“Home, sweet home.”
The hefty CO placed his right paw on the small of Eddie’s back and pushed. The force sent him stumbling into the center of the cell. Eddie broke his fall with the palms of his hands. Standing back up, he flexed his arms and shook his head to reorient himself to the dark, dank space. Eddie stood still and remained silent, listening as the cell door locked, and the guard’s footsteps faded on the catwalk. Certain that no one could see or hear him, Eddie balled his right hand into a fist and thrust it forward with a muted, “YES!”, celebrating the performance of a lifetime, his version of a victory dance in the end zone following the winning touchdown.
Eddie was pleased—elated—with his role in the lawyer/client interview room. He had delivered his lines with conviction, never wavering from the script he’d etched into his gray matter like words etched into stone. As rehearsed, Eddie had started his tale of woe in the character of the demoralized lifer, the downcast convict with no hope of escaping prison alive. The whole bit about the pine box parole was brilliant. Pine box parole. What a line! Violin music should have been rising and falling in the background. A funeral dirge for a hopeless soul.
Later in the interview, he’d hit his second mark, shifting from the total loser to the proud survivor, clinging to hope. “We’ll fight the good fight.” Eddie was certain he’d expressed his confidence in her with heart-felt authenticity. Stroking her ego was fucking brilliant. Gushing about her being a “great lawyer” and “amazing person” was perfect. Who doesn’t love praise? He’d cemented her trust, and he hadn’t departed from his oft-told narrative of the case itself. The coerced confession, the planted evidence, the bogus witnesses, the guilty verdict, the ten years of torture at Attica. Now, Eddie’s practice and patience were paying off. Now, Eddie Nash was boarding the Exoneration Express.
Yes, Eddie felt good. Real good. Nevertheless, there was something eating at him. What was it? Laura Tobias, the pretty white girl with the fancy law degree and impressive job with the Council Against Wrongful Convictions. Still, she was not his ideal attorney. She was so young. Her record was fairly thin. Does she know what she’s doing?
Eddie had imagined his ideal attorney for years, in the darkness of his cell. For years, in the stillness of the night, he’d heard the voice of his perfect lawyer. Eloquent pleas resounded through the courtroom in his mind. Eddie’s heaven-sent savior was a handsome, square-shouldered, African-American male who wore a three-piece Armani suit and spoke with a voice as deep and smooth as blended whiskey. A Morgan Freeman voice. This brilliant black attorney—a hybrid of Johnny Cochran and Thurgood Marshall—would thunder against this terrible miscarriage of justice. Articulate. Bold. Learned. Fearsome. The man’s twenty-dollar words rolled through his imaginary courtroom like distant cannon fire:
“May it please this honorable forum. Edward Thomas Nash stands before you, the essence of innocence. Mr. Nash is a victim of venal allegations, overzealous prosecution, and unbounded prejudice. I beseech you, do not be distracted by the distortions and deceptions of his shameless tormentors. Look beyond their subterfuge to see the truth. Edward Thomas Nash is innocent. Return this man to his family.”
In the end, Eddie and his savior would emerge from the courtroom, arm-in-arm, basking in the cheers of the crowd, glowing in the bright lights of the TV cameras.
Laura Tobias had come out of nowhere. Two months ago, she’d sent him a letter under of the banner of the Council Against Wrongful Convictions: We have an excellent opportunity to vacate your conviction. Ms. Tobias had followed up with a few introductory phone calls. Just to feel each other out. Then, for the first time, in that cramped room, she’d looked into his eyes, and Laura Tobias had seen what he’d wanted her to see. Nothing more. Nothing less.
To Eddie, she’d looked like a pretty co-ed from a private girl’s college. She’d sounded like a rookie lawyer who’d learned the law from a textbook. Under the surface, though, he’d sensed something more. What was it? What did she have? The woman came off as whip-smart, knowledgeable, and committed to righting the wrongs of a broken legal system. She had a few years of courtroom experience, and had gotten a half-dozen inmates out of lockup. At this point, Eddie figured that he was lucky to have her. Plus, Morgan Freeman, Johnny Cochran, and Thurgood Marshal were nowhere in sight.
Eddie walked to his bunk, sat down, and placed his head in his hands. In the dark world behind his eyelids, he saw home.