Page 88 of Malaise
TWENTY-SIX
As soon aswe’re informed what facility they plan to transfer him to, I fill out the paperwork to apply for a visitor’s pass. Luckily for me, the cut-off for a minor is at age sixteen, so I’m able to apply without needing it signed off by my parents.
The approval takes three working days to come through, and a further four to reach me in the mail. By the time I have permission to visit Carver in Kirkman Prison, close to the city, almost two weeks have passed since the preliminary hearing.
Two weeks that I’ve spent resenting his father for not being more.
And two weeks that Tanya has been the friend I always wished I’d had.
My birthday is tomorrow, and I see Carver this afternoon. I’m calling it an early present. Not like I’m going to get much else from anyone.
Mum and Dad haven’t tried to make contact at all, and I haven’t found reason to try and talk to them again, either. As far as I know, they’re happy living a life spent in denial. How neither of them could accept any responsibility nor blame for what’s happened since Den’s death, I don’t know.
But then, it makes me wonder: were the cracks there all along, and this was the final stress test that broke the foundations of a perfect nuclear family?
All I know for sure is that it’s left me out on my arse way earlier than I had planned, and way underprepared. My savings ran dry three days ago; my phone needs a recharge that I can’t afford. The motel was far too costly for me to carry on paying for on my meagre wages, so the day after Carver’s hearing I borrowed an outdated Yellow Pages directory from the motel office and phoned around the local hostels. Lucky for me, the one three blocks over from the supermarket had a space… as long as I didn’t mind shared eating and bathing facilities.
I’ve become a pro at living the frugal life. Tanya gave me a dressing down when she visited yesterday and opened my small pantry to discover I’ve literally been living on cornflakes and two-minute noodles. Yet when I can buy both, plus a litre of milk, for less than ten dollars, it’s a no-brainer that my diet has been the first thing to suffer in my newly acquired solo life.
But whatever. Beggars can’t be choosers. And some beggars can’t use the old-fashioned industrial washers and driers properly, it seems. I reach down and rub the residual washing powder from my dark jeans and suck in a huge breath.
“You okay?”
The Falcon tears along the last stretch of open road that leads to Kirkman. The bland grey walls of the compound loom in the distance past a stand of pine trees. We’re almost there, almost in the same place as Carver.
“I’m good. Just reflecting on things,” I answer.
She glances over as she drives, smiling pitifully. “Tends to be easier to get on with things when you don’t dwell on the past, honey.”
“I know.” My gaze tracks the razor wire-topped fence as it grows and expands on our approach. “I was more trying to work out the reasoning behind why everything’s turned out like it has, than anything else.”
She laughs humourlessly. “Oh, Meg. Give up now. Honestly. You try and work out why the universe continually chooses to fuck us over, you’ll do your head in.”
I would have had to travel by bus, and then taxi, to the grounds on the outskirts of the city, but Tanya offered me a ride today, despite the fact she isn’t approved as a visitor yet. She was adamant that I needed to save what it would have cost me in fares for better groceries this week. Hey, maybe I’ll splash out and get myself a candy bar on the way through the checkout? But then I may also squirrel the saved coin away for the inevitable bond when I do find somewhere to rent.
“Have you looked over course options yet?” Tanya slows the car to pull in the long gravel driveway of the prison.
She nagged me relentlessly last week to give going to university a second thought. I met her halfway by agreeing to check out the community colleges. The course options for what I want to do are similar, but the cost is way less.
“I’m waiting to hear back if they have space, considering it would be a late enrolment.”
“What do you mean, would be? Haven’t you enrolled?”
I stare out the window at the endless expanse of grass between the perimeter fence and the stand of trees by the road.
“Meg?”
“I want to talk to Brett first.”
“About what? What the hell say has he got in it?”
My silence speaks volumes as we slow for the first gatehouse.
Tanya sighs pointedly. “Honey, don’t throw away your dreams because of him. I’m not saying be selfish and live as though he doesn’t exist, but make the two work together. If it’s meant to be he’ll follow you to the ends of the earth, or wait for you to come back. Either way, don’t give up on yourself for the sake of keeping him happy.”
A guard approaches the car, effectively cutting our conversation short and giving Tanya the last word. I ponder over her reasoning as the guy dressed all in grey circles the vehicle, checking the wheel arches, underbody, and then the boot after Tanya opens it for him. Could our lives work together if he’s sentenced? Would Carver see it as me quitting on him? If I were in his position I know I’d feel at least some resentment if the person I loved took off to enjoy life while I was stuck behind bars.
Getting ahead of yourself, Meg. He’s remanded, not sentenced. He may walk free yet. Should walk free. God, I hope he walks free.