P.D. Workman - Vanishing Teardrops

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T AMARA SAT IN FRONT of the parole board, feeling like a bug under a magnifying glass. Everyone in the room had watched her enter the room. She stumbled, suddenly forgetting how to walk normally, too conscious of her feet and legs. Gomez directed her into the lone chair waiting front and center, as if she might not know where she was supposed to go otherwise.

She was in her orange uniform. They didnt get civvies for appearing in front of the board. It wasnt like she had anyone to fool, anyone who would think that she was not a convicted felon. Not like when she appeared in court and they were concerned that the jury not be influenced by the fact that she was a criminal. Though that had never turned out well. Her court appearances had been unmitigated disasters.

They had trusted her to appear in court to testify against the monsters and she had failed, her psychosis worsened by the stress. She didnt know what the verdicts had been in the cases against Mr. Baker and Glock, but she hadnt helped the prosecutor like they had expected her to. But that was all in the past. There was nothing she could do about it months later.

Tamara French, one of the parole board members said crisply, looking down at the papers in front of her. She was an older woman, probably a retired judge, deep frown lines carved in her face. Tamara had wondered whether she would know anyone on the board, but the faces were unfamiliar to her. People who didnt know her personally and wouldnt care whether she stayed in juvie or got out on parole. They were supposed to be unbiased, but Tamara didnt suppose they would be starting with the opinion that she was a good little girl who had just gotten mixed up in something that was beyond her control. Convicted of two counts of murder. Released on parole last year, but violated and returned to custody, the woman summarized.

Tamara nodded stiffly and swallowed, a lump in her throat.

Everyone was silent. Tamara looked around, waiting for someone to say something. Her first parole board had been pretty warm toward her. Shed had an exemplary record before her release a year before. But that had all changed and the board undoubtedly knew it.

As awkward as it had been to have them all looking at her when she entered the room, it was worse to have them all looking at their papers and files as if she werent sitting right there in front of her. Why wouldnt they look at her? Had they already decided, without even talking to her, without even hearing any evidence from anyone else, that they were going to turn her down? If they had already decided, why didnt they just say so and send her back away without going through a charade first?

Why dont you tell us why you violated last time? the frowning woman inquired. The way she said it made Tamara feel stupid for not offering up the information herself without prompting. But she had been following the rules she had been given when her lawyer had tried to prepare her to testify in court. Dont offer anything. Wait until a question is asked. Only answer what is asked and nothing more.

Uh Tamara cleared her throat. She needed to sound confident, not like a little girl, so she forced some strength into her voice. She imagined she was talking to one of the guards or one of the other juvies, not someone who controlled where her life was going to go for the next year. I made some mistakes I was contacted by an old cellmate and I didnt say anything to my PO. I was afraid hed send me back. She shrugged helplessly. I made a lot of stupid choices. I didnt think it was going to be so hard.

And how are things going to be any different this time? It was a man who asked this; short, balding, peering at his papers through his glasses and then at Tamara over the rims.

Tamara concentrated on not saying uh or um again. They wanted her to be clear and concise, to give the impression that she was being honest and up front and was intelligent enough to change what had gone wrong the last time and over the last year of her incarceration.

I know I need to use my PO as a resource. Not to treat him as an enemy. I know that hes there to help me, not just there to slap me back in juvie the first chance.

Tamara closed her eyes briefly, fighting back the memories of Glock telling her the system was rigged against her. That the whole thing was just a way to make it look like they were giving felons a chance when all they intended to do was revoke her parole and send her back at the first opportunity. She couldnt believe that. She had to believe Mrs. Henson and Zobel and the other people who wanted to help her. Collins was the one who had told her he would speak for her when she came before the parole board again. Hed had to send her back to juvie after everything she had done, but he said hed speak for her.

But Tamara had taken a quick glance around the room as she was directed to the hot seat in the middle of the room. Collins wasnt sitting up at the front with the board and he hadnt been sitting in the spectator seating. Tamaras eyes had been drawn to a woman there, square jawed, her blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, who Tamara didnt recognize. She hadnt been able to see the womans face, only the back of her head, but she wasnt familiar. Mrs. Henson was there. But there was no long-legged, bald black man. If Collins had been there, he would have been obvious. Tamara fought back the disappointment over his no-show. Would the board still consider giving her a second shot at parole so soon if he werent there to speak up for her?

Miss French.

Tamara opened her eyes and looked at the board members. The frowning woman was speaking again.

Your record since you were returned to custody has been interesting and not in a good way.

Yes, maam.

Im surprised that you would even apply for parole again after whats taken place over the past year.

Tamara swallowed and shifted in her seat. It would have been nice if theyd at least given her a drink of water. Surely everyone who sat in that hot seat must have a mouth as dry as hers. Were they intentionally making her as uncomfortable as they could?

The staff encouraged me to apply, she said. There should be letters there from Dr. Sutherland about my problems and from other administrators

A couple of the board members shuffled papers, but everyone had undoubtedly read them already.

Dr. Sutherland suggests that your psychosis was triggered by your pregnancy. A pregnancy that you kept a secret until it was too late to deal with it.