Beyond the Walls

When the Call Doesn't Come

"Recorded Call #47"

Malik: "Hey, Trouble."

Alina: "There you are."

Malik: "You know you don't gotta worry every time I'm late calling."

Alina: "I don't worry."

Malik: "Trouble..."

Alina: "Okay. Maybe a little."

Malik: "A little?"

Alina: "Don't start."

Malik: "I'm just saying... I know you."

There were things about loving someone in prison that nobody could prepare you for.

You could learn the visitation rules.

You could memorize the schedule.

You could get used to walking through metal detectors.

You could learn which clothes were allowed and which ones would get you turned around at the door.

You could learn how to make thirty minutes on the phone feel like hours.

You could even learn how to walk away after a Sunday visit without crying every single time.

But there was one thing I still hadn't learned.

How not to worry when the phone didn't ring.

...

Monday was normal.

Work.

Home.

Dinner.

A thirty-minute call with Malik.

Tuesday was the same.

Wednesday, too.

By Thursday, I had fallen completely into our routine.

I didn't realize how much I depended on that routine until Friday came...

And the phone stayed silent.

At first, I didn't think anything of it.

I came home from work exhausted, changed clothes, and started cleaning the kitchen.

My phone sat on the counter beside me.

6:30.

Nothing.

7:00.

Still nothing.

I reminded myself that Malik didn't control the phones.

He couldn't simply reach into his pocket and call me whenever he wanted.

Everything depended on somebody else.

Count.

Movement.

Lockdowns.

Officers.

Phone availability.

A hundred things I couldn't see from the outside.

So I cleaned.

Then I folded clothes.

Then I sat down to watch television.

At 8:17, I realized I'd been staring at the same screen for almost twenty minutes without knowing what I was watching.

I picked up my phone.

Nothing.

"He's fine," I whispered.

I hated that I needed to say it out loud.

...

Saturday morning came.

Still nothing.

I kept myself busy.

That was my favorite trick whenever my mind started moving too fast.

Clean something.

Organize something.

Go somewhere.

Do anything except sit still long enough to think.

But worry had a way of following me from room to room.

By Saturday afternoon, irritation had joined it.

I wasn't mad at Malik.

Not exactly.

I was mad at the situation.

Mad that I couldn't just call him.

Mad that there wasn't a simple text saying:

I'm okay.

Mad that somebody else had control over whether I got to hear his voice.

On the outside, silence was simple.

If somebody didn't call you, you could call them.

If they didn't answer, you could text.

If something felt wrong, you could drive over.

With Malik...

Silence was a locked door.

And I didn't have the key.

...

Sunday morning was supposed to be different.

Sunday was ours.

I woke up early like always.

For a moment, everything felt normal.

Then I remembered.

I hadn't heard from him.

My stomach tightened.

I sat on the edge of the bed staring at my phone.

No missed calls.

No messages.

Nothing.

"You're still going," I told myself.

Of course I was.

Unless somebody told me visitation was canceled, I was going.

I got dressed.

Fixed my hair.

Checked myself in the mirror.

And headed out.

...

The drive felt different.

Usually Sundays made me excited.

That morning, I couldn't stop thinking.

What if visitation was canceled?

What if the whole facility was locked down?

What if something had happened?

I gripped the steering wheel tighter.

"Stop."

I wasn't going to create problems that didn't exist.

Not yet.

When the prison finally came into view, I felt both relief and anxiety.

Cars were in the parking lot.

Families were walking toward the building.

Good.

At least visitation hadn't been canceled.

I parked and sat there for a moment.

"Breathe, Alina."

Then I grabbed my things and went inside.

...

Security felt slower than usual.

Every second irritated me.

ID.

Pockets.

Metal detector.

Wait.

Finally, I was allowed into the visitation room.

I took my usual seat.

I didn't go to the vending machines.

I never did before Malik came in.

That was ours.

I looked toward the door.

And waited.

A few minutes passed.

Then more.

Men began entering the room.

One.

Two.

Three.

Not Malik.

Another group came through.

Still not him.

My stomach dropped.

I tried not to show it.

I sat with my hands folded in my lap.

The room around me filled with voices.

Children calling for their fathers.

Women laughing.

Chairs scraping against the floor.

But all I could hear was my own heartbeat.

Then the door opened again.

And there he was.

The breath left my body.

Malik walked into the room and immediately searched for me.

His eyes found mine.

That smile appeared.

And every bit of frustration I'd carried for two days collided with relief.

He walked toward me.

I tried to keep my face straight.

I really did.

He noticed immediately.

His smile turned into a suspicious grin.

When he reached me, he held out his hand.

"Hey, Trouble."

I looked at him.

"There you are."

He tilted his head.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

"Trouble."

"Nothing."

"Give me your hand."

I placed my hand in his.

He pulled me gently from my seat.

And the second I stood...

He wrapped his arms around me.

Tight.

Firm.

I tried to hold onto my attitude.

I lasted approximately two seconds.

My arms wrapped around him.

I closed my eyes.

Relief washed over me.

He was okay.

That was all that mattered.

He pulled back and looked at my face.

"You was worried."

"No."

"You lying."

"I wasn't worried."

"Trouble."

"Okay!"

He laughed.

"I was concerned."

"Concerned."

"Yes."

"What's the difference?"

"Concerned sounds less crazy."

He laughed again.

Then he leaned in and kissed me.

When he pulled away, his expression softened.

"I'm okay."

"I see that now."

"The unit was locked down."

"I figured."

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did."

"Then why you looking at me like you wanna hug me and fight me at the same time?"

I tried not to laugh.

"Because you get on my nerves."

"There she go."

He squeezed my hand.

"C'mon."

Still holding hands, we walked toward the vending machines.

...

"What you want?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"You always say that."

"Because I don't."

He looked through the options.

"You want this?"

"No."

"This?"

"No."

"This?"

"Maybe."

He looked at me.

"Trouble."

"What?"

"You difficult."

"And yet here you are."

"Every Sunday."

The words slipped out casually.

But they stayed with me.

Every Sunday.

He was right.

...

We carried our food back to the table.

For a while, everything felt normal.

We laughed.

We talked.

He told me about the lockdown.

Nothing major had happened to him.

The facility had restricted movement, and he hadn't been able to get to the phone.

Simple explanation.

Two days of anxiety...

Explained in less than two minutes.

That was prison.

The outside person could spend hours imagining the worst while the person inside had no way to say:

I'm okay.

...

"You mad at me?" he asked.

"No."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"You got that face."

"What face?"

"That face you make when you got something to say but you're deciding if you should say it."

I stared at him.

"You really do watch me too much."

"I told you."

"I know you."

I looked down at our hands.

His thumb moved across mine.

"I'm not mad at you," I said.

"I'm mad that I couldn't know you were okay."

"I understand."

"Do you?"

"Yeah."

He leaned back.

"You think I don't worry about you?"

That caught me off guard.

"Why would you worry about me?"

His eyebrows lifted.

"Seriously?"

"I'm out here."

"Exactly."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I can't see nothing."

I stayed quiet.

"If you don't answer..."

"I don't know why."

"If you're sick..."

"I can't come check on you."

"If something happens at work..."

"I can't pull up."

"If your car breaks down..."

"I can't come get you."

His jaw tightened slightly.

"You think being in here stop me from worrying?"

I hadn't thought about it like that.

He continued.

"When you don't answer the phone, my mind do the same thing yours do."

"What if she ain't okay?"

"What if something happened?"

"What if she just having a bad day?"

"And I can't do nothing about it."

The frustration in his voice was different.

It wasn't anger.

It was helplessness.

"Malik..."

"I'm serious."

"I know."

"I hate that part."

"What part?"

"Not being able to show up."

His eyes dropped toward the table.

"If somebody I care about need me..."

"I've always been the type to handle it."

"Now?"

He gestured around the room.

"I can't."

For once...

I didn't know what to say.

So I squeezed his hand.

He looked at me.

"You show up in the ways you can."

"It don't feel like enough."

"Maybe not to you."

"But sometimes that phone call is exactly what I need."

He studied my face.

"You mean that?"

"Yes."

"Even when I get on your nerves?"

"Especially then."

He smiled.

"See..."

"What?"

"Trouble."

...

Morning visitation moved too quickly.

It always did.

But something about that morning felt different.

We weren't just learning the easy parts of each other anymore.

We were learning the fears.

The frustrations.

The things neither of us could control.

When the announcement came that morning visitation was ending, Malik stood first.

His hand reached for mine.

Always.

He helped me up and pulled me into him.

I wrapped my arms around him.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

"I am now."

He held me a little tighter.

"I told you."

"What?"

"You worry too much."

I pulled back.

"And you don't worry enough."

"Nah."

"I just hide mine better."

That answer stayed with me.

He kissed me.

"I'll see you this afternoon."

"I know."

"Don't be late."

I laughed.

"Boy, please."

"Trouble."

"Bye, Malik."

He smiled.

"See you later."

Not goodbye.

Never goodbye when we still had the afternoon.

...

I went back to my car between visits.

For a few minutes, I sat without turning on music.

I thought about what Malik had said.

I had spent so much time thinking about what it felt like to love somebody who was incarcerated...

That I hadn't spent enough time thinking about what it felt like to care about somebody from inside.

I could drive to him.

He couldn't drive to me.

I could show up on Sunday.

He couldn't show up at my door.

I could choose to answer the phone.

He had to wait to see if I would.

I could go wherever I wanted.

And he had to trust that when I walked out of that visitation room...

I'd come back.

Maybe we were both waiting.

Just in different ways.

...

The afternoon visit came faster than expected.

I went through security again.

Walked into the room again.

Took my seat again.

And waited for the same door to open.

When it did...

Malik walked in.

His eyes found mine.

His smile appeared.

He came straight toward me.

"Hey, Trouble."

"There you are."

He reached for my hand.

Pulled me from my seat.

Firm hug.

Kiss.

Our routine reset everything.

...

The afternoon was calmer.

It usually was.

We had already gotten the week's heavy conversation out of the way.

Now we could just be.

At one point, Malik was telling me a story when I caught myself staring at him.

He stopped.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Nah. What?"

"I'm just looking."

He smiled.

"That's my line."

"I'm borrowing it."

"For what?"

I shrugged.

"Because I can."

He laughed.

"Aight, Trouble."

But I kept looking.

I studied the little things.

The way his face changed when he laughed.

The way he rubbed his thumb over my hand without realizing it.

The way he leaned closer when I spoke.

The way he remembered details I'd forgotten I'd told him.

I wondered how many Sundays it took before a person became part of you.

Was there a number?

Ten visits?

Twenty?

Fifty?

Or did it happen so slowly you didn't notice until it was already done?

...

"Can I ask you something?" I said.

"Yeah."

"What scares you the most?"

He looked at me strangely.

"Where that come from?"

"Just answer."

"See why I call you Trouble?"

"Malik."

He sighed.

Then thought about it.

"Getting used to something I can't keep."

My smile disappeared.

"What do you mean?"

He looked down at our hands.

"This."

"Us?"

He nodded.

"You asked me last week what I want."

"I remember."

"And you told me what you need."

"Consistency."

"Honesty."

"Feeling safe."

"Being chosen."

He remembered every word.

My chest tightened.

"I told you I was gonna remember."

"You did."

He looked at me.

"What if I get used to you being here..."

"And one day you decide this ain't enough?"

I didn't answer immediately.

Not because I planned on leaving.

Because I understood the question beneath the question.

He wasn't asking for a promise.

He was telling me he was afraid.

For Malik...

That was bigger.

"I can't promise you what happens years from now."

He nodded.

"I know."

"But I can tell you what I'm doing right now."

"What?"

I squeezed his hand.

"Choosing to be here."

His eyes stayed on mine.

"Today?"

"Today."

"And next Sunday?"

I smiled.

"If you'll have me."

He laughed quietly.

"Trouble..."

"What?"

"You already know."

...

The final announcement came.

Visitation was ending.

My heart sank the same way it always did.

Malik stood.

He reached for my hand.

I let him pull me up.

Then his arms wrapped around me.

Tight.

Firm.

I held on.

For just a few seconds...

There were no walls.

No sentence.

No prison.

No outside.

No inside.

Just him.

Just me.

Just Sunday.

He pulled back.

Kissed me.

Then rested his forehead against mine for a brief second.

"Drive safe."

"I will."

"Answer when I call."

"Always."

He looked at me.

Not smiling this time.

"Don't say always unless you mean it."

The words caught me.

I studied his face.

He wasn't teasing.

So I corrected myself.

"I'll answer as long as I can."

He nodded.

"I can respect that."

That was Malik.

He didn't need beautiful promises.

He needed truth.

I turned toward the exit.

"Trouble."

I looked back.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for coming."

I smiled.

"You don't have to thank me every Sunday."

"I know."

"I'm still gonna do it."

"Why?"

He shrugged.

"Because you don't have to come."

"But you do."

My throat tightened.

"I'll see you next Sunday."

He smiled.

"Yeah."

"Next Sunday."

...

On the drive home, I thought about everything we'd said.

Maybe that was another unwritten rule.

Don't promise forever when today is the only thing you actually control.

Don't say you'll never leave.

Don't say nothing will ever change.

Just show up.

Be honest.

Choose each other while you can.

And when the phone doesn't ring...

Remember that silence isn't always rejection.

Sometimes...

It's just a wall.

A locked door.

A broken phone.

A delayed count.

A life controlled by circumstances neither person asked for.

That night, I placed my phone beside me before going to sleep.

I wasn't waiting for it to ring.

Not anymore.

I knew he was okay.

I closed my eyes.

And somewhere behind those walls...

I hoped Malik knew the same thing about me.