Page 22 of X's and O's
The two women and two men didn’t even glance inmy direction. They were too busy shifting through the paperwork on the table in front of them. A lot of it was my artwork, and I recognized the neatly printed letter of recommendation from Miss Donovan, the prison teacher, as well.
One of the board members, a man maybe in his sixties, with neatly combed hair and a pair of black-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, finally peered up at me. “You drew these?”
He flipped the page around to show me an intricate siren tattoo I’d drawn when I was going through a phase of trying to get waves to look right. I wasn’t sure the tattoo was all that appropriate for something like this. The siren was topless, and though the details were hidden by the bend of her arms, there was no mistaking the curves I’d given her. She had long blond hair too, and I knew I’d subconsciously drawn the mythical lurer of men in the shape of Violet.
The cascade of violets that accentuated the tattoo probably would have been the second telltale sign, had anyone been searching for one.
“Yes, sir. That’s my artwork.” I waited for him to make further comment, perhaps chastise me for submitting it, but he gave nothing away, just passed it down the table for the others to study.
One of the women, a brunette, spoke next, “You have a talent, Mr. Griffin.”
“Thank you. I couldn’t draw much at all when I was first locked up…ah, incarcerated, I mean. I took a lot of online classes while I was inside and read a lot of books.”
The woman studied me, her expression stony. “There’s a letter of recommendation here from the prisonteacher. She says you’ve also been participating in her classes. In fact, you never miss one and you’ve become a role model for the other students.”
Heat flushed up the back of my neck at the generous words I was sure I hadn’t earned. I didn’t give a fuck about the other guys. As long as they showed Miss Donovan the respect she deserved, I didn’t care if they wanted to fuck up their lives and extend their sentences by screwing around. All I cared about was the education I got, and I couldn’t get one if they were acting like a bunch of dickheads while I was trying to study.
The woman continued, “Your commitment to her letter-writing program and your art and your clean behavior record are all very impressive.” She switched to gaze past me to the rest of the room. “Is there anyone here who wishes to speak against Mr. Griffin’s release?”
I held my breath, waiting for someone to step forward. They always seemed to find someone willing to step up and say I’d ruined their life in some way, and I should be locked up forever because of it. Normally, guys from rival gangs who were doing the cops a favor in exchange for something else.
At least that was the way it seemed.
But to my surprise, nobody stepped forward. Nobody said a word.
The woman noted something on her paperwork and continued to address the room. “Would anyone like to speakforMr. Griffin’s release?”
I shot War a glance over my shoulder, one that warned if he said a word, I would kill him where he stood.
It was lucky the board couldn’t hear my thoughts.
War pressed his lips into a line, clearly unhappy, but stayed in his seat. Fang leaned in to whisper something urgently at him, but War shook his head, his gaze still on me.
I nodded, relieved.
“So you have nobody against your release, but nobody for it,” Balding Guy accused.
There was nothing for me to do but nod.
Suddenly, I wished I’d let Violet come.
I so badly wanted someone good and sweet and kind to stand up and say they believed in me.
But I didn’t even believe in myself.
I was an uneducated piece of shit from Saint View, who’d never known anything but gangs and violence and making money in dishonest ways. I had no idea if I could do anything else.
But I was sure as fuck going to try.
For her. For me. For the sole reason that if they let me out today, I was never going back to that prison, no matter what I had to do to stay out of it.
I stared the man in the eye, but my words were just as much for the men at the back of the room as they were for him. “Sir, I don’t have anyone to stand up for me here today. But I can stand up for myself and swear to you that I’ve spent six years in this prison bettering myself. Six years of my life proving that I can work hard, learn new skills, and stay out of trouble. I’m not interested in going back to the man I used to be or the things he used to do. I want to work as an artist. I know that’s a pipe dream, so until I can make it a reality, I’ll wash dishes. Or walk dogs. Or clean toilets. I don’t care, as long as it’s honest.”
The man clicked the end of his pen a few times. “Where do you plan to live? The halfway houses are overcrowded as it is. If you have no place to go…”
“Please, just give me a chance. Give me one week at a halfway house, and in that time, I will find a job and somewhere to live permanently. I won’t be a drain on the prison resources.” I swallowed hard, making up things on the spot because I could see where this was heading. If there wasn’t room for me at any of the halfway houses, then I could be denied bail for that reason alone. “I know I can do this. I just need a week to get back on my feet.”
Baldie looked at his friends with a raised eyebrow. They all nodded at him.
