Jail Time
Jail Time
A man walked into the Sheriff’s and walked past Deputy Brown and went into a jail cell and sat down on the cot in there.
That’s how my friend Annie said it to me this morning, and for some reason, I was perplexed and fascinated. Annie is my best friend and has been since grade two, and I know her like the back of my freckled hand, and I can assure you she weren’t joking me or pulling a fast one.
“What did Deputy Brown do?” I asked, fishing for more information. (Annie has a way of leaving important details out of potentially interesting stories.)
“He just watched him go by and sit on that cot,” Annie said. “At least that’s what Mrs. Brown told my mother. Deputy Brown tried to talk some sense into him, but he didn’t want to leave. He just sat there starin’ at his shoes.” From what I had gathered, Deputy Brown’s wife, Melissa, had Annie’s mother as her customer this morning. She’s a hair stylist up at the Blow ’n’ Go.
“Annie, that don’t make no sense,” I said, becoming even more intrigued with this mystery man. I had already made up my mind to visit the jail and check this out for myself, but I didn’t tell Annie that. Some things you just got to investigate on your own. Besides, a real weird feeling come over me when she told me about this man. I knew I had to meet him for myself—don’t you ask me why.
I left Annie’s house with the excuse that my Daddy needed something from the store, and the July heat hit me like a freight train. I thought, dang, if it gets any hotter, I swear I’ll melt right here on the sidewalk. I walked across the street to the house me and my Daddy live in. It’s just the two of us, been that way forever. I washed myself up and changed into the Easter dress he got me last year. I think it makes me look more sophisticated but still cute.
On the way to the jailhouse, I stopped and picked a big ol’ bunch of daisies that I saw on the side of the road. Fourteen of them. Yes, I counted. One for each of my fourteen years on this here earth. I seen that jail cell before—from the outside, mind you—and I know just how dismal and drab it is. Maybe some colorful flowers will help pretty up the place and bring that man ’round.
When I got there, it was probably like a million degrees outside, and I was sweating a bit, so I immediately went into the washroom to mop my forehead. When that was done, I went straight up to Deputy Brown’s desk and stood there waiting for him to notice me. My Daddy used to say, “Never speak first, it’s rude,” and I would say, “Well, someone’s gotta speak first or there ain’t gonna be no conversation!” He just grumbled at that.
Deputy Brown looked up from last Sunday’s funnies and swallowed a bit of the sandwich he been chawing on. It was a peanut butter and honey sandwich, I could tell. Melissa Brown made me one when I crashed my bike outside her house one day, and I ate it while we waited for my Daddy to come pick me up. It was pretty good.
“May I help you, young lady?” Deputy Brown said, kind of all superior-like, as if there weren’t nothing I could say that might possibly tear him away from his precious funnies. I straightened my dress a bit and cleared my throat.
“I would like to see your prisoner, sir,” I stated, as grown-up as I could make it sound. He looked at me in an is-that-right sort of way, one eyebrow cocked up, looked at the flowers in my hand, then took another bite of his sandwich.
“Is that right,” he said to me—more of a statement than a question—peanut buttery breath and attitude spouting out his mouth. Dang him! He ain’t that much older than me. Just because he went to community college and gets to wear a shiny star, he thinks he’s better than most folk.
“Yes, sir. Now if you would kindly press that there button I can let you finish your lunch,” I said, feeling the sweat bead up on my forehead again. There’s a button under his desk that unlocks the little swingy door, which gets you to the cells. I seen him use it last year when the sheriff needed to go get my Daddy after they put him back there for disorderly conduct or some crazy thing. He socked a man in the mouth after they argued about something. My Daddy’s got a short fuse, the sheriff told me that day.
Deputy Brown chawed a bit, swallowed, wiped his dang mouth, took a sip of Pepsi Free, set the can back down, folded his funny pages in an overly dramatic way, and stood up, all in super slow motion. He looked at me, then at the flowers I been holding, then at me again. He sighed, hitched up his pants by his holster belt, and pressed the button.
Well, I started walking over to the swingy door, thinking my business with the deputy was over. That’s when he said, “Hold up. I’m comin’ with you.” I rolled my eyes but made sure he didn’t see me because it’s kinda rude. We both walked to the cells, him in front, me in back, his big black shoes clacking on the linoleum like a plow horse on a basketball court.
Deputy Brown rapped on the bars of the cell with his police stick, even though the cell door was open wide enough a dang elephant could walk through it. “Visitor,” he announced, all important-like, with a sarcastic smirk on his stupid face. He then looked at me in a more official manner and asked, “D’you know this guy?”
The man was sitting on the cell cot, hunched over, elbows on his knees, looking at his old, dirty shoes. Or maybe his hands; I couldn’t tell on account of the angle, and Deputy Brown’s big ol’ butt was in the way. I stepped around Big Butt Brown and looked closer into the cell at the man. That’s when he lifted his head and looked directly into my face.
A million things went swimming in my brain when I saw him, but I didn’t understand not a single one. I felt all jittery, and my heart began beating like a scared rabbit. The man was all dirty—his clothes, his face, his hands, his shoes. He had golden brown eyes, like my Daddy’s, but he was much younger. He cracked a tiny smile when he saw me, and his eyes became all glassy-like.
I nodded at Deputy Brown because no words would come out of my mouth right then. I sort of lied to an officer of the law by doing that because I didn’t know that man at all, but he did seem so dang familiar, like he was a neighbor or a teacher I had when I was a small kid. Deputy Brown made a hmphh sound like he was surprised or something but didn’t want to let on. He clacked on back to his desk, and when I heard the squeaky springs of his desk chair, I looked over at the man again.
We looked at each other for like a year, but then he finally asked me, “What’s your name?” Well, that broke the dang ice, so I took a step inside the cell.
“Janet Marie Jenkins, sir,” I said.
He said, “You got a real pretty name.” His voice came out all crackly, like he had a sore throat or he’d been yelling at the TV when a football game was on.
I said, “Thank you, sir. The Marie part is my Mama’s name, but she’s been dead a long while. I never even knew her ’cept for a couple a pictures.” He didn’t say nothing about that, so I said, “I brought you some flowers. Do you got a vase in here or somethin’?”
We both looked around the cell right then, but there weren’t nothing to put the flowers in. And when he turned his head, I noticed a big ol’ scar on his neck like a tiger scratched him in a fight. “Don’t look like there is, Janet Marie, but those sure are pretty flowers. Thank you.” He was saying nice words and all, but it sounded so sad, like we was at a funeral or something.
“You’re welcome,” I said, and I laid the flowers down on the beaten-up pillow, which sat on the end of the cot. The man looked at the flowers then back to me, still with a crack of a smile on his face. I swear I might’ve seen him somewheres before, but I couldn’t say where. “What you come in here for, anyway?” I asked him. “Are you a criminal or somethin’?”
That’s when his eyes loaded up with tears, and he stopped smiling at me. His face got all scrunched up, and he looked down at his shoes again, like he was doing when I got there. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to upset you.” I said. “Do you want me to get you some water or somethin’?” He just shook his head a little bit, and some tears fell loose of his face and hit the floor and his dirty shoes.
He looked up at me again, tears streaming down his face, leaving grimy trails on his cheeks. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something but closed it again. “You can tell me, sir,” I said. “I can keep a secret if you want me to.” That part I said in a hushed-up voice, I didn’t want no one to hear. I wanted to pat his shoulder, but I decided not to on account he might be dangerous. I took a quick look over to make sure Deputy Brown was still in the building. He was.
When I turned my head back at the mystery man, he wiped his face with the side of his hand and confessed his dastardly crime to me. “I killed my wife,” he said in his low gravelly voice, and sniffed a little. I held my breath ’cause I couldn’t breathe normal anyhow, and my heart started beating fast again. “It was an accident. I was angry. She makes me so damn angry.” Sorry for using such nasty language; I’m just reporting what I heard, is all.
I swear to you, I could not move a dang muscle after that, even though I wanted to take a step backward. I couldn’t move my legs one bit. I was scared, alright! I think he saw that, and he said again, “It was an accident, Janet Marie. I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry.” I loosed up a bit because I believed him, and I didn’t think he was planning on hurting me any.
“Sir, you don’t need to be here then,” I said. “You don’t need to be in this jail cell if it were only a accident.” He looked at me, and I tried to smile, but my face didn’t work right.
Just then, Deputy Brown calls over from his desk, “You alright in there?” He was meaning me, I suppose, but I ignored him. Daddy says it’s rude to ignore people, but I didn’t care right then. That was a mistake because I heard the clacking sound of shoes coming down the hall.
When he got to the cell we was in, Deputy Brown says to me, “Visiting time is over, young lady. Why don’t you go on home now.”
I said to him, “Sir, this man don’t belong in here; he didn’t do nothin’ wrong.”
He says to me, “Well, he can leave any time he wants. The door is open, ain’t it?” He had a good point there, dang him.
I looked over at the man. He had stopped crying, and he had that sad smile on his face again. “Thanks for the flowers, Janet Marie. That sure was awfully sweet of you.” He had a real nice voice when he weren’t all choked up, sorta like my Daddy’s before he started with those cancer sticks.
“You’re welcome,” I said. “What’s your name, sir?” I asked him, but Deputy Brown interrupted me.
“C’mon now, miss,” he said, and he put his big fat hand on my shoulder and started pushing me out the jail door. Pushing me!
I had no choice in the matter, so I walked out the jail cell. The man called out, “Janet Marie, this one’s for you.” I stopped and looked at him, and he was holding out one of the daisies for me. I skipped over to him and took the flower, and that’s when my face worked again, and I gave him a big ol’ smile.
“Thanks for coming in. I truly enjoyed your visit,” he said to me, real sweet-like. Dang, that made me feel so good, I thought I was going to cry. I wanted to give him a hug, but I just put up my hand like a bye-bye wave and turned away so he wouldn’t see any dumb tears.
“See you later,” I said, which is what I always say, but it sounded kinda stupid right then. And so, after that, I walked down the hall with Deputy Brown, with his hot hand back on my shoulder, and then out the Sheriff’s into the God-awful heat again.
Now I’m heading on home, or to Annie’s—I ain’t decided which one. I’m walking on Grady Highway, which is only two lanes; don’t you ask me why they call it a highway. It takes me to Oliver Simon Trail, which has the cemetery on it. That’s where my mama lives. Sometimes I pass it by and don’t go in, which makes me feel bad, but today I got a flower for her, so I’ll stop in and say hi.
When I get to Mama’s grave, I see there’s already a bunch of flowers there. Daisies, just like mine. Which is real strange because it ain’t her birthday or nothing. There’s thirteen daisies there (yes, I counted), which is real strange too. I say hi to Mama, and I want to tell her about the weird man I just saw, but it was so blasted hot and a little spooky, so I decided right then to leave. I put my daisy with the other ones next to Mama’s headstone.
I guess I’ll go home. I’m tired, and I got to figure out how I’m going to tell Annie about all of this. But first, I think I’ll stop at Tammy’s market and get a few things. Maybe some oranges. Daddy likes oranges.
©2022 John Cardamone. All rights reserved.
Cover photo by Tim Hüfner on Unsplash.
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