Gone

Mr. Stark got called up by the Parole Board again. Apparently they are reconsidering his flop.

Today I left early for lunch, and he was sitting in the cage with a bunch of men waiting for their parole hearings. I knew he was up this week, but it could have been Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday. I caught his eye, and a jolt went through me. I want him to get parole. I want him to go back into the world and have a life. But we are not even close to done with the work needed to safeguard him from the hate, and insanity and drug world to which he is returning. I walked with him as he was being returned to his unit and checked his head. He is anxious, but he has not flipped into the defensive, non-caring mode. He is back in Control when I return from lunch. I would stop and grab him by his collar and knock him around until I am sure he understands what he needs to do to leave. Of course, I cannot do this. I can neither touch him, nor do something so violent.

I imagine the piece of paper in my box that tells me of his parole. I am not ready for him to leave. I imagine I will hear about him being moved to a prison closer to home. And whoosh, he will be gone. I want to find a way to hold him and keep him safe. But I cannot journey out with him. He will have to find a way to keep himself safe. I have to hope he holds me in his head in a way that helps guide him; in a way that helps him remember there is another, better way to live his life.