The 'N' Word, Book 1 (15 page)

In fact, you never were.

I have to look within

For the true healing to occur…

So thank you, old, wise tree…

For the lessons that you continue to give.

You are the epitome of beauty.

…And that’s why you still live…

-M.W.

Aaron, I hope you enjoyed my poem. Thank you for writing me back. I look forward to your next letter and may each day be an opportunity, despite your surroundings, to grow and appreciate the world around you.

P.S. There is the Serenity Prayer that perhaps would benefit you:

God grant me the serenity

to accept the things I cannot change;

courage to change the things I can;

and wisdom to know the difference.

Sincerely,

Melissa

As she sat there a moment or two looking at her penmanship, re-reading her words, she began to distrust herself, question her motivations.

He is… interesting… so interesting. I would have normally left my response to him short, but he was so… open. It’s like his personality leapt off the pages. Goodness gracious…

She sighed and slid the letter off her lap, smacking the pen against it as she ran her hand along her forehead.

I should have never written him, gotten involved. I see that now… because I want to know more, much more…and I hope he writes back.

She picked up the letter the man had hand written and gave it a hearty sniff. Her lips curved into a delighted smile as she picked up the subtle scent of the prison soap amongst the cigarette smell. Prison soap had a distinct aroma. She was accustomed to smelling it on the men she’d teach—a white, antibacterial bar that some complained left them irritated and dry.

But now, the aroma of it had her drift into deeper mental phantasmagorias, imagining Aaron sitting there with his writing instrument, his fingers and the side of his palm grazing the paper, leaving a trace of himself along the way…

He’s tall, or at least he says so in the letter. He has buzzed, dark brown hair… but he didn’t mention much else. Oh, yes, he has tattoos… But what does he truly look like?

Her curiosity grew and grew and grew until it took up permanent residency within her soul.

I sound as bad as Trudy now. I want to see who this guy is…

She slipped her letter inside a fresh envelope and devised a plan within her mind as she got to her feet. The old screen door screamed out in its usual way as she made her way back inside her home, still simmering in thoughts and ideas, which begged to be released via an empty pot on the stove, or perhaps, her poetry book. Her muse wanted a moment with her. And why should she deny it? This was an outlet of sorts for her, to allow the forbidden intrigue to grow in a secretive sort of way, protected behind a hedge of self-preservation. And now, she had to ask herself…

Have I stepped into territory in which I don’t belong?

Chapter Six

T
HE CLICKING AND
locking of the bulky cell door bothered him a bit more this sweltering evening. Why was a dull light shining from the other end of the hall, allowing him to see men’s shadows moving about? He could just imagine their stride as they went in their light gray uniforms, keys banging against their hips. He twirled his cigarette between his nimble fingers, turned towards his latrine, and tossed the damn thing inside it, certain he’d gotten a three-pointer for his makeshift jump shot. Susan sang and sizzled as it hit the shallow valley of water. Valley… like one filled with wildflowers…

That’s what Melissa’s last letter smelled like, written on purple paper with goldenrod trim and smelling so fucking sweet and delicate. They’d now exchanged four in total, and each one turned a key inside of him, unlocked a bounty of lust and admiration. The woman could fucking write. He’d re-read her letters and poem a million and two times. He hated that the
one
pen pal he’d had an inkling of an interest in let him down fast and easy… making it clear that she did not wish to have romantic ties with a man such as himself. Matter of fact, her second and third letter stated it once more; perhaps she picked up on his flirtatious nature. And yet, for some strange reason, her continued rejection made him want her all the more. He’d begun to daydream about her a few times a day… morning, noon and night. He wanted to hear her actual voice, caress her skin, and run his hands up and down her legs. Her physical description titillated him just so, sweetened the pot.

She’s got long, dark hair and light brown eyes… a beautiful white woman kissed by the sun… Her last name is Weber… That’s German… How nice…

The touch of a woman… the sight of a woman… the feel of a woman beneath his bones…mmmmm…

The scent of a woman… the kiss of a woman… the softness, wetness of warm pussy as he pushed his thick, hungry cock deep into the depths of the feminine valley between her thighs…

His thoughts had morphed from PG to XXX in a matter of days. The more he told himself to remain platonic, keep the shit on the up and up per her request, the more he realized that he simply couldn’t. He’d never met anyone like her before in his entire life. Melissa was blessed with an inspirational vibe, and the way she delivered advice wasn’t pushy or preachy. She made it sound like the lyrics of some glorious song. Without criticizing him, she simply offered him a lifeline, and that, he could certainly appreciate.

Yes, a song… She practically sang in the damn letter. He could almost envision her on her grandmother’s land before the tree that frightened her and everything she’d described in such heart-warming detail. She’d discussed praying in the front row of her father’s church, and her preparation for cooking a lavish meal. When he’d finished reading her letters, he was certain he had a front row seat into her mind. She left no detail spared, no stone unturned, and with each missive, they shared more and more, almost to the point where he was experiencing the beginning stages of… trust.

The woman professed so many things… things he’d tried to find in other women, all wrapped beautifully into one package. Up to now, it had been a struggle.

So he found himself opening up to her a bit more each time he sat down to write her, tell her how he felt and what he thought about the world and life in general.

He didn’t want to scare her away, bombard her with details of a broken childhood and his daily struggles with trying desperately to not slip into fits of despair. Matter of fact, the thought of mentioning this repulsed him in some strange way; he felt the need to protect her from it… And, perhaps on some subconscious level, from
him
…

As he sat within the rough hug of loneliness, he discovered the distant embrace left him changed, a bit of a lesser man than he’d been moments prior. The desolation was slowly killing him. He’d been stolen away from his only child, his career and his passions, and now he was left a lone man grasping at new roots. Sure, he’d served time before, but
this
time it felt… different. The cold was frostier, the cruelty more punishing, and the grotesque more outlandish than ever before. He’d begun thinking of his past, with its wayward weeds all grown up and trying desperately to take him out, strangle the potential and choke the very essence of who he used to be. Deep, tortured reflections of past, present, and future merged, becoming one large, hideous monster… and now, he was forced to look the beast in the eye.

He began to question himself, observe a world within a world inside of that prison. The men looked different, though their rough faces were the same. He no longer knew who to confide in and who to beat into a bloody pound of flesh. Inside, violent rages waged a war against his very soul… Conceivably he was bought and paid for, and the Devil had no intentions of auctioning him off to a higher bidder. He wasn’t sure he could maintain a level head any longer. Whispers and shifty eyes abounded around him, leaving him in a habitual state of paranoia.

With a huff, he stomped to a chair in a far corner of his iron box and slumped in it, his notebook and pen in hand. The small light in his room provided just enough illumination to write a decent letter, to see the black, inky words birthed across the stark white paper…get some feelings out… make some shit clear…

Dear Melissa,

We’ve made introductions, shared some memories, but please know, I am open to any questions or misgivings that you may have. I must put my cards on the table once again. I am drawn to you. I await your correspondence, above all others. The only letters that bring me more delight are my daughter’s, and that says quite a bit. You’ve impressed me, and I hope with a bit more time, I will have the same effect on you. Melissa, I believe the pursuit of a mate to be similar to that of a hunt. Anything worth having is worth a struggle.

As I told you, my professional career revolves around protecting others, via security. I’m also freedom fighter, and to me, these two things go hand in hand. War is what I know, combat is what I do, but on my own terms. I see you as no different. I do not wish to make you uncomfortable or to make you believe that your beliefs and feelings are irrelevant in regards to my own ideas and planning.

However, what you do need to understand is that I am not convinced that I’ve fully exposed myself to you, in order for you to form an accurate depiction of me as a man. We have barriers; one of them is obviously prison walls… the other barriers are our ideas of how a courtship should begin. My body is in prison, not my mind or heart. And my mind and heart took a vote and have come to an agreement…

…They want you…

Before you say it is because I’m lonely, I assure you that is not the motivation. Before you say I’ve gone crazy due to being in isolation, again, that would be incorrect. I want you, Melissa, because you are the type of woman I have been searching for. You have absolutely no idea how frustrating it has been to find a woman that matched what I knew I needed. You’re polite, yet direct. You’re beautiful, yet modest. You’re traditional, yet open-minded. I would be a fool to not tell you what is on my heart right now. Your letters bring me unbelievable happiness. I’ve not felt contentment in a mighty long time, Melissa. I do not want to bring you down, or make you pity me, but you make me feel comfortable, like I can share with you, and it will be okay… no judgment. I never discuss my childhood with anyone.

The only person, besides my brother, Joe-Joe, and sister, Amy, who knows anything about my home-life is the mother of my child, and even what I told her is limited. I am at the point in my life where I really want to move past it, let it go, but it’s a struggle. I have been forced to see the prison psychiatrist, and he gave me a questionnaire that included questions about my childhood. I lied in many of my answers to him. I did this for two reasons: One, because I didn’t want to do it, and I don’t like being forced to do something. Two, I did not want to continue to have to see him. Well, I have to go back and see him anyway, so unfortunately my plan backfired. Anyway, I want to tell you that, as a little boy, I was abused. My parents would hit me and my sister and brother. I’m the eldest, and felt the need to try and protect them. Usually, I failed.

In order to keep my cool, I found something I really enjoyed: fishing. There was a lake not too far from our home, and I’d go out there and watch people on small boats with their rods out, early in the wee hours of the morning. It would be so quiet, you know? I really enjoyed it. One day, an older man offered to take me out on his boat. He’d seen me come up there and stare at him. I jumped at the chance, though in retrospect, as an adult, I know that was foolish, especially with all the perverts in the world. Luckily for me, he was just a really nice guy. His name was Herschel, and he showed me how to hold a fishing pole and bait a line. After that, I was hooked… pardon the pun. One day, he gave me my own fishing pole. It was dark blue, and I was so happy, I think I smiled for the rest of that day.