The Visiting Clothes

His father’s letter had insisted that he wear his forest green blazer, khaki pants, and Top Sider boat shoes to visiting day at the Jamestown prison, and Julius had obeyed without protest. But now he stood waiting for the doors to open in the wilting August heat looking like a polo player. The other boys ran around their mothers' legs in Raiders tee shirts and basketball sneakers firing imaginary tat-tat-tat machine guns and making faces at the mirrored glass of prison windows. His mother’s southern accent had quickly made friends and she was telling the other wives, girlfriends, mothers,“First they step on your toes, then they step on your heart.” An old black woman in a Sunday dress and fake pearls nodded her head in approval.

“Nah,” said her daughter-in-law, “first they steal your heart, then they take your wallet.” Everyone laughed. Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat bellowed the little boy machine guns. Sweat slid down Julius's arms drop by drop. When the doors opened, a yellow haired woman in a guard uniform, who was called Big Bird behind her back, escorted them down the hall past the cabinet filled with convict crafts—gaudy turquoise rings and picture frames made from the woven foil of cigarette packets. When it was their time to check in, the woman looked down at Julius and then at his mother, “He can’t go in there dressed like that,” she said.

“Why not?” asked his mother.

“Those clothes,” said Big Bird, “look like a guard uniform. It’s against regulations.”

Julius's mom looked from the guard to him. They both had on khaki pants and green jackets. “Well, I’ll be,” said his mom and burst out laughing. Some of the nearby ladies did too. Julius's face turned red. “We’ll have to go get you changed into some jeans.”

“Can’t do that either,” said Big Bird, “No denim.”

“Why not?”

From behind someone spoke up, “Because in case of a riot they shoot anyone that looks like an inmate.” Everyone but Julius and Big Bird laughed.

So they drove back up the road to the thrift store that specialized in acceptable visitation clothing. Julius asked his mother, “Why does Daddy want me to dress up to visit him in prison?”

“Because, honey, he doesn’t want us to embarrass him.”

Julius thought then that it must be very hard for his dad to have to wear the same denim work clothes as all the other prisoners, day in and day out. He glanced at his own green blazer in the side mirror, though, and just felt alone. “He’s the one in jail,” Julius said.

At the thrift store, Julius picked out the smallest pair of corduroy pants and a belt to hold them up. His mom found a tee shirt that said Copperopolis Resort and they drove back to the prison. As they walked down the halll to the desk, Julius sang tat-a-tat-tat under his breath and fired his index fingers at imaginary fathers wearing green.