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“Pack your shit.”
“Am I moving cells?”
“No,” he says, sliding an envelope through the bars. “You’re moving out. The warden wants to process you tomorrow.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Come open up that envelope and you will.”
TO:Circuit Clerk, Circuit Court of Tuscaloosa County, Tuscaloosa, Alabama
Whereas, EASTON RUSH, convicted of the crime of attempted manslaughter, Circuit Court of Tuscaloosa County and was sentenced to 10 Years Incarceration and whereas it has been represented to me that said is a fit and proper subject forExecutive Clemency.
Now, Know Ye, that I, James Folsom, Governor of the State of Alabama, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Constitution of this State, do by these presents:
PARDON Easton Rush of the said crime of which convicted, hereby acquitted and discharged of and from all further imprisonment and restored to all the rights of citizenship which may have been forfeited by the conviction.
Grant Pardon With Order Permitting Expungement Under The Provisions of 20 ALCS 2730/4.2(e), Including The Right To Ship, Transport, Possess, Or Receive Firearms, Which May Have Been Forfeited By The Conviction.
50
EASTON
Two days after my pardon, my father is waiting outside the prison gate for me. He’s leaning against a blue luxury car and fidgeting with a Rubik's cube.
He tosses it into the backseat as I approach, running toward me with his hands outstretched.
“Finally!” he says, pulling me into a long hug. “Fucking finally.”
“You're hugging me like you don't come to see me every week.”
“This is a lot different, and you know it.” His voice cracks. “I’ve been up all night hoping this wasn't a dream.”
“Me too.” I admit. “Me too.”
He lets go of me, but he quickly pulls me into his arms again.
I don't pull away until he stops crying.
“Let's get away from here,” he says, “I got us a reservation at the new Gayle’s.”
“Thanks.” I open the passenger door, but he wags his finger.
“You're driving.” He smiles. “And this car is yours. You should take it for a long spin after you drop me off.”
“Will do.”
I walk to the driver's side and crank the engine, speeding the hell away from the past.
The penitentiary’s tallest smokestack disappears in my rearview mirror and I’m in no hurry to remember any of my days there.
“I haven't had a drink since the day you left.” he says. “I haven’t mentioned it during any of my visits because I didn’t want to jinx myself, but I’m living a completely sober life.”
“You don’t even sneak sips of Listerine or hand sanitizer?”
“I gargle salt.” He laughs and grabs his Rubik's cube. “I have an entire basement full of these and a group of sobriety partners. I made Barbara join, too.”
“Good to know, Dad. I’m proud of you.”
