I open my eyes. God has granted me another day. It didn’t matter that when I woke I felt as though a cinder block was resting heavily on my chest. My lungs working overtime for each breath they push out. I was still alive.
Every night, before I lay my head on my cot, I count down the days until my transfer and before I close my eyes, I pray to my Heavenly Father to keep me alive until then. Last night it was thirteen days, today it will be twelve. Almost there.
It’s not about the last hit and that’s probably the only reason he’s keeping me alive. Every day I wake is another day I get to reminisce about my family. I’ve got three visits left and today my phone privileges are reinstated. I’m entitled to one phone call per month, and it turns out that since it’s the end of the month, I’ll get this month’s and one more before the transfer.
Today I don’t have to stare at a picture and relive the last thirty years of memories. Today I get to hear my bride’s voice. Grace used to speak with a tenderness to her tone, she used to look at me like I was her everything, her whole damn world. Now the tenderness is gone from her voice and when she looks at me she tries to hide the anger boiling inside of her. My sweet Gracie is full of resentment and the beautiful love we created is dying right along with me.
This isn’t how we’re supposed to end—a love like ours isn’t supposed to turn ugly. I remember in the beginning I felt like I was on top of the world and it wasn’t the rush of the mob or the greed of power, it was Grace’s love that made me soar to the top. She made me feel invincible every time I looked into her eyes and knew I had the love of a good woman. We had old school love, the type that makes a man wonder how he ever got so lucky in his life. We had the type of love people write songs about, and I’m not talking about that crap you hear on the radio these days, I’m talking Frankie Valli, ‘My Eyes Adored You’ or Elvis’ ‘The Wonder of You’.
I’ve got twelve days left.
Twelve days to get my Gracie to fall back in love with me.
Twelve days to restore that lovin’ feeling in her eyes and remind her why she fell in love with me in the first place.
Twelve days to give us the ending we deserve and if I get it right, maybe one day someone will write a love song about the beautiful love we lost and found one more time.
I close my hand over my mouth and cough, my throat raw from the endless coughing fits and my chest heavy from the attack on my lungs. Hunched over the sink, I turn the faucet on and dip my mouth under the stream of water, hoping to relieve the ache. I’m deteriorating much quicker than I expected. I guess I got cocky after surviving way passed the time the doctors initially gave me. After I refused treatment, they warned me it would happen just as it is. A snap of my fingers and everything would just go downhill, my body would shut down from the strain I was putting on it. Cancer was like a collision you knew was coming but couldn’t slam on the breaks quick enough.
After five minutes of coughing and gasping for air, I try to straighten my shoulders and tap on the bars for the guard.
My voice is barely recognizable, considerably hoarse as I speak.
“I want my phone call,” I struggle, gripping the bars to steady me. My gray hair falls over my eye and for the first time I don’t bother to fix it. I peer at the correction officer and watch him shake his head.
“Come on, Vic,” he mutters, fitting the key into my cell door and opening it. He offers me his hand but I brushed it away, squaring back my shoulders and hanging onto what is left of my pride as I stride down the cell block.
When I first arrived here, the inmates used to stand behind the bars and cheer me—I was a fucking legend in here. Now, they look at me with remorse, even they don’t want the legend to die. It used to make me feel good, it used to be the thing that got me by, and then I realized it all means nothing. They’re hanging on to the Vic they know from the headlines, the man who beat case after case. They don’t want that man to die. They don’t give a fuck that leaving my family behind is killing me more than the fucking cancer is.
They think I’m the man.
I’m no man without my woman.
The guard escorts me to the phones and I grab the first receiver I see, not bothering to stand in the line with the other inmates. Leaning against the wall, I dial our house number first. I wait for her to answer, sending up a silent prayer that she’s home.
Please answer, Gracie.
“Hello?”
A faint smile appears at the sound of her voice but quickly disappears when I hear her sniffle.
“Gracie, love, it’s me,” I rasp.
“Oh, Victor,” she whispers, clearing her throat before she speaks again. “Wait a minute I thought you couldn’t call.”
“They reinstated my phone privileges,” I explain, pausing for a moment. “It’s so good to hear your voice. How’s my beautiful girl?”
She laughs through her tears. It’s a laugh full of sarcasm rather than one of joy but still manages to warm me deep down, all the way to my bones.