Authors: Ryann Kerekes
“Visitation hours are one to three each weekday. No unaccompanied minors. Bring valid photo ID and adhere to the dress code.” She looked bored, like she’d repeated this hundreds of times before. She pointed behind me to a sign on the wall listing the visitation policy. I glanced back at it, and then stood looking at her, waiting for something else.
“Come back tomorrow. One o’clock,” she said, flatly.
“I don’t know if he’s even here for sure, and I just drove four hours.” There were tears beginning to sting my eyes, and I couldn’t see clearly, but I didn’t want to blink, knowing they would spill over.
“Name of the incarcerated?”
I looked up at her.
“What’s his name, honey?” she asked again, this time with understanding.
“Gabriel Trent.”
She typed it into the computer, then tapped the screen with a long acrylic finger nail. “He’s here,” she said.
My stomach dropped. I saw the building with new eyes. I was scared for Gabriel, knowing he was locked up with dangerous criminals and I worried. Was he eating and sleeping okay? Did he think I’d already forgotten about him?
“You can come back tomorrow,” she said. I realized I was still standing in front of her window staring down at my feet. I nodded and went back the way I’d come. I guess I had one more day to think up what I would say when I finally did see him.
Even though I didn’t feel hungry, I stopped at a roadside taco stand to pick up something for dinner. After studying the chalkboard menu, I ordered blue corn enchiladas. I wondered if Gertie liked Mexican food. I watched as an older Mexican woman spooned a heap of beans and then rice into a Styrofoam container. “Red or green?” she asked, pausing.
“I, um.” I looked down at her spoon hovering over vats of sauce, and tried to decipher her question.
“Red or green chilies?” she asked again.
“Whichever is less spicy.” She dipped her spoon into the red sauce and drowned the enchilada in it.
Gertie and I sat on the bed, eating small bites of enchilada and washing it down with gulps of bottled water
– turns out the red chilies were pretty spicy. We watched TV while the last of the light faded from the sky. Slowly the neon signs flicked out. My cell phone buzzed on the night table and I switched on the lamp to see the caller ID. It was my mom.
Ugh
. I flipped the phone open.
“Hey, Mom,” I said.
“What’s going on, Ariel? Where are you?”
“What – what do you mean?” I sat up and moved the food from my lap. Gertie hopped down, annoyed that I was no longer sharing.
“Stop playing around with me. We’re here at opening night – and can’t find you. What’s going on? Your dad and I are getting worried.”
Shit
. I’d completely forgotten about the show. It was September 10
th
, opening night of
Sleeping Beauty
. My stomach turned sour and I closed the lid of the container, blocking out the spicy smells. With everything that had been going on with Gabriel, I’d completely forgotten about my family drama.
“Ariel! Are you okay?” My mom’s voice was frantic.
“I’m fine, Mother. Calm down.” I took a deep breath.
“Where are you?”
“I’m not coming.”
“The hell you’re not. Get yourself down here young lady. Richard, head to her apartment,” I heard her say to my dad.
“I’m not in New York.”
“What?”
“Just put Dad on, okay?” I could picture them huddled together in my father’s black Mercedes, my mother handing the phone to him with long, manicured fingers – panic rampant across her face. “She wants to talk to you,” I heard her say.
“Ariel? Where are you? What’s going on?” my dad asked, much more calmly.
“I love you, Daddy. Please don’t be mad.”
“Stop messing around and tell me what’s going on.”
“I’ll tell you the truth if you promise not to get mad,” I said, bartering though I had no leverage – like someone betting against the house.
He let out a deep sigh. “I’m listening.”
“I was released from my contract with the ballet company.”
“What? Well, I’ll just make a call. Give me Siegfried’s number. He’ll reconsider.”
“No, Daddy, that was two months ago.” I paused. At least he wasn’t yelling. “I haven’t told you the truth…. Dad, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’ve been working as a dancer and I’m happy. I found somewhere that I fit in. I’m in New Mexico right now.”
“A dancer? New Mexico? You’re not a stripper, are you?”
I laughed for the first time. “No, Daddy. But I wanted some time away, by myself. Can you understand?” I folded my legs under me on the bed.
“Okay, but I am sorry you didn’t think you could tell us.”
“Will you talk to Mom for me?”
“You know I will.”
“Yeah, thanks. So, I know this isn’t the best time, but I need a favor.”
“Are you safe?” he asked, ignoring my plea.
“Yeah, but a friend of mine’s not. He’s in some legal trouble.”
“Is this where the favor comes in?”
“Uh-huh.” I talked my dad into making a few calls to represent Gabriel pro bono, to provide any legal help he needed. Dad didn’t handle criminal cases, but said a friend of his from law school owed him a favor. I felt kind of bad taking advantage of that, but I knew the divorce and the guilt he felt, was why he’d be willing to consider what I wanted.
I could always talk to my dad. I don’t know why I hadn’t told him about hating ballet and needing something else a long time ago. Now there was just the task of dealing with my mother.
***
Sleeping on a stone-hard mattress with a gassy dog was not my idea of fun. I was up at first light and couldn’t believe I had to wait until
one o’clock to go see him. I couldn’t sit around in that hotel room anymore watching reruns of talk shows. I went out and bought Gertie a collar and leash and we went for a hike, stopping just off the side of the highway to climb the sloping hills up and over a ridge. I didn’t know or care if it was private property.
We walked along, making our own trail as we wove through brush and a variety of cacti I couldn’t name, some with long sharp spines, others with little white flowers. After a few minutes I picked her up because she stalled every few feet and looked up at me with a pleading look.
I wondered what would happen next. I knew from my dad’s work that court trials could take months or even stretch on for years. I couldn’t stay in New Mexico forever. I thought about what I’d do when I got back to New York and realized I was still holding out hope that we could get Gabriel the help he needed and get all this cleared up so the two of us could be together. But then there was also the matter that he’d broken up with me – said we weren’t right for each other.
He was right. On paper we made no sense, a criminal and a ballerina weren’t a likely pair. But when you stripped away the labels, we were perfect for each other. He understood me, made me feel beautiful and always protected me. And I was drawn to him, never saw any of his mistakes, only saw what was in his heart. He was loyal and brave and had the courage to be himself, which I envied. But before I could allow myself to hope that we could be together, we needed to get him legal help.
I was distracted and kept tripping over loose rocks as I walked. The sun inched up higher and higher in the sky and I turned back, making sure I had plenty of time to shower and get ready before one o’clock. When I got back to the hotel I went into the office and paid for another night. I showered and dried my hair so I could wear it down the way Gabriel liked. I was nervous about seeing him locked up. I hoped he was holding up okay.
The receptionist at the county jail was a different lady than yesterday, but I felt a little more confident today as I asked to see him – at least I knew he was there. I was ushered into a room with metal folding chairs and I sat and waited with a few other people who were there to visit loved ones. A guard came in and read through a list of rules.
“No gifts, remove all jewelry and belts.” He gave us each a visitor’s badge and then called us one by one to sit with him at a desk in the other room. I was the second person to go in.
The guard was wearing a dark blue uniform and a nightstick hung through his belt. I sat down at the chair in front of his desk.
“Your name?” he asked.
“Ariel Bastian.”
He typed it into the computer. “Inmate’s name?”
I tried to give his name, but it caught in my throat. I coughed. “Gabriel Trent.”
“Relationship to inmate?”
I weighed how to answer, and settled on ‘friend.’
The guard looked at me curiously. He was probably only a few years older than me.
“Is this your first visit?” He turned from the computer to face me.
I nodded.
After studying my ID, he got up and motioned for me to follow him. I walked through a metal detector and was led down a long hallway.
He glanced back to make sure I was following him and then continued marching. “Otherwise, no physical contact. A hug and kiss is allowed but only at the beginning and end of the visit. No contraband. We reserve the right to search you. We reserve the right to remove you at any time,” he said as we walked.
He opened the heavy glass door and waited for me to walk past him into the visitation room. It reminded me of a high school cafeteria, with long tables and rows of chairs on each side, only these were bolted down. The room was already partially full with clusters of people sitting together.
I took a tentative step into the room and looked around. My eyes moved over each person as I searched for Gabriel.
“We’ll bring him down in a few minutes,” the guard said, noticing my confusion, and he shut the door behind me. It closed with a thud and I felt all the eyes in the room glance up at me. I went and sat down at the end of one of the tables so that I still had a view of the door.
The middle-aged couple sitting closest to me was crying and they talked in hushed voices. There was really no privacy here. I swallowed down the lump in my throat. I couldn’t lose it now; I needed to be strong for Gabriel.
The clock ticked loudly overhead and I kept my eyes fixed on the door. Several long minutes passed and I worried that maybe he’d refused to see me. Then suddenly, he was there with the guard who had brought me in. Gabriel stood in the open doorway looking at me, but not moving.
He was wearing an orange jumpsuit and looked tired and thin. He looked pained to see me there and I hoped it wasn’t a mistake to come. I stood up and waited for him to walk over to me. When he was a few steps away, I closed the space between us and threw my arms around his neck. I pulled his body to mine and felt him circle one arm around my back and squeeze me closer. The fact that his skin smelled the same through the scratchy prison uniform made me want to cry. I let him go before I broke down, and slid down into my seat. He sat down and carefully looked me over. I hated to even think this way, but standing in that room with his tattoos peeking out from his prison jumpsuit, he looked the part of a criminal.
There were dark circles under his eyes and I had to clasp my hands together under the table to keep from reaching up and touching him. We didn’t say anything for the first few minutes but just looked at each other.
What do you say to your ex-boyfriend the first time you visit him in jail?
He broke the silence first.
“How’s Gertie?”
The mood felt lighter, the pressure lessened and my shoulders visibly relaxed. “Let’s just say she ate some Mexican food last night that did
not
agree with her.” I smirked, remembering how the sound of her gurgling stomach had woken me, not to mention the awful smell coming out of her. She had just moaned softly and turned over.
He smiled and I relaxed a little more. “Where’d you go?” he asked.
“Taco Willie’s.”
He made a face and shook his head slowly. “That probably wasn’t a good idea.”
“You know it?” I asked, forgetting he was from here.
He nodded.
“What does she normally eat? You didn’t leave any food. Or instructions.”
“She just eats whatever I’m having.”
“You don’t eat,” I pointed out.
“The cafeteria food was never spicy enough, didn’t taste like anything. Bruce usually hooked me up. He loved that dog.”
We made small talk for a few minutes. It felt so good to be around him again. I loved that for a few minutes our main problem was discussing bad Mexican food. I couldn’t handle anything more just yet. Seeing him here like this was almost too much. I just needed to feel normal with him, even for the briefest passage of time. He set his hands on the table in front of him and I reached for him, but he pulled them back to his lap.
“We can’t,” he said quietly and the spell was broken.
We were in a jail visitation room and nothing would ever be the same again. I pictured myself living here in Clovis just for the chance to visit him a few days a week for a few hours at a time, but knew that wouldn’t be what he would want for me. We were quiet for a few minutes and his face grew serious.