My name’s Josh Faulkner and I’m sittin’ here in a hard oak chair at Huntsville prison, waitin’ on my pa to come and pick me up. This chair they set me in to wait is pretty unusual, now that I get to lookin’ at it good. In fact, I ain’t never seen one quite like it. My Uncle John used to build chairs once in a while, but they was always thin and light, and the wood was golden and smooth as a baby’s backside. My mom used to love them chairs too – even had some of ‘em in our kitchen a long time ago.
But this one here ain’t nothin’ like what my Uncle John used to make. This one’s real big and heavy and rough. It sure ain’t made for sittin’ comfortable’s what I mean – not a place I’d care to spend a long time anyhow. For one thing it’s stuck down to the floor with big black iron bolts. Almost seems like the prison’s worried someone’s gonna’ up and make off with it, although who’d wanna’ do that I can’t hardly say. And to be honest, it ain’t all that good lookin’ a chair, so why somebody’d want to run off with it in the first place ain’t real clear. It’s kinda’ blocky I guess is the only way to really explain it – almost like it was built outa’ railroad ties. And it looks real old too, like it ain’t been outa’ this little room its whole life.
So anyway, it’s been maybe ten minutes since they set me down here in this strange chair. But the real unusual thing is that the arms and legs got these wide leather straps next to where your wrists and ankles go. And after they set me down, they tied the leather straps ‘round my ankles and wrists, even though I told ‘em I wasn’t hardly gonna’ go no place, bein’ as how it was a prison and all. Didn’t matter none to the guards though. They just cinched ‘em up real tight. Who knows, maybe they think I’m gonna’ run off with their chair. Wouldn’t that be somethin? And then the guard says the dangd’est thing to me. He leans real close and says just breathe in nice and deep and it’ll all be over quick, and I’m thinkin’ that’s a strange thing to say, seein’ as how I ain’t never had no trouble breathin’.
Well, besides the big heavy oak chair that’s bolted to the floor, and me that’s strapped down to it tighter’n a dead deer on a pick-up, there’s the room itself. Nothin’ all that special about it I guess, except for how it’s so small. But here’s the weird thing – it’s kinda’ round, only not exactly. I mean it doesn’t have four walls like a regular room. It’s got six actually, which I ain’t never seen before. There’s only one door and it’s kinda’ strange too – like the ones I used’ta see in old Navy movies on TV. It don’t go all the way to the floor though like a regular door. It’s more like a round hole cut in the wall, and it’s got this big wheel thing in the middle of it that they turn to go in and out – strangest thing I ever saw. Also there’s windows all the way around the room, only they’re all covered with these dark gray curtains, which sort of makes sense I guess, seein’ as how the room’s painted gray too. I think that’s how I’d describe the whole room, come to think of it – just little and funny-shaped and old and gray.
So I’m sittin’ in the chair, just lookin’ around and wonderin’ why they might be tyin’ me in, and as far as that goes, why I’m in the prison at all. They say they throwed me in here ‘cause somebody told ‘em I hurt a girl real bad over in Mason back last July, only I ain’t never even been to Mason but once, and that was when I was little, maybe five or six years ago. My pa and I went over there – walked the whole way too. Weren’t no cars back then, I can tell you that – least ways, none my pa could afford. So we walked the whole seven miles over to Mason on accounta’ he needed to talk to some man about ma, and final ‘rangements, and other stuff I didn’t know nothin’ about. I never understood what all that meant – only that we never seen my ma no more afterwards. Anyways, I went with him, seein’s how I was big and all, even though I was only twelve. I think he liked havin’ someone to talk to, plus there weren’t no one else ta’ home anyhow, so I just went along for somethin’ to do.
We walked a lot in them days – pa and me. We walked to work and back. We walked to pick up the welfare food. Heck sometimes we walked just for walkin’. And even though it’s hotter’n hell in Texas sometimes, didn’t neither of us care. We just walked in the evenin’ after the sun went down. We listened to catbirds and watched the armadillos try to get out of the road when trucks came by. Mostly they made it, but sometimes one wouldn’t, and he’d get squished. Made me feel real bad seein’ him get run over like that, only I wouldn’t cry cause I was with my dad and all.
I remember it took us near the whole day to walk to Mason and back that time. And like I said, I ain’t never been back since. Truth is I ain’t hardly been nowhere except Billings. That’s where pa and me lived my whole life – ma too, when she was livin’ with us. I don’t remember too much now though about when ma was at home – only that she was in bed most the time. I brung her drinks of water and things, but she never looked too comfortable or happy. Then one day pa said they was takin’ her to the hospital up in town, and we wouldn’t see her so much no more. About six months later was our walk to Mason for the ‘rangements, and that was that.
I spent most of my time after that workin’ with pa over at Driscoll’s garden. I didn’t never take much of a likin’ to school anyway, an seein’s how we didn’t have hardly no money, I figured pa could use the help. Plus it meant we got to work together a lot and spend the days talkin’ and stuff. We had to get there real early though, on accounta’ how it got fierce hot after ten o’clock. We’d get up at four or so, and be out in the back part of the garden ready to go by sunup. We was always either pickin’ or weedin’ or some such thing dependin’ on what time of year it was. There was never no shortage of work neither, bein’ as how me and pa was all that ole’ man Driscoll had to help him with near ten acres of vegetables. He had horses too, and a barn. So we’d try to fix the garden work so’s we could do the barn things while it was hot outside. Barn work was mostly slingin’ hay bales around in the loft, cleanin’ out stalls, that sort of thing. Mind you, it was hot in the barn too, ‘specially up in the loft, but not near as bad as bein’ out in the field under the sun, no sir.
‘Course my favorite thing of all was drivin’ the tractor, which I wasn’t s’posed to be doin’ ‘til I was big and all, only pa showed me when I was maybe thirteen or somethin’. Ole’ man Driscoll didn’t hardly ever come out back anyway, so it wasn’t like he was gonna’ catch me or nothin’. But it was the darnd’est thing, rippin’ around on that ole’ red Cub. An even though it didn’t go no more’n ten or fifteen miles an hour, that didn’t matter none. It was just the fun of sittin’ up there and bein’ all big and on top of the world. I’d’a done that all day for free, except we needed the money, and I sure wasn’t gonna’ get five dollars a day no place else, plus get to drive a tractor too.
So between workin’ in the garden, and doin’ chores at home, and walkin’ around a lot, I guess me and pa spent most all our time together when I’s little. But it sure didn’t bother me none. I didn’t never get tired of bein’ with him’s what I mean to say. I think it set pretty well with him too s’far as that goes. I didn’t really have no other friends around, seein’s how we lived way outside of town and all, and besides, most of the other kids was either off to school or workin’ someplace else. So I guess I mostly just grew up with pa.
Then one day last fall they came to our place, the sheriff and his deputy and all, and they told my pa that I done somethin’ bad in Mason, and they was gonna’ take me up to the town jail. They said someone told ‘em who it was done it, and it sounded a whole lot like me, only just to be sure they was gonna’ do some kinda’ line-up thing. My pa told ‘em how I was workin’ with him all the days that week, and how I couldn’t’a gone to Mason anyhow, bein’ as it was seven miles away, and we didn’t even have so much as a bicycle. They didn’t care none though. They just throwed me in the police car, and off we went into town – me and pa both.
So this guy who’d told ‘em about me to begin with looks at me in the line and says yup, he’s the one I seen. Then we went to court and the same guy gets up and says yup again, it’s still him. I had a lawyer and everything by then, and he even brought in ole’ man Driscoll who said sure as hell Josh was workin’ that day – his pa too. Only then they asked him did he see me all day long, and he says not really, only in the mornin’ and the evenin’ before me and pa went home. Then they asked pa did he see me all day, and he said mostly yeah, only for a few hours he was workin’ by his self in the barn while I’s weedin’ beans out in the field.
So they said I done it, and then they took me out of the court and said I had to go to jail for a while, and then I’s gonna’ be ex’cuted. I asked pa what was that, but I guess he didn’t know neither ‘cause it seemed like he couldn’t hardly talk or nothin’. He just said to me ‘Joshua, you pray a lot…you pray like you never prayed before, and I’ll come see ya’ in the jail often as I can. And he did too, near every Saturday and Sunday when he wasn’t workin’ in the garden.
And so I set in the jail for a long time, just thinkin’ ‘bout things and wonderin’ when I was gonna’ get to go home. Then finally this morning some minister come by and said some prayers with me, which was nice, seein’ as how pa and me was mostly too busy to go to church very much. Then they brung me down here like I said at the beginnin’, and I’m just waitin’ in the big black oak chair. Best I can figure, they’re sendin’ me home today, and pa’s on his way here to get me, and this is where he’s gonna’ pick me up. They musta’ just strapped me in the chair so’s I don’t run off while they waitin’ for him to come.
And now I guess they’re done with whatever they gotta’ do, ‘cause they looked all around the room real good, and then a man looked at me and read some things off a paper that sounded like what they was sayin’ back in court. Then they all left through the funny round door with the wheel in the middle. And you know what? Looks like I’s right after all. They opened up them curtains that’s coverin’ the windows, and sure ‘nuff, there’s pa sittin’ there waitin’ on me. And he must be real happy to see I’m comin’ home, ‘cause I can see he’s cryin’ a little. And all’s I’m thinkin’ is it’s gonna’ be good to get back home and pick some more beans, and drive the tractor, and go for a good long walk after the sun goes down.