Keep it Together

Shawshank leaves tonight, or so he thinks. He called this morning, as planned. His care package, ordered late last night, was delivered a day early. His birth certificate finally arrived, and they told him he’d probably leave “sometime within 48 hours”. Unfortunately, they couldn’t tell him whether or not that included the weekend. However, he promised to call me before dinner to talk a little if he had any news.

He called three more times.

The first call came in about an hour or so after I started work. They told him he had an option for “expedited removal”. Naturally, no one could tell him what that time frame was, only that he needed to make a decision. He wanted my input, but it wasn’t anything I could offer an opinion on. I’m not the one leaving. My only input on the matter was wanting to know whether that call was going to be “goodbye”.

“I think I should take it,” he said. He promised to call around dinner time to check in.

The dinner call was just as short. Shawshank didn’t have any more information, but was thinking he’d be leaving sometime tomorrow. “I don’t know what expedited removal is, but I don’t expect them to start driving towards the border at 8pm”, he explained. “Besides, I still have money in my commissary account.” We discussed the potential times he would call tomorrow. I couldn’t talk too long because I was working and StressedRPh was going to be a little crazy if I didn’t go back quickly.

I hadn’t been back in the pharmacy for more than 10 minutes when he called the third time.

“My commissary account is empty”, he said.

“I’m probably leaving sometime overnight.”

It became a flurry of him tearfully telling me he was sorry about all of this. At the same time, I tried to tell him where everything important was stashed in his bag. They never know exactly when they’ll leave, so we made tentative plans for him to call me at lunchtime. “If I don’t call at lunch, you’ll know I’m gone. If that’s the case, I’ll call you as soon as I can buy a phone.”

At this point, I can barely hold my shit together in the break room. He has all of his books packed, with their shipping receipts proving they’re his. He’ll bring as many of his snacks as he can for the ride north and pass out the rest to the other detainees. I’m almost in tears. He’s definitely crying, and I keep saying the same shit I always say. He’ll be fine, he can do this, this isn’t his first solo trip to make a new life a strange place.

“I left some graffiti in my cell, and no one will understand it.”

“What did you write?”

“So long, and thanks for all the fish.”