The Sound of Hope

The warden looked over his small, square bifocals at Richard, whose black eye was swelling down, as well as the smaller cuts and bruises around his thin frame. The warden lowered a request form by Richard and slowly removed his bifocals.

“If this does end up getting approved, it will be months from now,” the warden cautioned.

“Why is that?” Richard inquired.

“Because the only people who haven’t requested a transfer are the reason everyone has. Big Bill and whatnot, all them folk that are causing trouble.”

“They’re not ‘causing trouble.’” Richard muttered between his teeth. “They’re doing things to me I can’t…”

The pain in Richard’s eyes was all too familiar for the warden; and unfortunately his heart hat hardened from years of growing used to inmates like Big Bill.

“I’m sure you’re not the only one, Richard. No one likes being in prison, but everyone’s in prison for a reason.” The warden reached behind him and grabbed folder off a bookshelf and placed Richard’s request form inside. “Don’t get your hopes up about this. It’s unlikely you’ll get transferred to a new prison just from a few bullies—”

“They’re not ‘bullying’ me, they’re doing things to me—”

The warden put up his hand to stop him. “It happens to everyone here. You get on the wrong side of some sour-minded criminals and it’s a shame.” The warden returned the folder, and Richard saw the folder disappear in a row of identical folders. “Try making the best of what you’ve got here, otherwise it’ll keep being miserable. You understand? I can’t guarantee a transfer.”

Richard didn’t respond. He looked at his feet and felt a hot wash of shame as the warden denied his horrible confession.

From the small window above his bed, the moonlight cut into Richard’s prison cell, casting white beams of light on the hard floor beside a grimy toilet. Richard looked at the illuminated floor from his small bed and recalled the dread of his existence in this prison. He didn’t find prison itself to be entirely miserable but he couldn’t bear the shame of what Big Bill and hi posse had done to him, and likely to others.

Richard contemplated the warden’s advice, “Try making the best of what you’ve got here, otherwise it’ll keep being miserable.” It felt embarrassing having been given advice by someone who didn’t understand; the warden downplayed the events and in some ways denied what happened to Richard. The already burdening pit of shame in his stomach deepened.

What was he to do to make the best of it, he thought. This wasn’t an attitude he needed to change, he wasn’t searching to make lemonade from the lemons life gave him. He was trying to get out of here, at least out of this prison.

Richard then heard a faint tink from outside the prison. The tink was distant but clear, like rocks hitting each other. The sound was repeated itself – tink, tink, tink – but it was a constant, consistent sound. It sounded manual, like someone was making that sound.

The tinking sounded like someone chipping at something, as if someone was chiseling through rock. For the sake of his hope, Richard quickly dismissed the possibility this was another inmate digging his way out. He couldn’t guarantee it and there would be no point in believing so. But as the tinking continued, the thought grew. Was it possible someone was escaping from the prison, he wondered. As the warden had said, other inmates were experiencing the same trauma Richard was; and like the warden also said, other inmates were waiting in line to be transferred with the unlikelihood most of them will. Perhaps this inmate was making the best of what he has.

Richard listened as the tinking filled his spirit with hope. The sentence he was serving was eight years and he hadn’t served one yet; but the length of the sentence paled in comparison to the humiliation of Big Bill. Hearing the sound of someone being freed from his abuse strengthened Richard. And hearing the sound of someone escaping made Richard consider the chance he could too. The sound of hope.

The next night Richard crept in his cell towards the toilet. He had found rocks around the grounds he thought might be sharp enough to make some traction. Richard shimmied the toilet carefully to the right and began chipping away in the place of the toilet – small enough so he could put the toilet overtop his tunnel.

Richard chipped quietly, making little progress but enough of the floor was coming up for him to keep at it. Then he heard the faint tinking again. It was so much louder than his soft chiseling, he was certain other inmates and even guards could hear it. He could also hear the wind outside; perhaps wherever his fellow escapee was, the wind was louder in his cell to make him believe he could chisel louder and harder. Regardless, the company of the distant escapee fueled him. And he continued to build his tunnel.

For months Richard chipped under the toilet in his cell and chiseled a tunnel deep enough that he had completely disappeared from inside the tunnel. He didn’t know how much longer had to go or exactly which direction, but he figured if he at least made his way towards the wall in front of him, rather than try and find some hidden route beneath him, he could figure it out then. His best assumption was that the tunnel would only take a few more months. Richard believed he was already half way finished.

Several months later Richard had dug the tunnel so deep that he had to crawl back up to see what the light was like outside to determine whether he had more time or not. He had collected more rocks from the grounds and ground them to pebbles from chipping them apart. Suddenly, Richard chiseled against the stone in front of him and a small speck of light shone through. It was sunlight. He had made it to the wall. A rush of joy swept over him like a boy that’s found his lost dog. He had almost escaped, perhaps the next night he would. And possibly Richard might find his fellow escapee. But quickly he realized that it was sunlight and that he needed to return back to cover his tunnel.

Richard climbed up the tunnel and returned to his cell. He could hear the footsteps of guards coming closer as they came to inspect the inmates. Richard quickly shimmied the toilet back over the tunnel and shot up by the cell bars just as the warden appeared before him.

The warden smiled at Richard. The guards opened the cell and let the warden inside.

“Richard,” the warden said cheerfully. “Good morning.”

“Morning.”

“How did you sleep?”

“Okay.”

“Well, I have news for you. This was your last night of sleep here. You were approved.”

Dread poured into Richard like boiling water. “Approved for what?”

“You’re being transferred to another prison. I can see that things haven’t changed unfortunately.” The warden tilted his head in examination at Richard’s fresh beatings. “Well, things should be looking up, hm? We’ll return in an hour.”

“No!” Richard cried out.

“No?” the warden slowly spun back around.

“No, I don’t want to be transferred.”

“You don’t want to be transferred? Why is that?”

“Things have gotten better. Big Bill doesn’t come near me anymore.”

“Richard, I can see on your face that is not the case.”

“This is from something else. I fell down.”

The warden looked at his guards and shook his head. “The man’s so scared he’s in denial.” The warden pitied Richard and put his hand on his shoulder. “You’re almost out of here. Don’t worry about Big Bill or any of them other folk he runs around with.”

The warden and the guards exited Richard’s cell. Richard felt like crumbling to the floor. Almost a year of chiseling a tunnel, escaping this hell, was robbed from him. And the remainder of his eight year sentence would have to be fulfilled. What just a year ago would have been hopeful news now brought Richard to his breaking point.

Richard sat on a bus outside of the grounds watching the inmates wander aimlessly. He swallowed hard and felt the pain in his hand ache from years of chiseling wasted. He wondered if the other escapee would make it. Perhaps he could make it for both of them.

The wind picked up and Richard suddenly heard the tinking again. It worried him that the escapee would do it in broad daylight; he was sure to be caught. But Richard looked out the window and saw a flagpole with a small chain hooked at the top, tinking against the side of the metal pole – tink, tink tink. The sound of Richard's hope chimed against a flagpole, convincing him for a year he had any reason to believe things would get better. The sound of someone who understood him. There was never anyone escaping at all. Just in his imagination.