A CRIME AWAY

George squinted at the sun the moment he stepped through the gates of Jessup. Freedom. So strange to his thirty-one year old mind. He’d gone to jail for what many young men got freely. What many young girls gave without the batting of an eye.

The judge’s gavel made a bang in his ear, and he startled.

“George.”

He turned. Flora’s once wild curls now lay shoulder length in conditioned tresses. He remembered they talked about it. When she chose to have a perm. With seven years behind and three to go, he couldn’t care less at the time. She could have asked to shave the mass of black hair, and he would have agreed though her mixed Asian-African-Caucasian wild locks was one of her many attractive features. Amazing how many Americans had such mixed races, they made up a race.

“You look beautiful.” The jail barber’s blade was too sharp. He scratched his head. It seemed appropriate to get a hug, but he held back, considering what took ten years of his youth.

“You too, honey.” She leaned in for a kiss but he turned away just in time.

“Where’s your car?”

She stammered. Awkward didn’t begin to describe how his heart beat. This was Flora, his wife. She’d proposed, and had a priest brought in to say the vows.

“I can’t believe you’re finally here, darling.” Flora opened the blue Ford truck he remembered her mother drove. Back then it was new. So Flora got it? Or maybe he was wrong. Maybe a family like Flora’s would not pass a ten-year old car to her. Ten years in jail did wonders. He couldn’t be sure this was Flora’s mother’s truck.

“I mean it, Flora. You are very beautiful.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

No one was to blame. A conviction of rape in the US of A didn’t go away after time served. You get listed as a sex-offender in the directory. Not even after you married the same girl who testified against you as her rapist.

They got into the truck and Flora smoothly maneuvered it back into the highway. She searched for one of the old blues he loved, and soon the Beetles filled everywhere. He was definitely wrong, this vehicle couldn’t be ten years old.

“Why did you change your plea, Georgie?”

Ah, Flora of old. She never wasted anyone’s time whether she was lying or not.

“I wanted to save you and your family the stress.” He spoke the truth. He hadn’t been able to watch her cry in the witness box while her father glared at her from behind. Well, he didn’t see the first generation Chinese-American but Flora’s constant glance in the general direction spoke for itself.

“They took you from me—”

He chuckled. “We’re back. It’s over.”

“I need closure. You didn’t rape me. Why did you give up on us? Why didn’t you give me a chance to finish my testimony?”

He closed his eyes. “How much longer till we get to your—till we get home.”

“Twenty minutes.”

“Can I take a nap? Please?”

“I found God. I made peace, Georgie.”

“No wonder you want closure.” He swore. “Just remember why I went to prison.”

Flora’s gasp was quite audible. She said nothing afterward. Did she find God before or after she decided to call him up in prison and ask for marriage? It would make a difference to him and he planned to find out. Did she marry him to restitute?

While in confinement, he had plenty of time to reminisce and plan his life. He got a degree in hotel management, something he’d always wanted to do. Two degrees actually. He didn’t “find” God but perhaps God found him. The prison priest’s face flashed before him.

They got to where she called home, a small community on the edge of Columbia. George loved the cabin-house at once. He thanked his stars she didn’t live in the same neighborhood with her parents. He may be back in Jessup for life.

“I’m soaking under the shower if you don’t mind.” He dragged his feet into the cozy house. He could explore later but now, he needed a bath, and if possible, hot food. And a long sleep.

Why did he accept to marry Flora?

“Can I join you in the shower?”

George arched an eyebrow. “Where are your parents?”

Flora frowned. “In their house, I guess. In New York.”

“Just needed to be sure.” He looked around. “We need to make copies of our marriage certificate, and hang around the house.”

Flora sucked in her breath sharply. “Why would we do that?”

“I don’t want to take a risk, dear. Your father is still very much around, and I just want to be sure I have the legal authority I didn’t have ten years ago.”

 

 

Author bio:

Sinmisola Ogúnyinka is a pastor’s wife, mother, writer and movie producer. She has a university degree in Economics, and is a Craftsman of Christian Writers’ Guild. She lives with her family in Pretoria, South Africa.

Blog: www.sinmisolao.wordpress.com

Twitter: @sinmisolaog

Image from https://pixabay.com/en/alcatraz-prison-prison-wing-214097/