Empathy

[intheheart]

Title: Empathy
Rating: PG-13
Summary: I met Jonathan Ledbetter while I was working in the prison library.
Warnings: Swearing, mention of murder
Notes: This would've been posted before midnight if my computer had quit shutting down on me.


I met Jonathan Ledbetter while I was working in the prison library.

I like the library. It's quiet, and the librarian is nice—well, to me anyway. She's this tiny little black girl, cutest thing I've ever seen, maybe ninety pounds soaking wet, and unruly inmates live in terror of her wrath. Ms. Dobson. I like her. She reminds me of Danny.

Anyway, Ledbetter. I was working the library, pulling books for the cart, and the guard comes in with the list of requests from death row. Normally us regular inmates aren't supposed to have contact with them, the guys on death row, I mean, but the guards are lazy as fuck so half the time we're the ones taking them their books or meals or whatever. You wonder how guys get stabbed? Yeah, it's 'cause the guards can't be bothered to do their jobs.

I'm gonna get in trouble for that, but fuck it, not much else they can do to me.

So the guard comes in and throws me the list, tells me to get it together and take it around to death row with him. I do, 'cause you do what the guards tell you unless you want to get in trouble, and I notice while I'm pulling the books together that somebody asked for two of the cheesiest, crappiest, stupidest romance novels we've got in stock.

Most of the guys on death row, they want legal stuff, thrillers, uplifting books; self-help and the Bible and that kinda crap. So I see a guy asking for romance novels, I get a little curious. Not gonna ask the fucking guard, but it's something to think about anyway.

Turns out, it was Ledbetter who wants them.

You know about Ledbetter. Everybody in the damn country knows about Ledbetter. Fucker kills five guys and then shoots the cop who comes to arrest him, then won't even defend himself, yeah, you hear about it. Drug deal gone wrong, they try to tell us, but shit, man, I used to deal. You don't stab guys, not like he did. You don't cut their shit off. You just shoot them and move on.

Not that I've shot anybody. I wanna make that real clear. I dealt drugs. I did drugs. I didn't kill anybody. Not my thing.

But, yeah, Ledbetter. Not the kind of guy you'd expect to be reading romance novels, right? But there he is, larger than life and twice as mean, big old white guy with mean eyes, and he's taking these crappy-ass romance novels from me and nodding at me like, 'thanks, man.'

Eerie as shit, I can tell you.

Anyway, I go around the next week to collect their shit and give them the new stuff, and when I give him his new set of bodice-rippers, Ledbetter asks if I can stick around for a minute.

Guard doesn't seem to give a shit and I'm not gonna tell this guy no, so I say okay and we get to talking. Just shooting the shit, random stuff. He asks what I'm in for, I tell him crack. I don't ask what he's in for, because I know and he knows I know, but we talk about crack some and life on the outside, what we remember. He asks if I got a girl.

I don't. I don't have a girl. I don't even have many friends, though a couple people still write to me and I get Christmas cards from my mom, regular. But I tell him yes. I still don't know why I did that.

He gets this real sad look, which is weird on a face that mean, and he tells me, "You hang on to her. Do whatever you gotta do, but hang on to her."

About then the guard tells me to fuck off, so I fuck off back to the library. Ms. Dobson gets me to shelve books for a while. And next week, I go back, and I get enough courage to ask Ledbetter what the fuck the romance novels are about.

"I like to read 'em," he tells me, which, again, weirdest shit ever. "They're nice, you know, all calm and shit. Things turn out right. You know."

And the weird thing is I kinda get it. Like, I don't read a whole lot—Ms. Dobson's always getting on my shit about that—but when I do, I like reading science fiction 'cause it's nothing like life in here. And romance novels, they're predictable. You know who's gonna kiss who and when they're gonna fuck and what's gonna happen in the end. It's always gonna be happily ever after. I can see why Ledbetter liked it.

So we kept on talking, and a couple months after we met, word comes down that he's got an execution date. I kinda felt bad about that. I mean, he is a bad dude, but he reads romance novels. You gotta kinda like him, right? A little, anyway.

And he pulls me aside the next time I see him. 'Course he does.

"I heard," I tell him. "I'm sorry, man."

He just shrugs, doesn't even say shit about it. Instead, he's like, "Is the library gonna get the new book by Sarah MacLean soon?"

Sarah MacLean's his favorite, I dunno why. Ms. Dobson likes her shit too which is why we've got a lot of them. Anyway, I shrug. "Dunno. Probably not. Funding got cut."

Which I know because Mrs. Dobson's been screaming about it. But anyway.

"Shit," he says, and he gets that weird sad look again. "I was hoping to read it before I go."

"I'm sorry, man," I say, 'cause it's all I can say, you know, and this time his weird look is all hopeful.

"Hey," he says. "Hey. Maybe you could, I dunno. You could ask your girl? See if she'll grab a copy. I'll pay you. Both of you. I got money."

Remember that girl I don't have? Yeah. I kinda squirm then.

"I'll, uh, I'll ask," I tell him, and book it on out of there.

At first I'm like, no way. I'll just tell him my girl said no and move on from there. Not like he can do anything to me with the guard right there, and anyway, I think we're kinda friends. Well, not friends. Not enemies. We're not enemies.

But the thing is, we are not enemies, which is pretty much as close as you get to friends with a guy on death row, and shit, man, the least I can do is try, you know? I still got a few friends. It's just a stupid book.

But again, you can get into real serious shit trying to smuggle something to a guy on death row. I mean, yeah, it's just a stupid book, but you never know what the guards are gonna decide. I could land myself in solitary for the rest of my time inside, Jesus. And we aren't friends.

And I kinda like him. And he's got nobody else.

I called my mom. I asked her. It was the least I could do, you know?

Not that it matters, 'cause as it turned out I didn't see him after that. They pulled me off the library for a while 'cause I got into some shit in the yard—look, the guy punched me first, okay, and you can't just take that shit—and I didn't see Ledbetter again.

I hear he went nice and quiet, just lay down on the table like a little kid going to sleep. You wouldn't expect that from him, but he did.

I hope somebody got him his book, man. I just... I hope somebody got him his book.