"Twelve bottom! You have a lay-in!"As I signed my initials on the lay-in sheet to acknowledge my reception of the lay-in. I saw the word "parole" beside my name. Earlier than expected but hopefully I'll get an answer instead of the delays I've seen with some guys.
Talking with Alan a few nights ago, I remarked that I wouldn't even mind getting a year set-of. I've definitely been growing in this place God prepared for me, physically and spiritually. I'd rather be home, but I could be comfortable here close to home, learning so much.
I went down to the parole office this morning and waited in line for a few minutes for my turn to see the unit officer. There was a weight on me as I saw several men's futures told to them bluntly through the windowed steel door. A few guys couldn't hide their reaction and their faces told the story upon exiting.
My turn. I walked in, sat down, and answered the officer's question of how I am doing today with nervous , excited anxious and hopeful.
"Don't be nervous," said the officer. Yeah, right, I thought. You're holding my future in your hands right now.
I handed him my lay-in and he searched the stack of parole answers for the one with my name on it.
"I don't know how you're going to take this," he said as he passed the sheet across his desk to meet my hands. "You got an FI18. I think you should be happy, but some guys aren't."
In my head I did a fist pump of triumph. I made parole.
I figure you can make parole when the justice system was heavy-handed to begin with. But even now I was given an F!18 parole on condition that I complete eighteen months of treatment. After a quick calculation while I was walking back to my pod, I realized that not only would I be getting home only ten months early, but the eighteen month is longer than half of the time I've completed. The excitement drained faster than a frat boy's keg. How am I going to handle this?
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