Coming Home

A Story by I.Schulte

Amelia Sparrow travels to pick up her brother-in-law from prison.

The song on the radio was familiar, and the three sang along. It beat the boredom and anxiety of driving 150 miles one way in the dead of winter. Only the right speaker worked. Amelia Sparrow and her two daughters, Charity and Sarah, singing loud and mostly out of tune, made up for the left speaker.

She was looking forward to getting her Brother-in-Law Joseph Sparrow from prison, but hesitant too. He had changed a lot. Prison got him sober, and the beginnings of a college education. He took mostly art classes. His first attempts weren't much, but he had a lot of time on his hands, and the paintings became very good. The one she particularly liked was of her late husband Carl. She had it framed and hung the image in the living room. Some nights she would sit on the couch, wrapped in their wedding quilt, and stare at his face. The image seemed almost to speak.

There was a deep love between the two brothers. Joe helped Carl through college, helping purchase books, fixing the car, anything he could. Education seemed to give Carl something he'd never had, a purpose of his own. Joe admired that.

The two married on the same day, and their first children, both girls, were born within weeks of each other. But there was still something missing in Joe's life. He lost it in the Army. Carl and Amelia could see it. He had lost his identity. It didn't take long before Joe tried to fill the void with drinking and gambling, only to return home drunk and broke. That was when Joe was arrested, and thrown in jail.

Eventually Joe's wife Lawra got her divorce, and took their daughter Crystal back to Minneapolis. They did come for Carl's funeral. Lawra knew Joe wouldn't be there. Every Christmas the 'sister-in-law's' exchange card and pictures. Lawra made it clear she didn't want any pictured of Joe, and Amelia respected that. She called her up two days ago and told her Joe was being released, and staying with them for a while. Lawra already knew the prison sent her a letter.

Amelia and Joe had talked about the girls on her visits to the prison. How they were doing in school and at home. He would also ask about Crystal, and Amelia would show him pictures Lawra sent to her. He missed them all so much. It took prison to show him what he had, and how easy it was to lose it.

There had been a lot of violence on the reservation in the last year. All Joe could do was watch the news on television, and read about it in papers. The names were familiar to him, some he had gone to school with, others he had raised glasses with at the local bars. There were many times he wished he hasn't done what he did, and was with his family.

He wanted to be at Carl’s funeral. He hadn't fully forgiven himself for not being home. Amelia said people came for all over. Carl was an 8th grade teacher at the reservation school. His death was so unexpected; things were going so well for their family.

It was only his years in prison that Joe began to care about what Carl had talked to him about for so many years. Joe always tried to run from his name, his color, and his heritage by any means he knew how. They usually took the form of drugs and alcohol.

As the music ended and another song began, the dream catcher that hung from the rear view mirror swayed to the beat of the music almost perfectly. Back and forth. The Eagle feather attached it fluttered in the air. Charity, the oldest of the two at 8, practiced her reading by announcing what every sign read as they passed by at 70 miles per hour. The most recent one stated: Do not pick up hitch-hickers. Amelia laughed to herself, especially those in blue uniforms and handcuffs.

Sarah was busy talking to her imaginary friend, Sky. There was something in the way Sarah described Sky. It reminded Amelia of pictures she'd seen of her Great Aunt Martha. She was a little older than Sarah when she died of pneumonia. If it was her, Sarah had a very special friend.

"Do you think Uncle Joe will remember me?" the youngest, Sarah, sat next to her mother strapped in a green car seat. Her hair was a deep brown, and pulled back out of her eyes by a beautifully beaded barrette given to her by Grandma for her third birthday.

"I think he will," Amelia nodded, the prison fence could be seen far in the distance. As they got closer, the children peered thru the dirty windows, noticing how high it was, so high it seemed to touch the clouds.

"And me?" Charity sat next to the door. The star quilt she held covered her from the cool breeze that flowed from a crack in the window seal. She looked at her mother for a moment.

"Most definitely." Amelia smiled back at her, and watched the children gaze back to see large brick buildings.

They wouldn't need to check in at the front gate, Joe said he would be waiting outside for them. Amelia hated the searches before entering on family day. That was partly why she rarely took the kids. Amelia didn't want her girls poked at, and Joe agreed. If she didn't bring the girls, she would have pictures. School ones of Charity, and the pictures of Sarah in her jingle dress taken at the school pow wows. These he treasured. He hung the pictures up in his cell next to the calendar marking of his final days. Sarah was only four months old when he went to prison. Since Carl died in a car accident, she had no one, and the visits with Joe were special.

They'd known each other since high school. Sarah couldn't remember him, but Charity had a few images in her mind. Most of them were of a drunken man who would visit, and leave mysteriously. The most dramatic memory was the day the police came to arrest her uncle Joe, mostly because they broke down the front door, and shoved her into a wall.

"Uncle Joe!" they both pointed and laughed, Sarah bounced up and down in her car seat. The pictures, drawings and letters he wrote especially for the girls made it easy for them to recognize him.

The only thing Joe Sparrow liked about prison was the free college level classes he took. Of those, art was his favorite, especially painting in water color. He figured when he got out it would be the cheapest medium to use. Looking back, most of his paintings were the places and people he knew in his childhood on the reservation. It struck him funny because he hadn't been truly there for a long time.

He stood by himself, just outside the prison gate. He was a tall man, who, along with painting, trained in the weight room. Amelia had secured him a job a couple months ago at the local food distribution center loading trucks. He figured it would be hard work and he should get into shape.

The man wore khaki military style pants, and a red T-shirt could be seen under the colorful jacket Amelia had made for him just for this special occasion. She was impressed how well the pull over jacket fit.

He waved his hand up in the air as she maneuvered the truck next to him. She barely stopped when Charity jumped out, and into his out stretched arms.

"Uncle Joe, do you remember me?" she pressed her face into his chest and wrapped her arms tightly around him.

"You are my little flower." he hugged her back. Amelia undid Sarah's seat, and she flung herself from the truck, awkwardly stepping off the large step from truck to frozen ground, and making her way to the Uncle. Her mukluks scrunched under the new fallen snow.

Joe put Charity down and looked at the little girl. She was more beautiful than her pictures. She was definitely Carl and Amelia's daughter, the huge smile, and her giggle gave that away.

"Uncle Joe, do you remember me?" he had to bend over to grab the girl into his arms. He flung her up, and caught her in a bear hug. They felt so warm, and innocence surrounded their voices. It had been three years; the baby was no longer a baby.

"You are my little little star."

Amelia made her way around the front of the truck, she didn't even bother closing the door, the heat didn't work well enough to keep it trapped.

Joe put the child down and stood looking at Amelia. He smiled and shook his head. He couldn't think of anything to say, so he simply stretched out his arms, and reached for her.

"I am glad you are finally coming home." she did like her children, and hugged the large man. His long hair was soft to the touch, and he smelled like antiseptic.

"Let's go home." he let go of Amelia, grabbed his only bag in one arm, and Sarah in the other. Charity had her arm around his waist. He could barely move, but he didn't mind.

Amelia sat back down on the seat. There was what her mother called a Chief Joseph Blanket covering the entire seat, from door to door. She had to use it because the seat was ripped to shreds.

Joe handed Sarah to her mother and she strap her in. "She has gotten so big." he moved out of the way, and Charity popped into the truck while he threw his bag into the rusted bed.

It was very late when they passed Jimmy's Bar and Eats, it marked the last curve in the road. The driveway was marked with four round orange bicycle reflectors nailed to a post next to the mailbox. Nothing much has changed Joe thought to himself.

Charity had fallen asleep in his arms, and Sarah used his shoulder as a pillow. If it wasn't for the radio, and Joe's singing, Amelia would have fallen asleep. He couldn't move without waking one or the other, so he tried his best not to, except to re-cover them with the quilt. He recognized it, his mother had made it for him when he was in the army. She was very proud of him.

The path was familiar to Joe, and it ended at the government house. Amelia pulled in and parked outside of the flimsy garage. It barely stood next to the house. She turned the engine off.

"I'll take her, you grab Sarah." Joe opened the door, quietly lifting the sleeping body. Amelia turned off the headlights and then pulled Sarah out of the seat, and into her arms.

Joe opened the front door and proceeded in, they never locked the door accept when they were home sleeping. Carl never got around to replacing the locks broken by the sheriff when he busted into their home looking for Joe. Amelia felt their dog, Lone Ranger, would have dinner of anyone who entered. Of course he was asleep in the kitchen, and barely moved his head when Joe walked in. Well, he looked like a threat.

Amelia followed behind "Just put them on the couch," and they did. Leaving them dressed except for their shoes and their jackets, Amelia covered the two with the star quilt they'd used to keep warm. Joe returned to the truck to grab his bag.

As he walked back, he happened to look up. The stars broke thru the clouds for a moment; he could see the northern lights bounce with color. It had been a long time since he'd noticed the stars; they didn't appear so bright in prison. He took the colors as a sign, he was truly home. His home.