Tony’s counseling had progressed beyond insignificant discussions about Tony’s adaptation to Yankton. His therapist wasn’t a doctor but a counselor named Jim. At first, Tony wasn’t sure what to think about Jim other than he wasn’t very talkative for a therapist. Tony had always imagined that therapy was where the therapist told the patient what his or her problems were and what to do about them. He knew his problems: he was stuck in a prison while his wife was in a mental facility and their daughter was living with his brother- and sister-in-law whom he hated. Of course, it took Tony weeks to divulge even that much. He had a personal rule about sharing private information. Speaking to Jim about Tony’s private life, outside of Yankton, seemed like a violation of his own rule.
Speaking about prison life, however, was acceptable. That was how they started each session. But they’d been at this now for months and the mundane was getting to be that and more.
“Anthony, how are things going?” Jim asked. Tony liked that Jim referred to him solely by his name. The correctional officers as well as any announcements or call outs always included the inmate’s name and number. It didn’t take long for Tony to tire of hearing Rawlings, Number 01657-3452.
He shrugged. “As well as can be expected, I suppose.”
Jim waited. When Tony didn’t offer any more he went on, “Why? What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. I thought I could handle it better.”
“What do you mean?”
“I hate it—every minute.” He stood and paced to the window and back. It was the only place where he could freely get up and move while with a member of the prison staff. That realization struck him. “Like this! I can’t even fuck’n do this.”
“What?” Jim asked. “What are you doing that you can’t do?”
“Just move, walk, pace, whatever. I’ve been trying these last few months, but I don’t think I can make it another forty-four months. Damn, that sounds like forever.” He collapsed into the chair before Jim’s desk.
“Why?”
Color came to Tony’s cheeks as red threatened his vision. “You know, that drives me crazy.”
“What?”
“That! If you’re going to ask me questions for three hours a week, be more specific.”
“Give me an example,” Jim said.
Did he need to tell the therapist how to do his own job? “Instead of why or what, ask why I don’t think I can make it or what drives me crazy—use complete sentences.”
“Is that something you always do?”
Tony thought for a minute. “I think I do. I know I used to. Hell, I don’t even know what I do anymore.”
“How does that make you feel?”
“I feel like after only three months, I’m losing who I am. Just Saturday, my assistant was here to fill me in on things happening back at my work. I am totally out of the loop.”
“Have you always been in the loop?”
“Up until a year ago, yes.”
Jim put down his pencil. “What happened a year ago?”
“Surely you have my records, Jim. Surely you know my history. I mean, haven’t you done your homework?”
“If I did, what would I know?”
Tony stood again and walked toward the window. “I hate this. I’m not the person I’m forced to be in here. I can’t stand it.”
“You weren’t saying this Friday. What changed?”
Tony remembered Patricia’s visit. She wasn’t allowed to bring papers or her phone or anything back for the visit, so everything she said, she had to remember. She was telling him about some recent fluctuations in the stocks, and about a few changes on the administrative level of a recently acquired subsidiary, but instead of listening and following what she was saying, as he would have in the past, he was watching the inmate at the table next to them with his wife and two kids.
“Do you think kids should be allowed to visit here?” Tony asked.
Jim leaned back and took a deep breath. “I think that children can be a motivating factor for people to want to better themselves. Therefore, seeing that child is a reminder of why a person is trying to follow the rules and be a better person.”
Tony contemplated his answer. “But for the kids,” he asked, “won’t it mess them up to be visiting their father in a prison?”
“What do you think?”
“I’m asking you.”
“Anthony, are you used to getting your questions answered when you ask them?”
“Yes. I accept no less.”
“Does the Anthony who lives outside of this prison get what he expects?”
“I-I…” he was about to say I do, but the reality of his life since he returned from paradise came crashing down. “I used to.”
“How does it make you feel to not get what you expect?”
“It disappoints me. I don’t like to be disappointed.”
“We always talk about Yankton. You brought up a year ago… were you disappointed a year ago?”
Tony remembered a year ago. It was last September when Claire left, when his world fell apart. “Yes,” he replied quieter.
“Was it something or someone who disappointed you?”
“I think I’m going to request a change in job. I mean, there are jobs in the business office. I have a lot to offer in an office.”
Jim didn’t argue Tony’s change of subject. “What would you do? Clerical work?”