On the inside

She sat on the edge of the bed, holding the moleskin journal in her hands. Black, hard, private. It was the decision as to take it with her or not prompting the stillness; yes or no. What was the point, would it change anything? Outside the bedroom window a gaggle of neighbourhood children bustled by in a flurry of bicycles and laughter. So then, Yes it is.

As she pulled into the prison parking lot a large flock of starlings whirled over the grey building blocks, a disjointing majesty of complexity and harmony. She pulled her coat tight around her shoulders against the fall wind, steeling herself for the confrontation. Her lawyer had counselled against the idea of seeing him just now, but something in her demanded it.

Checking in at the visitor's entrance had been straightforward, surrendering her driver's license as ID, then through the admission corridor to the visitor's booths, and she waited. He came in then, accompanied by a single guard, shackled ankles and in an orange jumpsuit. His hair almost buzzed to his skull, but the dark thick handlebar moustache that he had had in the courtroom was still there, full and slick. He sat down opposite her, staring intently through the re-inforced glass. His eyes were cold and dark, hard. The bottom end of some indiscriminate tattoo disappeared up his left sleeve.

He sneered.

" Well, what's this about then."

She looked down at her lap, the journal laying there.

" I suppose you have some time on your hands."

" You suppose nothing. They keep us busy, sometimes in the kitchen, sometimes in the shop. Truth is, the days just fly on by." He gesticulated broadly to the air around him.

" Well, I'm glad for that, for you." She paused. " I brought something today I would like very much for you to take a look at." Her tongue, dry in her mouth.

" Why the fuck would I want to do that. Why would I do any fucking thing for you." He scowled.

" It wouldn't be for me, it would be for her."

The words seem to catch him off guard. He seemed to start another sneer, but it faded and he turned his head away from her. A chair scraped across the floor in an adjacent cubicle.

" It's my diary. It's all my thoughts and recollections from the past few months, and ...before." Her voice, quiet and entreating. " I started it about a week after...a week, after the incident. After it happened. "

" Why the hell would I read that shit. You probably just moan on and on about the wrongness of it all. You just want to make me suffer, blame me for all of it. I'm just as much a victim in this! I never did anything that wrong and the system is fucking rigged. Fuck that."

" It's not like that. It's just, ...thoughts, and dreams and, words, about days gone by. If you could just look beyond the actuality of what happened. I swear it's not..."

" Oh shut the hell up!" He slapped his hand on the counter. " She knew exactly what she was getting into and she was old enough to decide for herself." He stared hard at her with an intensity that was not unfamiliar.

" I checked with the administration. It's allowed, once they clear it for anything contraband or subversive, no staples or metal backing." She fought to keep control of the tone in her voice.

" Well unless there's a recipe in there for how to make my own potato vodka in the toilet bowl I ain't fucking interested."

She looked at him, pleading with her eyes.

" Please, try to understand, what happened makes no sense to me. It was just...so, unbelievable. Maybe you can..."

" Times up! Gotta go! What's done is done and I'm in here, you're out there and she's gone so what does it fucking matter anyway." He stood up abruptly, knocking his chair over.

She thought he was going to say something else, she was willing him to, but he turned away and banged on the gate. The guard let him out and he walked away without looking back.

On the drive home, she wept off and on for most of an hour. She had made her own share of mistakes in her youth, but these days the risks were just so much more unknown, so out of proportion to the reward of the experimenting. The highest high leads to a low beyond the lowest of lows. The others weren't paying the same price. Death was the final , ultimate cost; accidental, intentional. What did it matter. Dead is dead. The family left behind carries the heaviest weight. She had left the small black journal behind with the super-intendants' secretary, not really expecting to hear from him anytime, but it felt better having put it out there.

The lawyers' text message had been a surprise when it came two months later. Her grief had softened, but still cut hard when she and the neighbours came out of the house at the same time. She would stop and wait, letting them go first, not looking away but not pushing for any sign of an opening. If her pain was heavy, theirs must be impenetrable.

" He has asked to see you. Be careful." Short and to the point.

The hum of the tires on the road soothed her mood, and she allowed herself to reflect on the beautiful thing that had been, her long blonde hair, the freckled laugh, the mischevious pranks. A short lifetime of presence, snuffed out by an unknowable evil.

When he came through the barred gate this time, everything changed in an instant. His hair was growing back, thick and in short brown waves, and his moustache was gone. His face shaved clean, and to her amazement, he smiled at her briefly before looking down as he pulled out the chair to sit.

" Thank you for coming back." He looked up and she saw his eyes had changed again, back to blue from the black and red anger.

" I will always come. I will always want to face this with you."

" I know." He paused. " It was just so much, too much to think about at first, but...I read your journal." His eyes welled up, and she could see his breath caught in his throat.

She smiled with all her soul and put her hand up on the counter, close to him, tears coming to her own eyes.

" I truly believe the whole situation just got away from you." She paused. " I think, I want to know what got you to that point, in that room, with those other boys, with her. What were you missing that might have made a difference, led to a different outcome."

" I wasn't missing anything. I was just doing what all young men do I guess." He brushed at his tears. " I was experimenting, had been for a while, so was she. At first it was exciting. There had been other times before..."

She cut him off. " Not now. I want to know more, but let's just go slowly, ok?"

He nodded at his lap, fidgeted with his orange pant leg.

" Tell me more about what's keeping you busy in here."

" Later. I need to tell you the real reason I wanted to see you today. I think...I hope you'll be happy to hear what I'm going to tell you."

" I'm all ears."

" I read your journal. It was...incredible. It was just so honest and inspiring. All those memories of her, of us. It gave me the strength and confidence to face myself, my guilt, my shame. I just...don't know how I could face them after what I did."

" Justice isn't about revenge. Justice is about understanding." She smiled at him.

" I got up the nerve to start writing down my own thoughts about what happened. I wanted to tell my story, so maybe it would help the others, or somebody else. One of the other inmates suggested I send it in for someone to look at. I tried to be honest, sincere. I reached out to the others but no one has responded...yet."

" Everybody has their own journey after something like this. I'm so proud of you. "

" I sent the first part of my story to this company putting together an anthology type book from inmates, stories of courage, faith, stuff like that. Some philanthropist ex-con has sponsored it, and they want to use my story." He braved a boyish smile.

" Oh my, that's wonderful."

" I'm going to be given $20,000 honorarium, and that's it, but I have to do something good with the money, something that gives back. So, I was thinking we'd maybe set up a scholarship at the University in her name. What do you think?"

She didn't realize how tightly she'd been wringing her hands together, just watching his face as he spoke. She could envision all the years of eagerness and discovery, of rebellion and joy. It had all happened so fast.

" I think that would be a perfect thing." She said.

He pulled his chair closer to the window.

" I'd like your help finishing this. I've kind of taken some of your thoughts and combined them with mine, if that's alright with you." He looked up expectantly.

" If it will help us, and anybody else, of course."

" Good. That's good." He paused. " Oh, ... and Mom, tell me we're going to be alright."

She put her hand up to the window, and he reached up on the other side.