He is home, finally

by Megan Sloane

I hear the sound of the metal gates open and my heart starts to beat a little faster. As I look through my rear view mirror I see the silhouette of a man. As he steps through the gates I hear them slam shut. As I watch the silhouette of this man it's slowly starting to become a real person. It's my husband. My heart starts to melt and as I think of how my body has longed to be held by his embrace I notice the old flimsy box he is carrying. I fumble around as I feel for the little square trunk release button, trying to pull my flustered self together. I finally find the courage to step out of the car, uncertain of what he will think of me. I watch him put his property in my trunk and as if the weight of the world had been taken off his shoulders he closes the trunk.

He is a free man. He glances up to see me just standing waiting and as the smile comes to his face I run to him. As I wrap my arms around him I notice the increase in the size of his arms and the hardness in his torso. As I realize the fact that I'm squeezing him tight enough to cut some circulation off, he lifts me off the ground and I am completely engulfed by the musty smell of clothes not worn for the past 9 months. And even though the smell is a little overwhelming it seems near impossible to ever let go. We finally manage to pull ourselves apart and are happy to finally say goodbye to this chapter of our lives.

Before we even leave the parking lot he has lit both of us a Red. He is playing with the plastic buttons on my not-so-up-to-date CD player and I roll down the windows just a crack to let the smoke clear. With all things a go and nothing holding us back, I reach for the gear shift and put the car in drive. My left hand is gripping the leather steering wheel with my cigarette securely in place between my two fingers. After getting the car in the right gear, my husband ever gently grabs my right hand just to feel my fingers intertwined with his for the first time in what seems like forever. As we finally start down this long stretch of highway we don't dare look back at the big prison we so desperately never want to see again.

I can barely keep my foot from pressing too hard on the gas in the desperate urge to get home where we belong. As we talk and laugh I smile to myself to see the satisfaction of the look on Tom's face. The anticipation of coming home must be enough to kill someone.

When I awoke this morning to the sound of my alarm at 4:00 a.m. and the emptiness of my bed I was somewhat dreading the very early long drive to the prison, but after dragging myself to do this dreadful task my body shakes in the excitement of knowing that by the end of this day I will only feel our bodies tangled in the silk sheets of my bed with the sweet thoughts of knowing what forever meant for us dancing wildly in my head.