Camille's First Visit (conclusion)

Things continued along those lines for quite a while. It was very uncomfortable for me but it didn’t seem to bother SueAnn at all. She was enjoying my company and that was all that mattered to her at the time. She always did have a way of living in the moment. I used to envy that about her when we were children. I was always the one worrying about the consequences – what other people might think, how much trouble we would get into, etc. SueAnn, on the other hand, just did what she wanted and enjoyed herself. She worried about all the other stuff if and when it actually happened.

I realize now that I was just exercising good judgment and self control – two things that seem to have been omitted from SueAnn’s genetic make up. I guess you could say that’s been the story of her life. I can’t tell you how many times she’s paid the price for her bad judgment. Every time something awful happened to her, I would think ‘maybe this will be her wake-up call’. I kept hoping she’d have a moment of clarity somewhere along the way and turn everything around for herself. As it turns out, even prison wasn’t a big enough wake-up call. In true SueAnn fashion, she managed to make a bad situation even worse.

Eventually, the small talk came to an end. One of the guards popped in with the five minute warning. The hour was almost over. “You’re comin’ back, right?” she was begging more than asking.

The question threw me off guard a little bit. I hadn’t anticipated it. I don’t know why, though. It was a logical question. I guess I just hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Well, I’m only in town for the day. I’m on my way to a job assignment.” She just stared at me. “I have to do some research for a new documentary. I’m headed straight back to the airport when I leave here.”

“But you can come back when you’re done, right?” This was breaking my heart. “How long will you be gone?”

“The assignment is supposed to take a few weeks. I should be able to come back after that.”

“Can you write me? Maybe send some pictures? They do let me have mail in the hole, you know. And I can write you back.”

“Sure.” What else could I say? “I’ll give you my address. My mail gets forwarded when I’m on assignment.”

“You’ll have to give it to the guard. You ain’t allowed to give me nothing directly. It all has to go through them.”