"The Last Conversation"

Posted on Fri Jan 6th, 2023 @ 3:50am by Lieutenant Tate Sullivan Ph.D.

Mission: MISSION 0 - History Speaks
Location: New Stellarton Prison, Earth
Timeline: 10 Years Ago
1217 words - 2.4 OF Standard Post Measure

Tate awaited the arrival of her mother with a mixture of anticipation, sorrow, and excitement. Although she had visited the prison, and in particular the prison's visitor's room, many times now, this time felt different. She couldn't put her finger on why. As she rubbed the back of her neck to soothe the hairs that had stood on end, she looked around. The guards were the same, patrolling the aisles and giving prisoner and visitor alike the same glare of warning. If visitation rules were violated in any way, both parties could experience the loss of visiting privileges temporarily or permanently, a fate worse than death for long-termers like Ava Salinger. No, the guards were behaving exactly as they always did. The prisoners, and hell, even their visitors looked the same.

So what was wrong? Tate reasoned she was just nervous about telling her mother her news. There was a time when Tate wouldn't have cared about telling her mother anything, the anger she felt toward her mother for her abandonment and neglect practically rolling off of her in waves. It had taken time, but the two women had formed, if not a mother-daughter bond, at least a friendship between the two of them. Sullivan was now old enough to understand and to really take in how her mother's own history of childhood abuse and neglect had affected her into her adulthood, making drugs and other vices attractive. That these vices would eventually land her in prison was not something the older woman would have wanted to contemplate or even been capable of contemplating, but now clean and sober, she would be the first to say this particular ending would've been obvious to a blind Klingon.

Sullivan was pulled out of her reverie when Ava Salinger collapsed into the chair in front of her. Had she tripped? Tate wasn't sure. One minute she wasn't there, and the next moment, she was. Immediately, she searched her mother's face and even spared a glance up toward the guard in askance. He wasn't one Tate recognized. He must not have been in the room milling about when she had gotten lost in thought. Although her gaze immediately returned to her mother, for a brief second, she thought she noticed the guard smirking at the two of them. Was that really what she had seen? Returning her gaze back to her mother, one would never know anything was amiss. Her smile was as wide as Tate had ever seen it, as if they were two grown women about to have lunch after a long absence.

"Tate, sweetie, it's so good to see you."

Even now, Tate might have normally bristled at this approach. It reflected an intimacy she no longer felt. Sarcastically, she would've said she lost it by the time she entered her fifth foster home. Today, however, she was too excited and too absorbed in her own news to pick at such an old wound. Reaching across the gap between them, Tate gave her mother a quick embrace. They were allowed two per visit, one at the beginning and one at the end. Did her mother seem even thinner than last visit? Tate wasn't sure, but as she sat back down, she thought she could see sweat across her mother's brow.

Still feeling the guard's eyes lingering on the two of them, it wasn't until she saw him move away that Tate asked, "Are you OK?"

Before Sullivan could even get the full question out, it seemed her mother was waving away her question, as if it were the silliest question in the world, or at least the most irrelevant. "I'm fine," she assured, rolling her eyes for emphasis. "Prison isn't exactly a day at the spa, you know."

Fifteen year old Tate would've seen such a comment as self-pitying, but adult Tate could see it was just her attempt at humor. Later, she would realize it was also indicative of a mother trying to reassure her child.

Tate hesitated for a few moments, trying to decide if there was more going on, but then finally, she relented and offered, "I have news. I've been given a posting. I'm to report to the USS Challenger tonight as a psychologist and victim advocate... it means I won't be able to see you as often," she added quickly. Sullivan thought ripping off this particular emotional Band-Aid would release the knot in her stomach, but strangely enough, it seemed to only tighten.

Ava's eyes glistened, but with practiced ease, she kept the tears at bay. "That's wonderful… I mean your posting, not that you will be visiting me less," she added with an awkward chuckle. "This is everything you ever wanted, and we both knew this day was going to come. I could never resent you for it, Tate. We both know you became the person you became in spite of me, not because of me." There was no trace of self-pity in these words, just matter-of-factness and pure sobriety.

Feeling a lump form in her throat, Tate struggled to find words before finally they came tumbling out. "I'll write to you… Every chance I get, I promise. I'll write to you so much you'll probably get sick of me, or at least my so-called adventures. Just my luck, I'll probably get claustrophobic and come to think of myself as trapped in a tin can."

"Oh, I wouldn't know anything about that," Ava replied dryly, suddenly aware she might have come across as self pitying again, knowing how much young Tate resented it.

The two women locked eyes and it was Tate who was the first to burst into laughter. "Gods, have I always been this self-absorbed? I haven't even asked you what's new with you here."

"You have a long way to catch up with me when it comes to self-absorption. It's OK to be excited. You've earned it. Things here are about the same. People come, people go you know, it's prison, not much to write home about."

Was that fear in her mother's chuckle Tate heard? Rubbing the back of her neck even harder than she had when she was waiting, Sullivan felt as if the nearby guard was staring a hole in the back of her head. It scared the hell out of her, and for several moments, she tried to speak but no words would come out. Finally, she said, "Mom, are you sure you're o--"

Her words were cut off by the sound of the klaxon announcing the end of visitation. This time around, the noise was so jarring, Tate thought she could feel it in her teeth.

The next thing Tate realized, her mother had practically launched herself in Sullivan's direction, wrapping her arms around her daughter fiercely. It was the tightest hug Tate could remember receiving in memory. It squeezed all the air out of her.

Before she could get any words out, the guard was already leading Ava back to her cell.

Her mother's parting words would stay with her for the rest of that day and for all the years to come, for this time was the last time she would see her mother alive. "No tin can will ever suppress the spirit. You were born to thrive, Tate, never forget that."