determined expression he uses when he wants to cut to the chase. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re tiny. The first thug that comes along weighing three hundred pounds would smash you flat.”
“You’re saying I don’t have what it takes?”
“I’m only saying that you’d be putting yourself in the way of danger. Please, Renee, do not consider this. For my sake if not for yours.”
See, I liked that Danny tried to care for me even while locked up. And while a part of me loved the idea of going up against a three-hundred-pound thug who might crush me if he tripped in my direction, the thought of using a gun again did bother me some. And I was a bit small to do any real business with a nightstick, if that was all they gave me.
“Then what else could I do at night?” I asked.
“Anything, I suppose. Drive a truck.”
“You’re serious?”
“No, not really. Just trying to—”
“That’s it! I could drive a truck. Right? One of those big 18-wheelers.”
“I think that’s pretty heavy work, don’t you?”
“Are you kidding? It’s all lifting gizmos and electric power stuff. It’s mostly listening to the radio and steering down a long road, right?”
“Hydraulic lifts.”
“What?”
“They’re called hydraulic lifts. The lifting gizmos.”
“Oh. Right.”
“So then try it,” he said.
And I had. The instructor thought I was a bit nuts at first, but he quickly learned that my mind wasn’t quite as frail as my body. I think it was during those few months trying the whole truck-driver thing that I first entertained the thought that I was too skinny. A lot of the best drivers have at least a few extra pounds of fat and muscle. Frankly, I was a bit jealous.
But here’s the thing about being a truck driver: once you get out of school and get to working for a real company (General Electric in my case, which was why I had GE appliances) you realize that you spend a lot of time with men in dirty warehouses. And too many of them don’t mind putting their filthy paws on your shoulder, your arm, your thigh, or your butt. Not a bad thing if you’re interested in them and their hands are clean, but I wasn’t and these weren’t.
I also tried selling magazine subscriptions from home, but the continual abuse was inhuman and I found myself fighting the urge to help ungrateful customers see their way to a better life despite repenting for my previous indiscretions.
All the while, my neurosis seemed to get worse, and after two years of periodic trials and failures I finally gave up. Point is, Danny supported my decision. He always did. I had been through a nightmare, he said. I just had to take some time and find myself.
Tears came to my eyes as I drove north, praying that Danny was still alive and had all of his fingers. My emotions ran a ragged edge, from rage to remorse to abject fear. I should never have listened to his nonsense about finding myself another, suitable man. The thought of living without him seemed profane now.
I still remembered every word of that conversation. It was on another one of my regular visits to Ironwood State Prison that Danny stared me in the eye and brought up the unthinkable. I knew he was working up to something critical in his mind because he gave me that long, I’m-sorry-for-what-I’m-about-to-say look and took my hand.
“Now listen to me, Renee. Please, you have to listen very carefully.”
Already, I didn’t like it. “I am listening, Danny.”
“We’ve been over this before.”
“Over what?”
“You know that I’m going to be in here fifty years.”
“Paroled in twenty-five,” I said. “Twenty-five years.”
“I don’t know that.”
“I do.” The fact that he had escaped death row, which at first I was so sure would be his fate, emboldened me. If he could cut such a deal with the DA, what else might be possible? A twenty-five-year parole, of course.
He glanced at the door. “What happens to me isn’t really in my control, Renee, you
“You’re saying I don’t have what it takes?”
“I’m only saying that you’d be putting yourself in the way of danger. Please, Renee, do not consider this. For my sake if not for yours.”
See, I liked that Danny tried to care for me even while locked up. And while a part of me loved the idea of going up against a three-hundred-pound thug who might crush me if he tripped in my direction, the thought of using a gun again did bother me some. And I was a bit small to do any real business with a nightstick, if that was all they gave me.
“Then what else could I do at night?” I asked.
“Anything, I suppose. Drive a truck.”
“You’re serious?”
“No, not really. Just trying to—”
“That’s it! I could drive a truck. Right? One of those big 18-wheelers.”
“I think that’s pretty heavy work, don’t you?”
“Are you kidding? It’s all lifting gizmos and electric power stuff. It’s mostly listening to the radio and steering down a long road, right?”
“Hydraulic lifts.”
“What?”
“They’re called hydraulic lifts. The lifting gizmos.”
“Oh. Right.”
“So then try it,” he said.
And I had. The instructor thought I was a bit nuts at first, but he quickly learned that my mind wasn’t quite as frail as my body. I think it was during those few months trying the whole truck-driver thing that I first entertained the thought that I was too skinny. A lot of the best drivers have at least a few extra pounds of fat and muscle. Frankly, I was a bit jealous.
But here’s the thing about being a truck driver: once you get out of school and get to working for a real company (General Electric in my case, which was why I had GE appliances) you realize that you spend a lot of time with men in dirty warehouses. And too many of them don’t mind putting their filthy paws on your shoulder, your arm, your thigh, or your butt. Not a bad thing if you’re interested in them and their hands are clean, but I wasn’t and these weren’t.
I also tried selling magazine subscriptions from home, but the continual abuse was inhuman and I found myself fighting the urge to help ungrateful customers see their way to a better life despite repenting for my previous indiscretions.
All the while, my neurosis seemed to get worse, and after two years of periodic trials and failures I finally gave up. Point is, Danny supported my decision. He always did. I had been through a nightmare, he said. I just had to take some time and find myself.
Tears came to my eyes as I drove north, praying that Danny was still alive and had all of his fingers. My emotions ran a ragged edge, from rage to remorse to abject fear. I should never have listened to his nonsense about finding myself another, suitable man. The thought of living without him seemed profane now.
I still remembered every word of that conversation. It was on another one of my regular visits to Ironwood State Prison that Danny stared me in the eye and brought up the unthinkable. I knew he was working up to something critical in his mind because he gave me that long, I’m-sorry-for-what-I’m-about-to-say look and took my hand.
“Now listen to me, Renee. Please, you have to listen very carefully.”
Already, I didn’t like it. “I am listening, Danny.”
“We’ve been over this before.”
“Over what?”
“You know that I’m going to be in here fifty years.”
“Paroled in twenty-five,” I said. “Twenty-five years.”
“I don’t know that.”
“I do.” The fact that he had escaped death row, which at first I was so sure would be his fate, emboldened me. If he could cut such a deal with the DA, what else might be possible? A twenty-five-year parole, of course.
He glanced at the door. “What happens to me isn’t really in my control, Renee, you
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