"You did this, Mamushka!" He hisses into the reciever "You put this glass between us!"
His finger thumps against the plexiglass. I look on with no words to say. He continues to rant as he thumps again and again against the clear barriar. I look down to see the large finger accusing me. His hands are like his fathers, large, stuby, warm and calloused. A lot of him comes from his father. He slams the phone down and stands to walk away. I want to argue and urge him to come back but all I can do is cry. Even through my tears I can tell he has beefed up and he lumbers slightly as he disappears from view.
I place the phone back in its cradle as I bite back whimpers. I continue to look for him even though I know he is long gone.
"What are you talkin' to a ghost!? Ass out of the seat when the conversation is done, Inmate!" A guard barks.
Fine. Let the little boy play big man. It means nothing to me.
I stand on shakey limbs and make my way back to my bunk in single file with the other women who finished their conversation early. I wipe my tears away for the time being and attempt to steady my breathing. I remind myself to hold it together until I get to my bunk. As much as I am aching they cannot see my fall apart. Not here. Not now.
I am not biting back tears because Dimitri has found a new woman. Frankly, its a relief to know that the expectation on loyalty is finally over not that I'm off to fall into the arms of another convict. But I think my marriage waiting on the outside was the final strand of normalcy I had left, perhaps that's why I lost my temper. Dimitri is not and never will be a man I will cry over. But my boys, oh my boys know how to break their mother's heart, especially Visaly. My Vasya.
Every time I see him, I don't see the father of two with worry lines framing his handsome face. I see the little squaking infant in my arms. He was a funny creature when he was born. I remember laying in the hospital bed as my son is placed back in my arms after he was bathed and bundled. He gurgled and emitted a small whimper.
"Shhhh I know moya lyubov' I'm here. I'm here." I cooed to him "You're safe. You're with Mama still, just in a different way."
His eyes peaked open, large, unfocused eyes looked up at me in search for all the answers. His little fist next to his ear opened slightly as if he was about to hold up a finger and say "You have one chance to convince me." His dark eyes, his large hands, his funny ears were all his father but the penatrating stare was all me. What a perfect moment for mother and son. Of course, that was when Dimitri leaned in to place a loud kiss against my ear and happily exclaim that he had won the bet against his friends on wether or not I could give him another boy.
"Yes, Dimitri" I replied blandly "Nine months of sickness and fifteen hours of unrelenting agony was all so you could win a bet."
He laughed loudly in reply, drunk from the celebratory drinks he had during my time in labor. In response, the baby began to cry.
I thank God above that Carol didn't demand my attention when I returned to C Block. I made haste to my bunk and collapsed into my pillow. Hot tears burst through my barely contained control and I allowed myself to wallow in my son's words. I realize as my tears soak the joke of a head rest that if any of my other children had accused me so harshly I wouldn't be so shaken up. Hurt, absolutely. But no shaken so thorougly. I roll to my side and gaze upon the pictures of my grandchildren. I realize that Vasya has been a witness, a springboard and somewhat of a contributer to my life of crime.
My Vasya. It begins and ends with him.