2,555 Nights

 

by LN Alberts

“She won’t even recognize me,” Robert told his reflection.

He squinted at the small, square mirror behind the sink while he turned his chin to the side. His fingers roughed up his scruffy beard to expose the gray patches that seeped through the brown. Robert frowned at the evidence of his wasted time. Perhaps it was time for a fresh shave to symbolize his fresh start. The light overhead flickered as he smeared shaving cream over his cheeks and chin. One stripe at a time, he scraped away the mask he’d worn from the moment he stepped foot on Parchman Farm.

He credited his grizzled appearance to the long days he spent cultivating crops in penance at Mississippi’s state penitentiary. It was a drastic change from the beautiful home he’d inherited in Vicksburg. That historic old house was the first family heirloom to fall victim to his crimes, but certainly wasn’t the last. The antique cars and every single book in his parents’ meticulously curated library followed suit. The memories of a privileged childhood and a pampered marriage were all that remained of his former life. Robert’s cheek hadn’t felt the harsh caress of a T-130 pillowcase until he’d arrived at Parchman. It was accustomed to Egyptian cotton.

After forty-two years in the lap of luxury, he stood empty-handed and alone in a discount hotel room worrying about a patch of gray hair in his beard. Robert flinched at the sensation of his weathered fingertips touching the smooth skin of his jaw for the first time. The manicured nails of a politician were replaced by calloused palms and cracked skin after years of hard labor at the penal farm. There was no sign of his past in these hands.

Robert picked up the photo from the counter and compared it to the man in the mirror. The picture was taken by the prison administration and shoved inside of his file. It was the first thing he saw when he opened the envelope handed to him at his release. He tilted his head to the side as he noted the lines and wrinkles that marked his skin like tire tracks on a dirt road. His smile no longer reached his eyes and that trademark twinkle was missing. It was locked away in some nameless place and barred from the world since it was no longer fit for society. 

He took a deep breath and braced for the hacking cough that always followed. Despite giving up cigarettes over a decade ago, he developed a smoker’s cough anyway. The delta’s near-constant humidity just exacerbated the condition. Robert pressed his elbows against the counter and spit the ever-present phlegm that gathered in his throat down the drain. Another reminder that he wasn’t the healthy young man in that photo any longer.

Robert sighed as he pushed himself upright and turned away from the mirror. With three long strides he reached the side of the bed. Even in a room as sparsely furnished as this one the queen size mattress looked massive compared to the twin bunk he shared in his cell. He felt his lips twitch into a smile as he spun around and collapsed back onto the fluffy duvet. His arms spread wide as if searching for tangible proof that his freedom was real. Instead, his fingers brushed the plain, stamped yellow envelope he’d tossed carelessly on the bed on his way in.

He pinched the corner of the envelope and tugged it closer, then promptly emptied the contents on the bed. Out spilled an empty wallet, an ATM receipt dated 2010, two pink hair clips, and a plastic Red Birds key chain without keys. None of it was worth saving for all this time, but it was the sum total of his worldly possessions.

“Personal effects” was a misnomer, he mused. Most of these scraps no longer mattered to him. They were the remnants of a life he abandoned in favor of back-room deals exchanging money for influence. Just as his memories decayed over time, so had these trinkets from the past. The wallet was misshapen, the receipt had faded, the clips were missing their plastic butterflies, and the key chain was cracked. His mugshot was a better capture of that time than the contents of his pockets.

Robert’s hand closed around the pink clips reflexively. He ignored the scratch of the tarnished metal against his palm and held his last treasure to his chest. These he’d keep, but the rest could sizzle in the Mississippi sun.

If he closed his eyes, he could see her standing there in the arched doorway of their home with her mother’s arm wrapped around her shoulders and a baseball mitt clutched in her hands. Gracie’s blonde curls framed her face just like the girls in a Renoir watercolor, but the tears rolling down her cheeks streaked the paint. Losing his daughter was the real punishment for his crimes. The boredom behind bars and the exhaustion from the farm paled in comparison to the time he lost with her. Robert missed every birthday, every ball game, and every single Christmas morning from that day forward. Living without her brilliant smile and chirping laughter was pure misery. It felt as if the sun was abruptly ripped from the sky and his world was buried in the dirt.

The steady tick of the old analog alarm clock on the nightstand counted down the minutes until daylight returned again. He opened his eyes and tipped his head back to check the time. Any moment now.

A knock at the door stirred him into action. He managed to push his tired body upright, but was annoyed by the loud creek of his joints as he lifted himself to his feet. Prison life aged him far faster than whiskey and cigarettes ever could have. Robert straightened out his shirt and smoothed the wrinkles away. The first impression was the most important, he reminded himself. She deserved to see him at his best this time.

He held his breath as he stepped forward and reached for the doorknob. As soon as his fingers touched the brass handle, he felt his chest clench with panic. Robert stared down at his trembling hand in surprise. Until now, it never occurred to him to be nervous. His anxiety was only heightened by a second knock.

“Just a minute,” he called out, wiping his sweaty palm against the front of his trousers.

Robert cleared his throat and steadied himself. He hadn’t prepared for a panic attack. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He’d reviewed all of the possible outcomes of this meeting in his head multiple times over the last few weeks. The inevitable disappointment on her face if she did show up, and the possibility that she wouldn’t, were all accounted for in his mind. A last-minute paralysis at the door was not part of the plan. Then again, his plans had failed before.

“Daddy?”

The worry in her voice propelled him forward. He pulled the door open and met her bright blue eyes with a tentative smile. A wary eighteen-year-old stood in place of the eager child he’d left behind. Gracie tucked her short blonde hair behind her ear as she studied his face. It was a nervous tic he remembered well. The curious tilt to her head was exactly the same too. His hand tightened around the pink clips.

“Hi,” he said. His breath rushed out with the greeting.

“Hi,” she replied hesitantly.

Robert’s prepared speech dissolved on his tongue like cotton candy. With no coherent words left, he offered his hand instead. Gracie smiled when she spotted the pink clips in his palm. She reached into her backpack and pulled out a Red Birds cap, then swapped the cap for the clips. Robert grinned back at her as he plopped the cap on his head.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” Gracie said, shaking her head.

“Neither have you,” he replied.

She rolled her eyes as she stepped forward with arms outstretched. Robert wrapped her up in a hug and held her tight. His smile was stuck in place as if he’d forgotten how to turn it off. After seven years in darkness, he was thrilled to finally see the light.