Miscellaneous

XIII- Charmaine

What makes a soul innocent? What could possibly make a soul quite the opposite? It's not like anybody can take a good look at someone and tell off a first glance, but what if I told you some people do such things for a living?

When you put it like that, it tends to sound absurd, but if we're taking officers, detectives, psychologists and what not to account, it seems that this is what they do for a living. Sometimes they do their jobs well, can't deny that, but sometimes they point accusing fingers at whomever because a job they picked for themselves is suddenly deathly boring.

Of course, they decide to point their fingers at my family.

Being the oldest in a family where things have always been so damingly hard, losing a father to a crime he clearly didn't commit is even more excruciating.

Exasperated, I bring myself to talk to lawyers all around, begging and urging them to help us. It's always money they ask, but what money could I possibly have to offer? With every job I could possibly find, it still seems absurd to find such amounts of money.

So, I sit behind these glass walls that seperate me and my father by a mere inches and watch him tell me that it's going to be alright in any case. It's easy for him to say, he's one hell of a patient man, but for me to witness him so close yet so far away, it rips holes inside my dumb little heart.

"Papa, it's almost impossible go find a good lawyer with the money we have." I almost cry, hardly swallowing the accumulated saliva in my mouth. "A public attorney is not going to do us any good."

He smiles, pressing his palm against the glass. I can see every single fingerprint pattern to could possibly exist on his palm. It stares at me as if its validating the reality of this situation.

"Ladislava, the apple of my eyes, if the truth  lives, I'll be released with my pride untouched."

It seems kind of naive, the way he's thinking about the truth when he's the one locked up behind bars for a crime he couldn't even remotely commit. It was just another day at home after one of his rough construction shifts, watching mediocre reality show as he helped my mother prepare dinner. He didn't step a foot outside, at least to my extent of knowledge, yet the cops are insisting that not only was he outside-he also commited the coldest crime a human could participate in.

First degree murder.

I've known my father all my life and though many murderers are said to be perfect family men, my father wasn't the kind to even have the heart to hurt a fly. Let alone murder a runner and leave her lifeless body floating in a nearby lake, vandalized, for the public to see.

"I know I didn't do it, Ladislava, you and mama know I didn't do it. That's all that matters to me, we know I was home that night and that's about it."

That's when a tear rolls down my face, "Papa, it was never going to be about that" I start, "Because, now, you'll never come back home and it's getting colder at home without you."

His eyes that were fixated on the surroundings shoot up to meet mine, "What do you mean? Did something happen to your mom?"

"Not quite literally, but she's not okay. Papa, she hasn't been sleeping right and she's making excuses left and right." I tell him, "None of us have been okay ever since, you need to tell them you didn't do it."

"Amore, you know I've told them a hundred times."

It only makes sense that he tells them, in every interrogation and at every given time they would listen. It's not like they'll listen and release him like he isn't accused of such a heinous crime. I just happen to be immensely ambitious and desperate for anything to put an end to this situation.

"Listen to me Ladislava, okay?" He says with a look on his face that puts a little bit of hope inside my heart. "Go home today and talk to your mama. Ask her about the Porters and ask her to tell them about my situation right now, got it?"

"And then?"

He sighs, "Then if they can do something, they'll come around. I knew Dennis since we were little kids in Italy. He would lend a hand."

"And Papa, say that again, Dennis Porter, correct?" I ask, just for that little boost of confirmation.

He nods with a smile, "That's right, amore. You'll go out there in the next days and find Parker, he'll be of help to us. If I'm meant to spend my life by your mother and you, things will go well. If I'm meant to spend my life behind-"

"Papa, no." I start. "We are not going to even remotely think of the latter, alright? We'll find this Parker friend of yours and you'll be out in no time. You didn't do it and I'll prove it singlehandedly. Alright?"

For the first time since I came here, I see him smiling with his teeth. He nods at me, showing me that he's going to think the way I am thinking.

Before we even get to say our last words to eachother, a guard comes by and notifies me that it's time to go. I get up and gather my belongings before pressing my palm against the glass just like he did earlier. He puts his against mine and although there's a glass barrier, it's like we're almost there. We both smile and he mouths 'I love you' before walking away.

I stand there taking this all in, realizing what kind of person these past years have made me. I might be deemed heartless, or someone who can't seem to think of anyone except themselves. But it's clear and I know for a fact, I have a heart like the rest.

The guard tries to usher me out again but I wave him off, begining to make my way out. It's true, I might've payed these guards with a thing or two to let me in and out but at the end, anything for my dad.

Anything.

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