please.”
“OK,” said Kari, and Mark was led away.
Kari came away worried and excited about her feelings for Mark.
She now says she ignored the alarms going off in her head. She knew she didn’t want a relationship with someone who was at all violent, whether he was looking after his mates or not. She didn’t want someone who’d been to jail. She didn’t know if Mark was telling her the truth. He’d written in letters that this wasn’t the first time he’d been in. He’d done a bit here and there as a kid and when he was younger, but had stayed out of trouble for six years.
Whatever, thought Kari. These months will give me time to think, to find out. I haven’t got a lot to lose.
Mark started calling and writing more often. Kari went back to see him.
On the second visit, Mark said, “Can I hold your hand? I’ve been wanting to kiss you since that barbecue.” And they sat there, Kari says, like any couple in love, squeezing each other’s hands and laughing, until again his name was called. This time when they stood up, Mark kissed Kari on the cheek. She smiled and he smiled back at her.
Mark kept calling. Kari started looking forward to the calls. They were so short and mainly happy. Mark wanted her to visit, so Kari kept visiting. Within a month he was writing to her that he loved her, that he was in love with her, that he was confused, that he missed her. At visits he would hug her. Soon Kari told Mark she felt the same. She hadn’t planned it, but she wanted to spend more time with him and it wasn’t a friendship feeling. She felt appreciated. She felt wanted, needed and loved. She felt listened to. And she liked sharing time with Mark. Time was all they had. Time was all he asked from her. That, and her smile.
Kari says, “‘All I look forward to in my life in between visits,’ Mark would say, ‘is seeing your smile.’ He would say that he knew it was corny, but I made him feel complete. And I felt the same way. I did.”
A couple of months went by and life for Kari was the same, apart from her world with Mark. She kept working, kept visiting, and her social life carried on. She wrote to Mark every day, and he was writing too. He mentioned sometimes that he didn’t have envelopes or money for phone calls, as a way of apologising for not being in contact. Sometimes she didn’t hear from him for a day or two and then they would be back in touch. Kari thought it was exciting, and he was so easy to get on with.
Then a letter came one day that was different from the others. Instead of the positive, carefree letters she was used to, Kari read about a side of Mark she hadn’t known. Mark wrote that he was distressed, that he was pretending on the outside that everything was OK, but that jail was getting on top of him. He said he’d tried to stay positive for Kari, but that the closer they were getting, the harder it was to act the part. But he said that he would get through it, that he knew he was stronger than anything jail could hand out.
“He told me he was hungry,” says Kari, “He said the jail food made him sick, and that he owed people money. He said that made him worried. I’d never heard him be like that at all before, nothing like that. I knew it was a cliché to give him money, but he didn’t ask for much.”
To Kari at the time, $40 was not a lot. She was working and paying her bills, so she decided it was no big deal. She sent Mark a money order.
At the next visit, Mark couldn’t thank her enough. “You can’t understand how you’ve helped,” he kept saying. She started to feel bad. Maybe she should send him money more often.
“How badly do you need money?” she asked him.
“How badly does anyone need money?” he answered.
“I’ll see what I can do,” said Kari. “I just don’t want our relationship to be like this, I guess. Money always changes things.”
“Just smile for me,” Mark said. “No one can buy that.”
And Kari smiled.
Kari remembers
“OK,” said Kari, and Mark was led away.
Kari came away worried and excited about her feelings for Mark.
She now says she ignored the alarms going off in her head. She knew she didn’t want a relationship with someone who was at all violent, whether he was looking after his mates or not. She didn’t want someone who’d been to jail. She didn’t know if Mark was telling her the truth. He’d written in letters that this wasn’t the first time he’d been in. He’d done a bit here and there as a kid and when he was younger, but had stayed out of trouble for six years.
Whatever, thought Kari. These months will give me time to think, to find out. I haven’t got a lot to lose.
Mark started calling and writing more often. Kari went back to see him.
On the second visit, Mark said, “Can I hold your hand? I’ve been wanting to kiss you since that barbecue.” And they sat there, Kari says, like any couple in love, squeezing each other’s hands and laughing, until again his name was called. This time when they stood up, Mark kissed Kari on the cheek. She smiled and he smiled back at her.
Mark kept calling. Kari started looking forward to the calls. They were so short and mainly happy. Mark wanted her to visit, so Kari kept visiting. Within a month he was writing to her that he loved her, that he was in love with her, that he was confused, that he missed her. At visits he would hug her. Soon Kari told Mark she felt the same. She hadn’t planned it, but she wanted to spend more time with him and it wasn’t a friendship feeling. She felt appreciated. She felt wanted, needed and loved. She felt listened to. And she liked sharing time with Mark. Time was all they had. Time was all he asked from her. That, and her smile.
Kari says, “‘All I look forward to in my life in between visits,’ Mark would say, ‘is seeing your smile.’ He would say that he knew it was corny, but I made him feel complete. And I felt the same way. I did.”
A couple of months went by and life for Kari was the same, apart from her world with Mark. She kept working, kept visiting, and her social life carried on. She wrote to Mark every day, and he was writing too. He mentioned sometimes that he didn’t have envelopes or money for phone calls, as a way of apologising for not being in contact. Sometimes she didn’t hear from him for a day or two and then they would be back in touch. Kari thought it was exciting, and he was so easy to get on with.
Then a letter came one day that was different from the others. Instead of the positive, carefree letters she was used to, Kari read about a side of Mark she hadn’t known. Mark wrote that he was distressed, that he was pretending on the outside that everything was OK, but that jail was getting on top of him. He said he’d tried to stay positive for Kari, but that the closer they were getting, the harder it was to act the part. But he said that he would get through it, that he knew he was stronger than anything jail could hand out.
“He told me he was hungry,” says Kari, “He said the jail food made him sick, and that he owed people money. He said that made him worried. I’d never heard him be like that at all before, nothing like that. I knew it was a cliché to give him money, but he didn’t ask for much.”
To Kari at the time, $40 was not a lot. She was working and paying her bills, so she decided it was no big deal. She sent Mark a money order.
At the next visit, Mark couldn’t thank her enough. “You can’t understand how you’ve helped,” he kept saying. She started to feel bad. Maybe she should send him money more often.
“How badly do you need money?” she asked him.
“How badly does anyone need money?” he answered.
“I’ll see what I can do,” said Kari. “I just don’t want our relationship to be like this, I guess. Money always changes things.”
“Just smile for me,” Mark said. “No one can buy that.”
And Kari smiled.
Kari remembers
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