All the Wicked Things

Chapter 2

My heart was beating fast and I was filled with trepidation as I pushed the heavy steel door open and entered through a small slit. A skinny woman in her mid-fifties looked up from behind a pile of papers. She had mousy brown hair and large rimmed glasses that made her look like Mr. Magoo. She smiled at me as if I had been the first sight of life she'd seen in decades. The sad reality was that it was probably true.

"Hi. My name's Abigail. I-I called yesterday," I began.

"Oh, yes. We've been expecting you," she said, standing and walking around from behind the desk. She continued to talk as she headed towards another heavy-looking door, "Most of our residents are lifers as I'm sure you know if you've ever spent time in other facilities. Some have made it out, but they usually end up back in the system. Our recidivism rate is quite high. And when they do return, it's ultimately a one-way path to death row."

She opened the door and ushered me through. I took in the faces as we walked past each cell down the long, dark hallway. I knew the look on their faces, all too well—that look of loneliness, that look of knowing that each person that passed by was judging them, basing whether they were redeemable or not on their outward appearance. It's easy to forget something when you don't have to look at it every day, which is why most people stayed away.

As we passed one exceptionally vicious-looking inmate, who was baring his teeth and snarling, I stopped and stared. He was certainly rough around the edges, and a wiser person would have kept on walking—a wiser person would have known that it was too late to save him...but as I looked at his scar-ridden face, I saw a pair of lonely eyes staring back at me. A mirror image of my own loneliness, a silent calling—praying, hoping that someone, anyone would look past the scars, past the tough exterior, and choose to love them anyway.

I knelt down, and for whatever reason—one that I cannot explain—I began to sing. It was a lullaby that mother used to sing to me, and I quietly recited the words as I reached my hand through the opening in the bars.

"No, don't—," the woman began, but I continued to stretch my hand out as I finished the song.

"That's a good boy," I said as I ruffled his fur.

"Well, I'll be darn," she said as she watched the dog gently lick my hand. "Bear is one of our repeat offenders. His last owners returned him after a week. Said he was too antisocial, I think that was the word they used."

"He's just like most of us," I said. "He just needs a friend."

"Well, we're certainly glad to have you. Let me show you where the leashes are and you can start by taking these guys out for a walk." I smiled and followed her through the rest of the sad faces.

It took several hours to walk the twenty-two inmates at the All Paws Animal Shelter. Two particularly naught boys, Simon and Felix, increased the average walking time when they decided to wiggle out of their collars and chase each other almost five hundred yards before I could catch them. I had forgotten how much energy Jack Russell's had.

My dad never would let me have a dog. He said they were dirty and time consuming, and no matter how much I promised him, he believed he would ultimately be the one taking care of it. My mother didn't agree but rather than argue with my father, she began a tradition of taking me to the local animal shelter and allowing me to play to my heart's content. The way she saw it, our time spent at those shelters helped more than just our souls.

As I finished up the final walk with Bear, I stopped before we reached the door that led back to the long, dark hallway where his pen was. It was such a sad existence that I wanted to give him at least a few more moments in the sun. He sat down, and I stroked my hand down his back, looking out at the beautiful yellow and orange leaves on the autumn trees. Unexpectedly, Bear lay down on the grass and rolled over, exposing his belly. It was an act of trust, one that I wasn't sure if I had truly earned or not. But seeing his willingness, I obliged and began petting his belly and cooing as if to a child as I did so.