hurry. I sat and wrote a note of encouragement for my son. I walked up to the deputy behind the glass. He was in a phone call. He was speaking loudly and slowly.
"He's been arrested. Domestic abuse. Are you a family member...?"
I caught his eye as I slid the note to my son under the glass. He nodded, smiled and waved.
I grabbed my umbrella and headed boldly out into the storm.
Zita
My shoes squeeked on the slick floor as I sloshed over to a table piled with forms and tiny pencils. I filled out a request for a video visit with an inmate and rushed up to the deputy behind the glass.
He chuckled when I raced up, out of breath. I slid the slip of paper under the window separating us.
"Neither wind nor rainstorm..." He laughed.
"I know, right?" I smiled at him. We have a comfortable familiarity. I have seen this man once a week for over two months now.
"I'm more determined then a postal worker!" I blurted out.
He laughed again. "Well you even beat them", He said as he checked my ID. "I haven't even seen the mail come in today".
He handed me a yellow post-it note with my sign-in code written in pencil.
I told him I was alone today. My son's girlfriend and her mom both had to work.
He nodded. "You ladies usually come in together", he said. "Have a nice visit". Again, the friendly smile.
I realized I had gone to the next level. Of this son in jail experience. I wasn't as apprehensive, at least of the jail visits. I knew the ropes. The guard and I chatted like a barista and patron of a coffee shop.
I raced over to the video kiosks and plopped my wet belongings on a chair. I signed in and lifted the phone receiver. I could see my face in a small box on the lower left side of the screen. I was surprised by my appearance. My hair was not standing on end. My face looked peaceful and calm. The exterior storm had not ruffled my inner peace.
Just then the screen lit up. I saw my son's face. Behind him, were many men walking about. In blue scrubs, with pink t-shirts underneath, pink socks and orange flip flops. The prison garb made them look harmless. Sweet, even. But in a mother's eyes, our sons always look sweet. Don't we often look at their faces and sigh, remembering the sweet, innocent boy from years past?
We had a nice visit. He talked about the books he was reading, and the commissary he was ordering. A few minutes into our visit, a sturdy looking older man with a shiny, bald head cane up to the screen.
He waved and smiled. I waved back. He had kind eyes.
My son turned around and they clasped hands. The older man patted my son on the shoulder and said something to me.
I couldn't make it out.
"He's my buddy, Mom" said my son. "He told you he's looking out for me".
I smiled at our bald friend, giving him a thumbs up sign.
He smiled broadly, waved and sauntered off in his orange flip flops. I wondered briefly what he was in for.
My son waited for a moment. Then he leaned forward and said quietly, "He's a good guy. Some times he's kind of hard on me, but he watches out for me".
"Like a dad?" I asked.
My son nodded sadly.
We didn't say anything for a few seconds. The absence of a father sat between us. We both felt it through the video screen.
I changed the subject. I told him about upcoming concerts. Fundraisers for his release.
"Do you think you can get me out before Christmas, Mom"?
I told him it wasn't likely. I told him I had talked to his girlfriend. My guess was we'd have him out before New Year's day.
"Was she sad?" He asked.
"A little bit", I admitted. But Christmas is just a day we celebrate the birth of Jesus and time with family. It doesn't have to be on that date." I said softly. I was hoping he wouldn't cry.
But he surprised me. "We could celebrate Christmas when I get out!" he smiled.
Then I remembered that last year we celebrated Christmas in January. My brother and his family were out of town for Christmas. It was a very relaxing celebration that year. No rush or stress.
I reminded my son of this. He nodded. Our time was running out. I told him we had only two minutes. I asked him if had a message for anyone.
He said to tell everyone he loved them.
"Just get me out, Mom".
"We will".
At that the sound cut out. I blew him a kiss. The screen went blank.
Outside I heard the wind howling. It was dark, but I could see sheets of rain through the glass doors.
I wasn't in a hurry. I sat and wrote a note of encouragement for my son. I walked up to the deputy behind the glass. He was in a phone call. He was speaking loudly and slowly.
"He's been arrested. Domestic abuse. Are you a family member...?"
I caught his eye as I slid the note to my son under the glass. He nodded, smiled and waved.
I grabbed my umbrella and headed boldly out into the storm.
Zita
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