After the Walls

Alina’s POV I had driven this road so many times that I knew every turn without the GPS. Every gas station. Every pothole. Every stretch where my phone lost service. Every little town where the speed limit dropped from fifty-five to thirty-five for absolutely no reason. Usually, I hated this drive. Not going. Coming back. Going meant I was getting closer to Malik. Coming back meant I was leaving him behind. Today was different. Today, he was leaving with me. I glanced at the passenger seat for probably the twentieth time. Empty. For now. His bag was in the back. I had snacks in the console because I didn’t know what he would want. Water. Gatorade. Chips. Candy. Gum. I had even stopped and bought him a new phone charger despite the fact that I had already bought one two days ago. Nerves had apparently turned me into somebody’s overly prepared auntie. My phone rang through the speakers. Mama. I hit answer. “Hello?” “You there yet?” “No.” “How much longer?” I looked at the GPS. “Twenty-three minutes.” “You okay?” “I’m fine.” There was a pause. “Alina.” “Ma.” “Are you okay?” I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. That was the problem with people who knew you. They didn’t let you hide behind fine. “I don’t know.” She laughed softly. “That’s probably more honest.” I exhaled. “I’m excited.” “I know.” “And nervous.” “I know.” “And I’m trying not to have some big expectation of how today is supposed to go.” “That’s smart.” “But I’ve literally imagined this day a million times.” “I know that too.” I smiled. “You know everything today, huh?” “I’m your mama. That’s my job.” I shook my head. The scenery passed outside my window. Trees. Highway. Open land. And somewhere ahead of me was the place I’d spent years driving to. The place that had controlled so much of our relationship without ever being part of it. When we could talk. When we could see each other. How long we could touch. What I could wear. What I could bring. Where I could sit. When I had to leave. Prison had been the third person in our relationship from the beginning. Today, for the first time, it wasn’t coming home with us. At least that was what I wanted to believe. “You call me when you get him,” Mama said. “I will.” “And drive safe.” “I always drive safe.” “Mmm-hmm.” “Bye, Ma.” “I love you.” “Love you too.” The call ended. Twenty-one minutes. My stomach turned. “Jesus,” I whispered. I reached for the radio and turned the music up. Wrong decision. The first song was one Malik used to sing badly on the phone. I changed it. Second song? Love song. Changed it. Third? Some woman singing about her man coming home. “Nope.” I turned the entire radio off. Silence it was. Except silence wasn’t much better. Silence gave me room to think. What if he felt different? What if we felt different? It was easy to build a relationship around missing somebody. You could romanticize distance. You could fill in blanks with imagination. You could convince yourself that everything difficult would disappear once the biggest obstacle disappeared. But what happened when he was sitting beside me? What happened when thirty-minute calls became entire evenings? What happened when Sunday visits became Monday mornings? What happened when Malik saw every version of me? Not visitation Alina. Not cute outfit, hair done, excited-to-see-you Alina. Regular Alina. Tired Alina. I-don’t-feel-like-talking Alina. Leave-me-alone Alina. Motherhood Alina. Work Alina. Bills-due Alina. Bad-day Alina. Would he still want all of me when he actually had access to all of me? And what about him? Who was Malik when nobody told him what time to wake up? Who was he when nobody counted him? Who was he when a door didn’t lock behind him? Who was he when freedom stopped being something he dreamed about and became something he had to manage? My eyes burned. “Not today,” I told myself. Absolutely not. I was not pulling up to that prison looking like I’d been crying. Malik would see me and immediately start. What’s wrong? Who made you cry? Talk to me. Then he’d probably decide somebody had ruined his release day when the somebody was literally my own thoughts. I took a deep breath. The GPS told me to take the next exit. My heart started pounding. I’d taken this exit countless times. But never like this. Never knowing I wouldn’t be driving away alone. ⸻ The prison looked exactly the same. I hated that. Something this important was happening, and the building had the nerve to look ordinary. Same fences. Same signs. Same concrete. Same intimidating quiet. I pulled into the designated area and parked. Then I sat there. Just sat. My hands stayed on the steering wheel. The clock on the dashboard read 8:42. They’d told us release could happen anytime between eight and ten. Which, in prison language, apparently meant: Sit there and suffer. I grabbed my phone. No new messages. Obviously. The man didn’t have a phone yet. I put it down. Picked it back up. Opened social media. Closed it. Checked the time. 8:43. “You have got to be kidding me.” One minute. One whole minute had passed. I leaned my head against the seat. This was worse than visitation. At least during visits I knew what time they were supposed to bring him out. Today, every movement made me look up. A door opened. Not him. An officer walked outside. Not him. A car pulled into the lot. Definitely not him. At 9:07, I saw another family get out of their car. A woman. Two children. An older man. The kids were bouncing around like they’d had six cups of sugar. The woman kept telling them to calm down, but she was smiling too hard to mean it. I watched them. Then looked away because suddenly my throat hurt. There were so many stories sitting in this parking lot. People who’d waited. People who hadn’t. Relationships that survived. Relationships that didn’t. Children meeting fathers again. Mothers getting sons back. Women getting husbands back. Everybody waiting on somebody. I wondered how many times people had sat where I was sitting and thought freedom would fix everything. That thought made me uncomfortable. So I pushed it away. 9:21. Still nothing. I texted Mama. Still waiting. She responded immediately. Be patient. He’s coming. Easy for her to say. At 9:34, the door opened again. I looked automatically. An officer stepped out. Then another man. Not Malik. The family with the children exploded. “DADDY!” The kids ran. The man dropped his bag. He barely had time to bend down before both children crashed into him. I covered my mouth. “Jesus.” The woman walked slower. Crying. The man stood with the kids wrapped around him and looked at her. Even from where I sat, I could feel that moment. She stopped in front of him. He reached for her. She folded into him. I looked away. Not because I didn’t want to see it. Because suddenly I couldn’t. My eyes filled. “Okay,” I whispered. “Okay.” I wiped underneath them carefully. No mascara casualties. We were holding it together. Barely. The family eventually loaded into their car. As they drove away, the little boy waved through the back window. I waved back. Then I looked toward the building. “Come on, Malik.” 9:48. I started getting irritated. Which was actually helpful. Anger was easier than nerves. If they didn’t bring that man out soon, I was about to walk inside and ask somebody what exactly was taking so long. Then the door opened. I looked. An officer. A clear bag. White T-shirt. Dark pants. My heart stopped. No. Not stopped. Dropped. Straight into my stomach. Because behind that officer— was Malik. I forgot how to breathe. Everything I’d imagined disappeared. Every speech. Every cute thing I’d planned to say. Every joke. Gone. Malik stepped completely outside. And stopped. He looked up. At the sky. That almost broke me. He didn’t immediately look for the parking lot. Didn’t look at the cars. He looked at the sky. Like he needed to see it without anything between him and it. No fence overhead. No controlled yard. No schedule telling him when he could stand outside. Just sky. His shoulders rose with one deep breath. Then his eyes moved toward the parking lot. Searching. I opened my door. He saw me. And everything changed. That man’s whole face changed. The smile started small. Then spread. I stood beside the car. Suddenly I couldn’t move. Malik could. He started walking. Not running. Malik was too cool to run. But that walk was definitely faster than normal. I laughed through the tears already escaping. “Look at you,” I whispered. He got closer. Twenty feet. Ten. Five. Then his bag hit the ground. “Trouble.” That was it. One word. I broke. I went straight into him. Malik’s arms wrapped around me so hard my feet almost left the ground. “Oh my God.” I buried my face against his chest. He smelled different. Not like visitation. Not like that building. Just clean clothes, soap, outside air and him. His hand moved to the back of my head. “I got you.” I couldn’t answer. “Alina.” I shook my head against him. He laughed quietly. “You crying?” “No.” “You definitely crying.” “Shut up.” “There she go.” I hit his chest. He held me tighter. And I cried harder. “You are so irritating.” “I been free three minutes.” “And already irritating.” “But you ain’t letting me go.” I realized he was right. My arms were locked around him. I loosened them slightly. Malik immediately pulled me back. “I ain’t say let go.” That did something to me. I closed my eyes. For years, every hug had been timed. Controlled. Observed. We knew somebody was watching. We knew there were rules. Today nobody told us to separate. Nobody cleared their throat. Nobody said move along. So we stood there. Holding each other in a prison parking lot like we were the only two people in Mississippi. Eventually, Malik pulled back enough to see my face. His hands stayed around my waist. He stared at me. “What?” I wiped my cheeks. “Why are you looking at me like that?” He shook his head. “Come here.” “I’m already here.” He kissed my forehead. Slow. Then one cheek. Then the other. I smiled. “What are you doing?” “Whatever I want.” The words came out playful. But something underneath them made both of us quiet. Whatever I want. Freedom. Malik seemed to realize it too. He looked toward the road. Then back at the prison. His jaw tightened. I touched his arm. “You ready?” He stared at the building for another second. “Yeah.” “You sure?” His eyes came back to me. “I’m ready to get the hell away from here.” “Then let’s go.” He grabbed his bag. I opened the trunk. He stopped. “What’s all this?” “Stuff.” “Whose stuff?” “Yours.” He looked at me. Then inside the trunk. Clothes. Shoes. Toiletries. A jacket. A small welcome-home bag I’d sworn I wasn’t going to make because it felt corny. He picked it up. “Alina.” “What?” “You did all this?” “It’s not that much.” “Trouble.” “Don’t make it a thing.” He stared at me. I stared back. Then he put the bag down and pulled me into him again. “Thank you.” The softness in his voice made me stop fighting the moment. “You’re welcome.” He kissed my forehead again. “Now get in the car before they change their mind.” He laughed. “You ready to kidnap me?” “Absolutely.” ⸻ Malik opened the passenger door. Then froze. I was already behind the wheel. “What?” He looked at the seat. Then at me. “What?” I repeated. “I ain’t sat in a regular car in…” He stopped. My heart squeezed. I didn’t finish the sentence for him. Didn’t turn it into some emotional moment he hadn’t asked for. I just smiled. “Well, get in. You got plenty of riding to do.” He smiled back. Then lowered himself into the seat. The door closed. Malik immediately looked around. Dashboard. Touchscreen. Sunroof. Controls. “Cars got all this now?” “Please don’t start acting like you been locked up since 1987.” “I’m just saying.” “You know what a touchscreen is.” “Obviously.” “Then stop.” He reached toward the screen. I slapped his hand. “Don’t touch stuff.” “This my first day out!” “And you’re not breaking my car on it.” He laughed. I started the engine. Then looked over at him. He was already looking at me. “What?” “Nothing.” “No. What?” He leaned back. “Drive.” “Malik.” “Alina.” “Why were you staring?” He smiled. “Because I can.” My stomach did something stupid. I put the car in reverse. “Seat belt.” He looked offended. “Seriously?” “Yes.” “I just got out and you already giving me rules?” “My car, my rules.” “This ain’t freedom.” “Put your seat belt on.” He clicked it. “Yes, ma’am.” I pulled away. Slowly. The prison remained in the rearview mirror. Malik turned his head toward the window. He watched it. I watched him. The fences got smaller. Then the buildings. Then the signs. Until finally— nothing. Just road behind us. Malik exhaled. Long. Deep. His hand rested on the center console. I reached over and placed mine on top of it. He turned his hand underneath mine and threaded our fingers together. Neither of us spoke. We didn’t need to. A few miles passed. Then ten. Then fifteen. Finally Malik looked at me. “Where we going?” I smiled. “Home.” His thumb stopped moving against mine. He stared at me. “Say that again.” I glanced over. “Home.” Something shifted in his face. He looked out the windshield. Then squeezed my hand. “Yeah.” His voice was quieter now. “Let’s go home.” I turned the music on. This time, I didn’t skip the love song. Malik looked at me when it started. I looked straight ahead. “Don’t.” “I ain’t say nothing.” “I can feel you about to say something.” He laughed. “You know me too well.” “Unfortunately.” “Unfortunately?” I smiled. He brought our joined hands toward him and kissed the back of mine. My chest tightened. The road stretched ahead of us. Two hours. For years, I’d hated every mile going home. Every mile meant I was farther away from him. Today, every mile meant something completely different. Every mile meant Malik was farther from that prison. Closer to my house. Closer to the life we’d talked about during calls that always ended too soon. I knew freedom wouldn’t magically heal everything. I knew we had wounds waiting for us. Questions. Trust. Adjustments. Real life. There would be arguments. There would probably be days when both of us wondered what the hell we’d gotten ourselves into. But none of that belonged to this moment. Today belonged to the girl who had driven this road over and over just to get a few hours with the man she loved. Today belonged to every goodbye I had swallowed. Every time I’d walked toward my car without turning around because I knew if I looked back at him, I’d cry. Every lonely ride home. Every recorded call. Every countdown. Every Sunday night spent missing somebody I’d just seen. I looked at our hands. Still intertwined. Then at Malik. He had his head against the seat, eyes closed, sunlight crossing his face. Free. Actually free. “Malik.” His eyes opened. “What, Trouble?” I smiled. “Nothing.” He studied me. Then smiled too. “Yeah.” He squeezed my hand. “I know.” I looked back at the highway. And for the first time since loving Malik, I wasn’t counting how many minutes we had left. I wasn’t wondering when the next call would come. I wasn’t calculating the days until Sunday. I wasn’t preparing myself to leave him somewhere I couldn’t follow. This time, I had made the drive to that prison for one reason. To bring my man home. And this time he was leaving with me.