Free Lifers by Jane Harvey-Berrick

You’d have liked him.” He paused, “Everyone loved him, he was easy to love.”
    “Was he as good looking as his brother?”
    He lifted an eyebrow at me and grinned—a for-real, all out, teeth-showing grin. It was just a glimpse of the cocky young kid I imagined he’d been. I didn’t think it was possible for him to be any cuter. Live and learn.
    “When we were younger, people thought we were twins.”
    “And later?”
    “His hair is … was darker than mine and he kept it short.” He swept a hand through his messy curls. “He was a big guy—the high school quarterback, just solid muscle, but a bit shorter than me. I was kind of skinny back then.”
    His smile faded. I was desperate to keep him positive and upbeat. He had a great smile and I wanted to see more of it.
    “That explains it.”
    He glanced over. “Explains what?”
    “The cut-offs you wear when you’re gardening. They look like they’re about to fall off.” Not that I’d mind.
    But instead of smiling again, he frowned.
    “Yeah.”
    I waited but he didn’t explain. I was about to explode with frustration. Trying to get him to talk was worse than pulling teeth.
    “And? Don’t just tell me ‘yeah’ and then go all quiet!”
    “Sorry,” he muttered.
    “For fuck’s sake, Jordan! Don’t be sorry all the time—just talk to me!”
    He looked at me warily.
    “Am I pissing you off?”
    “Hell, yeah!”
    “Sorry … I mean…” He sighed. “I didn’t think anyone would mind—about the clothes. When I left prison none of my old stuff fit anymore. They don’t let you leave in your TDCJ uniform.”
    “What the hell’s that?”
    He leaned back in his seat, rubbing his forehead.
    “Texas Department of Criminal Justice. We all wore uniforms so prisoners can be easily identified. I think it’s to depersonalize you, too, ya know, so corrections’ officers don’t form associations or whatever.”
    “Was it striped? Not that you wouldn’t look good in stripes.”
    I wanted to bring back his lovely smile but all he managed was a wry twist of his lips.
    “Ha, no stripes. No arrows, either. Nah, we had to wear these white cotton pullover shirts and white elastic pants. But those are State property. So when I was released, I got issued a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. It was all they had in my size. I don’t know, I didn’t ask. When I got home, I took some t-shirts and a couple of pairs of jeans from Mikey’s room. They’d kept it all, so … I really didn’t think it would matter…”
    He looked down.
    “I take it that didn’t go down well with your parents.”
    He shook his head sadly.
    “You could say that. Momma screamed at me then started cryin’. Dad yelled, sayin’ how I’d been home five minutes and had already upset my momma, and that I was an ungrateful bastard after they’d agreed to have me back … that it was disrespectin’ my dead brother … I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. I just needed some clothes.”
    He sounded so upset and frustrated, I wanted to lean over and give him a big hug. But I didn’t.
    “So what happened?”
    “They let me keep the shit I’d already taken. Momma said I’d ‘defiled’ them, so there was no point puttin’ them back. She got me some stuff from Goodwill after that.”
    I was so angry with his parents. What the hell was the matter with them?
    “Jordan, you didn’t do anything wrong. Your parents overreacted, that’s all. I guess that’s to be expected, but it’s not your fault. If they’d thought about it for two seconds they’d have realized you needed clothes to wear.”
    He shook his head in silent disagreement.
    I tried to think of a way to lighten the mood. “Anyway, I like the baggy shorts.”
    “You do?”
    “Sure,” I said, with an evil grin. “I keep wondering how far south they’re going to go. I’m thinking of running a pool. Maybe some of the moms in the neighborhood would like in on it.”
    He looked taken aback for a moment, then his shy