Behind His Eyes - Convicted: The Missing Years (23 page)

The other men in his unit didn’t care who he was outside any more than he cared who they were. Each man was cordial and respectful, yet not overly communicative. That was until evenings: most of the men thrived on television time. From 4:30 PM until midnight, the television was on. Never being much of a television watcher, the incessant noise—
every
night—wore on him as much as the stupid counts.

Sleeping wasn’t the only activity that was communal. Showering, too, was done by unit. As the first week progressed, it seemed that each hour was worse than the one before. As his old life slipped further and further away, the therapy seemed like a good idea.

Besides his thrice a week counseling sessions, Tony, like every other inmate, was required to hold a job. Not only was he responsible for cleaning his part of the dormitory, he had an actual
job
. Every day after breakfast, Anthony Rawlings, Number 01657-3452, reported to the warehouse, where he unpacked supplies from delivery trucks. That bit of manual labor earned him $0.17 an hour. Hadn’t this place heard of minimum wage?

The money he earned, plus money he had sent to him, allowed him to purchase non-issued supplies. That was everything from headphones and an MP3 player to drown out the incessant television, to shampoo and additional clothing. Though Tony could have unlimited money sent to his account, there was a $320.00 per month spending limit. He almost choked when he read that. Hell, he’d spent more than that on a haircut.

In an effort to avoid the dormitory, Tony signed up for educational services. He’d always appreciated education, but as a man with an MBA, he wasn’t interested in a GED. The subject he chose to study was horticulture. It reminded him of Claire. As he learned to care for the plants on Yankton’s grounds, he’d remember her chatter about the flowers and plants on the estate. Just being outdoors, with his hands in the soil, made him feel closer to her. While learning about or tending to some plant, Tony would think about Claire and hope that she was doing well enough to be doing the same. He knew how much she loved the outdoors and believed that if she were outside, it would give her strength.

The schedule included time to exercise, and, during the allotted time, a quarter-mile track was frequented by the inmates. While many used the track as a time to talk with a little more privacy, Tony’s playlist kept him occupied. Purchasing music was one of his bigger expenses. To occupy his mind, he had the Wall Street Journal, as well as other business publications delivered, and he was allowed a minimum amount of Internet time. The Internet as well as phone calls were monitored, but they were a connection to the outside world. As days turned to weeks and weeks to months, the routine became easier to handle.

Tony recalled Claire’s description of prison, saying that it was very
routine
. He could add lonely, boring, and other adjectives, but routine was accurate. In the first few months of incarceration, Tony learned that not only could he make rules, he could follow them. He didn’t like it, but each message from Courtney about Nichol, from Roach about Claire, from Patricia about Rawlings Industries, or Brent about his sentence gave him the substance and stamina to continue.

The best and worst days of the week were weekends and holidays. Those were the days when visitors could visit Yankton. Upon his arrival to the prison camp, Tony was required to compile a list of friends and family who could visit. The list was then verified and approved by the prison. Tony knew that there were people on his list who would probably never visit, but he added them anyway. His list included Brent (although as his attorney he had additional license to visit), Courtney, Tim, Patricia, Roach, Claire, Nichol, John, and Emily.

He doubted that John and Emily would ever bring Nichol to see him, but he wanted the option available to them if they decided to come. Tony wasn’t sure about Claire, but believed that she would get better. When she did, he prayed she’d come to see him. He even fantasized about her visiting, especially on days he had no visitors. When the weather was warm, there was outside seating for visits. Seeing the other inmates with their spouses and children was probably the worse punishment Tony endured.

Utilizing the Rawlings’ jets, people could get to Tony in less than an hour. There was a small municipal airport not far from the prison. Driving would have been over five hours, and flying commercially meant another hour’s drive from Sioux City, the closest international airport.

By law, inmates were allowed four hours a month of visitation. However, it was the belief of the prison that visitors were good for the inmates’ morale. Therefore, contingent upon available space—every visitor and inmate were required to have a chair—visits were granted. They had to be planned ahead and approved. Brent and Courtney visited every three weeks, like clockwork. Roach came at least once a month, and Tim or Patricia alternated their visits. It was without a doubt the highlight to Tony’s week.

Besides visiting, Courtney was the best about sending letters. They were usually just little notes about nothing. When one would arrive it was impossible to keep the smile from Tony’s face.

Occasionally, something would occur that the visits didn’t happen. Those were dark, colorless days.

Autumn came a little earlier in South Dakota than it did in Iowa. By early September the days as well as the nights had begun to chill. In Tony’s horticulture class he learned about hardy, weather-resistant flowers. After Labor Day, they removed the summer’s flowers and planted mums. He’d seen them before but never paid them any attention. Throughout the prison’s campus yellow, orange, and deep red mums added color.

Tony’s counseling had progressed beyond insignificant discussions about Tony’s adaptation to Yankton. His therapist wasn’t a doctor but a counselor named Jim. At first, Tony wasn’t sure what to think about Jim other than he wasn’t very talkative for a therapist. Tony had always imagined that therapy was where the therapist told the patient what his or her problems were and what to do about them. He knew his problems: he was stuck in a prison while his wife was in a mental facility and their daughter was living with his brother- and sister-in-law whom he hated. Of course, it took Tony weeks to divulge even that much. He had a personal rule about sharing private information. Speaking to Jim about Tony’s private life, outside of Yankton, seemed like a violation of his own rule.

Speaking about prison life, however, was acceptable. That was how they started each session. But they’d been at this now for months and the mundane was getting to be that and more.

“Anthony, how are things going?” Jim asked. Tony liked that Jim referred to him solely by his name. The correctional officers as well as any announcements or call outs always included the inmate’s name and number. It didn’t take long for Tony to tire of hearing
Rawlings, Number 01657-3452
.

He shrugged. “As well as can be expected, I suppose.”

Jim waited. When Tony didn’t offer any more he went on, “Why? What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. I thought I could handle it better.”

“What do you mean?”

“I hate it—every minute.” He stood and paced to the window and back. It was the only place where he could freely get up and move while with a member of the prison staff. That realization struck him. “Like this! I can’t even fuck’n do this.”

“What?” Jim asked. “What are you doing that you can’t do?”

“Just move, walk, pace, whatever. I’ve been trying these last few months, but I don’t think I can make it another forty-four months. Damn, that sounds like forever.” He collapsed into the chair before Jim’s desk.

“Why?”

Color came to Tony’s cheeks as red threatened his vision. “You know, that drives me crazy.”

“What?”

“That! If you’re going to ask me questions for three hours a week, be more specific.”

“Give me an example,” Jim said.

Did he need to tell the therapist how to do his own job? “Instead of
why
or
what
, ask why I don’t think I can make it or what drives me crazy—use complete sentences.”

“Is that something you always do?”

Tony thought for a minute. “I think I do. I know I used to. Hell, I don’t even know what I do anymore.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“I feel like after only three months, I’m losing who I am. Just Saturday, my assistant was here to fill me in on things happening back at my work. I am totally out of the loop.”

“Have you always been in the loop?”

“Up until a year ago, yes.”

Jim put down his pencil. “What happened a year ago?”

“Surely you have my records, Jim. Surely you know my history. I mean, haven’t you done your homework?”

“If I did, what would I know?”

Tony stood again and walked toward the window. “I hate this. I’m not the person I’m forced to be in here. I can’t stand it.”

“You weren’t saying this Friday. What changed?”

Tony remembered Patricia’s visit. She wasn’t allowed to bring papers or her phone or anything back for the visit, so everything she said, she had to remember. She was telling him about some recent fluctuations in the stocks, and about a few changes on the administrative level of a recently acquired subsidiary, but instead of listening and following what she was saying, as he would have in the past, he was watching the inmate at the table next to them with his wife and two kids.

“Do you think kids should be allowed to visit here?” Tony asked.

Jim leaned back and took a deep breath. “I think that children can be a motivating factor for people to want to better themselves. Therefore, seeing that child is a reminder of why a person is trying to follow the rules and be a better person.”

Tony contemplated his answer. “But for the kids,” he asked, “won’t it mess them up to be visiting their father in a prison?”

“What do you think?”

“I’m asking you.”

“Anthony, are you used to getting your questions answered when you ask them?”

“Yes. I accept no less.”

“Does the Anthony who lives outside of this prison get what he expects?”

“I-I…” he was about to say
I do
, but the reality of his life since he returned from paradise came crashing down. “I used to.”

“How does it make you feel to not get what you expect?”

“It disappoints me. I don’t like to be disappointed.”

“We always talk about Yankton. You brought up a year ago… were you disappointed a year ago?”

Tony remembered a year ago. It was last September when Claire left, when his world fell apart. “Yes,” he replied quieter.

“Was it something or someone who disappointed you?”

“I think I’m going to request a change in job. I mean, there are jobs in the business office. I have a lot to offer in an office.”

Jim didn’t argue Tony’s change of subject. “What would you do? Clerical work?”

“Hell, no. I could do much more than that. I already have seen how poorly the supplies are managed by working in the warehouse. I think I could help them utilize…” Tony went on to describe his plan for supply logistics.

“Don’t you think that any of the other inmates could do the same?”

“I’m sure they could, but they haven’t.”

“Why do you think that is?” Jim asked.

Tony thought about that. “I would assume that most people don’t believe the prison truly wants to accentuate our abilities.”

“Do you think that?”

“I don’t know. I guess I want to find a reason to get up every day. I used to hate to sleep, like I was missing something. Now I would kill to get a good night’s sleep.”

Jim grinned. “As a rule of thumb, in a prison anger-management session, saying you’d kill isn’t a good idea.”

The tips of Tony’s lips perked upward. “Yes, I didn’t give that much thought. Perhaps it’s my lack of sleep?”

“Between now and your next session, I have something I want you to do.”

Jim had never asked Tony to do anything other than arrive on time. “What do you want?” he asked suspiciously.

“I want you to think about who or what disappointed you a year ago, and I want you to decide if you’re going to trust me with that information. If you decide you’re not going to trust me, I want to know why. Can you do that?”

He didn’t want to do that. Tony didn’t want to think about a year ago. He didn’t want to remember how great he thought he and Claire had it at the estate, how she’d accepted his ring, how he thought she was safe. He didn’t want to remember the crushing sadness at her disappearance or that it was Catherine who turned their world upside down. Not only did Tony not want to share that with Jim, he didn’t want to share it with himself.

When he didn’t answer, Jim asked again, “Anthony, can you do what I asked?”

Was failure an option? “I’ll try.”

“My Life as It Didn’t Appear, Chapter 6…

Actions have consequences. It was a phrase I heard over and over. There were negative consequences and positive consequences. Everything I did or said was evaluated: by Anthony, and by me. I found myself walking on egg-shells at every turn. It began the moment I woke, and ended after I finally fell asleep. I didn’t want to fail: I couldn’t fail. I learned very quickly that failure had consequences.