Winded

He's in jail. He's been there since September, and I dont know when he's getting out.

The plea he took was for 3 to 5, but a law is in motion that could send him home with time served. The strategy up til now has been to keep pushing the sentencing back, allowing time for the powers that be to vote the new law into the books. There's only one vote left before it becomes a reality, but he's tired of being where he is and thinks he might just want to get it over with. I suggested he push things out one last time - it's bound to pass soon - but I've never been in his position, so who am I to tell him not to risk the waste of 3 years of his life, when he feels his existence is wasting away NOW?

This was my first visit in all those months. He'd tried to get me out there a few times before, but there was always some reason I couldnt go. I decided nothing would stop me this time because I needed to see for myself how he was doing. Voices on the other ends of phone calls can be deceiving. He looks good - thin though. His skin is all broken out from the razors his skin never could handle, but a man's gotta shave.

We talked and laughed for 45 minutes before the business of business set in. How are the kids? You alright? You need anything? Things havent been great on my end of the world, but Im doing better than him. I chose not to burden him. He's got his own fight to fight.

The hour ended abruptly and all the air left the room. An awkward hug goodbye, with the knowledge that there wouldnt be another for quite some time. I wasnt ready to go, and all at once, couldnt wait to get out of there. The first steps away from the glass were heavy and difficult, but the closer I got to the door, the more I began to suffocate. Cant this guard move any faster? I didnt turn to look back. My eyes were burning, which is never good. The door opened and I was out. Keys from the basket, coat from the hanger, and out into the wind in my face. That was the first breath I remembered taking in almost ten minutes. I felt like I was running to the car - maybe I was, I dont know. Pop the keyless entry, into the driver's seat, the door slams and the world disappears.

I cried hard for five minutes before pulling out of the lot, less hard for another ten, driving along 96, and fought it for another ten after that, feeling like the car was driving itself. I didnt turn the radio on - that far out, none of the stations really worked anyway. I thought about a lot of things for the next hour, fighting to keep the car from blowing off the road. Most of it had nothing to do with him. Why should it? He's in jail. He's been there since September, and I dont know when he's getting out.