Send Letters

Send Letters
by: J.Andrew Menees

What Barbara’s husband did was unforgivable; a crime like no other, in fact something God couldn’t possibly forgive. But Jack deserved whatever he got. Of course this was her angry side speaking but, what’s done is done. No use crying over spilled milk as they say. It was okay to feel anger towards Jack; it was her way of getting over the loneliness.

Jack sat in prison for ten years following his nasty little outrage. Was he angry at himself? Yes. Would he ever do it again? No. And add a hell no on top of that. He felt like he had been sitting in his one bedroom cell forever…and if there ever was a real life version of hell; it would definitely be a prison. Although, this was not your normal prison you know. What happened to all those interesting people you saw on those old T.V. shows? You know the ones; they can get you anything you want if you just let them know in advance; and cut loose with a couple packs of smokes of course.

Yeah none of that shit goes on in here; just a lonely cell and I can’t remember the last time I even got to leave this dreadful place. “My bones feel weak! I am gonna sue for malnutrition! Someone get me out of this fucking place.” You have to excuse me; I’m a little upset because I can’t even remember the last time I even got to play basketball outside. I rattle my cell bars day and night and does anyone come and let me out? No, and add a hell no on top of that.

The only company I’ve had is this guy who I’ve never met in the cell next to me; he sounds young but he has helped me a lot, his name is John. Man if it wasn’t for him talking to me all the time, I might have went mad years ago. I talk to him all the time though even though I’ve never seen his face. You see they don’t let us do much in here. And why not? Who the fuck knows. They’re treating me like I shot the damned President of The United States or something. “Let me out of here I’m starving!”

“Hey man, settle down over there.”
“John is that you?”
“Yeah, what the hell has gotten into you tonight, you know what time the food comes.”

“I know, but I’m completely starving.” I wonder if John will share any of his food with me.

“Hey John?”
“No, you’re not getting any of my food tonight.”

“Come on man, you know I’d do it for you, and you’re always bragging about how much they feed you over there. What do they like you better than me or something?”

John chuckled at this thought, because it was true; they did feed him more. But Jack was in a different position than he; John’s position was a hell of a lot better to be in.

“Listen Jack, maybe if you quit rattling the bars so much, they will bring you more food; I don’t know why they treat me different than you.”
“I know I know…you always know best John.” Okay, okay must sit and be patient. Sit and behave.

John hollered back across cells to Jack. “Hey what if I told you I knew of a way to get you out of here.”
“An escape plan, really?”
“Well it’s not really an escape plan, just a plan.”
“Well don’t fall asleep over there, tell me already.”
“In order to beat these bars, you have to pretend they don’t exist, you’ve got to maintain contact with people on the outside Jack; it’s the only way.”

This made Jack think of his family. How much he hurt them by leaving them alone while he sat in this God forsaken place. He thought about them a lot, his wife, his son. Jack spoke to his friend in the other cell. “I treated them real shitty John.”

“I know Jack, why don’t you try writing them a letter. I work in the mailroom every Thursday and I could mail your letters for free.”

What a splendid idea! A letter; yes a letter would let them know how I felt. At least it couldn’t hurt; they probably think I’m dead in here though, since I’ve never contacted them. They probably wouldn’t care two shits anyway…I shouldn’t have done what I did but what’s done is done. Jack sat on his cot for three hours wondering what he wanted to say in his letter. He got out some scrap paper; took his favorite pen out of its holder, and began to write a letter.

Dear Son,
Hey little buddy, I miss you so much. I hope to hear your voice someday because I only faintly remember how it sounds. God, you must be what now thirteen? Fourteen? I bet you’ve gotta beat the girls off with a stick; ha-ha, just like your old man.
I’m not sure what you remember about me but I don’t have any pictures to send you. Maybe you can send me one of you and your mother; I would really like that. I’m sorry my letter is so short but I don’t know what else to say.
I love you so much,
-Daddy.
“Hey Jack when your done, just slide them over to my cell okay.”
“Sure thing John, I really appreciate it okay.”
“No problem Jack, your like kin to me.”
Jack sent it off the next day and waited two weeks before he began to get worried. He waited another two weeks and sent out another letter addressed to his family again. All of them slipped underneath the watchful eye of the guards. All of them into John’s cell.

Two more weeks passed, still nothing; no letter, no correspondence, nothing. Not even a return letter at least acknowledging that they know he’s in prison.

They must really hate me. God I fucked up bad. Now the only thing on Jack’s mind now was his prison sentence being done with in five years. If he had to, he would send a letter to his son every two weeks until the day he got out of prison. So that way, no one can say, why did you never write me while you were in prison?

For the next five years Jack did as he said; writing his family over one hundred letters. He sent them all for the price of nothing; the best deal in town; all courtesy of a friendly neighbor in the cell next to him. In fifteen years Jack never received a letter from his son or his wife.

Jack got out of Prison on a nice summer day around three p.m. He strolled out of the prison gates a free man, and no one was there to pick him up; because no one knew he was getting out. It would take him seven hours to walk to his house from here.

During his walk home, Jack got the chance to reflect on a few things while he was in prison rotting away. The last day he saw his family, the hurt in their eyes, the distrust, but mainly it was the hurt that gave rise to the bumps on his skin. Why in God’s name did he do it? He had not an answer, only questions. He remembers being so hurt that he went insane the day he left. He propped himself up in the corner of his bedroom and started to sob for no reason. The room was bright and he remembers seeing his wife come into the bedroom to find him the way he was; over. Jack gave up on them.

Jack saw his old house a block away, the paint still chipping in all the right spots. He smiled an enormous grin and started to run. When he got to the front door, it was dark outside; the only light came from the lonely streetlamps; claiming territories across the concrete like rain rolling down a deserted street.

He opened the front door to his house; and nothing had changed; nothing at all. There on the east side of the living room sat the same T.V.; like a lonely lion at a zoo. The carpet still looked the same; coffee and tea stains every ten feet or so, and the ashtray on the coffee table seemed to be exactly where he had left it fifteen years ago; the unfinished butts seemed lonely; as if they rushed off too quick leaving a trail of ashes with nowhere to go.

He walked up the stairs to his wife’s room and she was sleeping alone; thank God for small miracles. He took a few steps back and glanced into his son’s bedroom; his boy was gone, presumably staying the night with a friend. He retreated back to his bedroom tip-toeing across the floor trying not to wake Barbara and slid into the bed; pulling the satin sheets up to his neck. It felt so good to be under the covers with a woman again, he never wanted it to end, in the morning he would complete the perfect day by waiting for his son’s arrival.

Jack lay there unable to go to sleep; next to the woman he dreamed of sleeping next to for the past fifteen years of his life…then suddenly she spoke up. She didn’t turn to acknowledge Jack, she spoke to him facing the opposite wall with her eyes shut, and she knew Jack was there. She felt him there. She didn’t have to wake up; she was talking to him in her sleep.

“Jack, is that you?”
“Yes, honey I’m here now.”
“It’s been so long Jack.”
“I know baby”
“I’ve been so scared and alone; ever since you left.”
“Don’t worry, I tried to make my peace with little Johnny.”
“That’s good; I was worried about you and him.”
“Honey, I must have written him over a hundred letters, and he’s never written me back.”
“Don’t worry Jack; I’m sure he got them.”
“I know; I just wish he would have written me back.”
“Jack there’s no way he could have.”
“Why not?”
“Because Jack, our son is in Heaven.”

Jack sat up out of the bed and his face twisted into shock, he began to sweat and cry at the same time. Memories began flashing back to Jack; but what? He saw red blood, anger; and for a moment a tranquil silence that filled his head as it was the last image of his son. He looked down at his wife who was still sleeping; sleeping still. Jack started to shake his wife, and when her body didn’t budge from his touch, he began to get terrified. Still without waking, she began to speak; Jack could hear her as if her lips were inside of his ears; her voice piercing a shrill cry into his brain.

“Go with him Jack, it’s your time.”
“Baby, what do you mean?”
“In my dreams, John told me that he talked to you almost every night.”

Jack felt more like throwing up more right now than he has ever felt in his entire life. He remembered the man in the cell next to him named John; always asking him for his letters. Jack was panicking. He jumped out of his bed and stumbled over the bedside table, knocking off a picture frame filled not with a picture; but a news article; cut out from the front page of a newspaper. The top of the article, in bold letters read:
JACK DUNN age 35, MURDERS SON JOHNNY DUNN age 3, IN COLD BLOOD
TURNS GUN ON HIMSELF.
“Now do you see Jack? Go with him he needs you.”
“He did get my letters, he kept asking for them; he wanted to hear from his daddy.”
“And he forgives you Jack; go.”
Jack Dunn began to cry as he disappeared into thin air.