COMING TO TERMS

THE MORNING I LEFT to see my father, I wore my favorite striped top and the jeans that actually fit. Nothing fancy, but still nice. I wasn’t sure how he’d feel about my natural hair, but there was nothing I could do about that now, nor did I want to. I was also clearly at least 20 pounds overweight. I hoped he would look past it, that he could look past it. My beloved rhino necklace, a small token of strength, stayed on my bedside table. Visitors at the prison weren’t allowed to wear jewelry. I was dressed and ready to go an hour before my friend Trent was due to arrive. I lay on my side in bed, my hands tucked between my thighs for warmth, waiting for his text. When my phone lit up on the nightstand, I almost fell out of my bed scrambling for it. The words “I’m here!” only added to the tension coursing through my body.

I checked my bag for the fifteenth time. Driver’s license? Check. Keys? Check. Notebook to write down important thoughts in the car? Check. Valium? I wished.

I met Trent at the bottom of the stairs. He pulled me into a hug, and breathed into my hair for a moment. My charging heart stilled a bit, just enough for me to take a deep breath, the first one of the day.

When he released me from the calming embrace, he grabbed my hand. “Thank you so much for letting me do this for you, Ashley.” When we got to his car, there was a flower sitting on the seat for me.

Halfway there, he asked when was the last time I saw my father, and I told him it’d been 13 years.

“Has he had any visitors since then?”

I rolled down the window, and considered his question.

“I don’t know. I hope so.” I kept my face just outside the window frame, allowing the air to whip around my nose, mouth, and closed eyes. It reminded me of being a child and jumping off the swings at the playground. Even when I was scared, I wouldn’t open my eyes. Sometimes I landed poorly, but it felt better that way.

Trent spoke