Gonex Forever, Part 1

Gonex Forever, Part 1

Greg had been living quietly in Ashland for four years. A small town in Oregon, it was the perfect place to recover from a nasty divorce – one that had left him physically, emotionally and financially drained.

At 38, he was at a turning point in his life. Find a new woman? A new career? Move to a tropical island? Greg frequently daydreamed about his next move as he lifted boxes and painted sets for a local theatre company. The job paid very little and had very little responsibility – exactly what Greg needed to clear his head and bide his time while he planned his next move.

It was two years since the divorce – yet it played through Greg’s mind with a vivid immediacy, a horror film with a beginning but no end. For awhile the divorce was so painful all he could feel was a painful numbness. But now -- here in the cool clear safety of this little Oregon town -- Greg began to let the memories crack through his defensive armor, hoping they would be the seeds of healing rather than a continued source of despair.

A pretty face came to Greg’s mind, a cheerful blond woman with shoulder-length brown hair. This woman was Greg’s ex-wife and the mother of his 5-year old daughter. Greg visualized her turning to stone, punishment for the lies and torment she had subjected him to. He tried to imagine her crumbling into a million pieces and then scattering into dust. Why had she lied to the court like that? Why did she have to so destroy my life, my reputation, my livelihood, everything? Greg stared out the window at the snowy hillside and trees before him and tried to erase all this from his mind.

In California, where Greg and Susan lived together, Greg was now classified as a sex offender. Susan had successfully convinced the court that Greg had molested their daughter Tina on multiple occasions. Despite passing a lie-detector test, the jury fell for Susan’s story, aided by testimony from “experts” on child molestation. Last minute pleading by Greg’s lawyer managed to persuade the judge to suspend a ten-year prison sentence – as long as Greg agreed to leave the state of California forever and pay childcare for life; he was also forbidden from ever seeing his daughter again.

This arrangement partially backfired on Susan; by exiling her husband to Oregon, he was no longer able to earn enough money to pay child support. In fact, Greg made it his primary goal to make as little money as possible – his one chance at striking back at the woman who had destroyed his life. He hated hurting his daughter this way, but new little Tina would always be taken care of financially by her well-off grandparents.

Greg looked up at the clock, and it was already 5:45 – time to head home after a long day working at the theatre, which was getting ready to mount a major Shakespear production. Greg enjoyed his time after work, walking to his small apartment through a snowy wooded path. He often stopped to watch the wood peckers in the trees, and listen to the far-off sound of dogs barking and children playing. He longed for the day when he might be able to have his own child again, and a wife who loved him.

The apartment was small but tidy, on the second floor overlooking a small frozen lake. Greg picked up his mail from the small wooden box outside his door – the usual bundle of junk mail, credit card offers, bills, a magazine he hadn’t subscribed to and didn’t want – and a plain white envelope marked “OFFICIAL BUSINESS: OREGON DEPARTMENT OF CORRECTIONS.”

A chill ran through Greg’s spine as he imagined what might be inside. As far as he knew he was out of legal trouble. What could the State of Oregon want with him? He sat down at the kitchen table and opened the envelope. His eyes grew wide as he read it’s contents:

“Dear Greg H. Thomson:

It has come to the attention of the Oregon Department of Corrections that you are a registered sex offender in another state. Pursuant to penal code 834.2 subsection A, you are required to register this fact with the Oregon Department of Corrections, Sex Offender Division.

Warrant #1459878 has been issued for your arrest. You have five days to report to the Oregon Department of Corrections, Sex Offender Division to declare your status as a sex offender. Failure to comply with this message may result in a $10,000 fine and/or 10 year prison term.”

Greg knew right away this must be the doing of his ex-wife. He felt furious but determined to face this head-on, no matter what the consequences.

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The next day Greg called in sick to work, and took a bus 45 miles to the Department of Corrections Sex Offender Division. It was a long cement and brick building, built in the bland late 50’s style that was supposed to convey efficiency and authority. To Greg the building had the appearance of a cold-war relic, an ugly eyesore that symbolized everything that’s gone wrong with his government over the past 30 years.

Walking through three sets of glass doors Greg finally arrived at the reception desk, a long counter topped with a bluish formica; the wall behind the desk displayed the official symbol of the Department of Corrections, Sex Offender Division. It had an eagle on it, one claw holding a judges mallet, the other holding a lock and key. The receptionist looked up at Greg through her thick horn-rimmed glasses – “May I help you sir?” Greg handed her the letter he had received – she looked over it carefully then pressed a red-button on her desk.

“Please sir, sit down over there and we’ll be right with you,” the receptionist said slowly in a squeaky voice. Greg could here footsteps coming down a long corridor, one after another; it was cold inside the building, and the harsh fluorescent lights only made him feel colder – as if he were inside a refrigerated morgue.

“Mr. Thomson, we’ve been expecting you,” said the man who finally came through the glass doors at the end of the corridor. He was a big man, with short cropped grey hair. Greg thought he might be a doctor, except for the holstered gun discreetly hanging from his side.

“I’m deputy Reynolds and I’ll be bringing you to the Offender Intake Room where we’ll begin your processing and make our initial assessment,” he said as we walked down the corridor. The floor was speckled blue cement and very shiny, as if it was polished every night. The corridor looked as if it went on forever, and Greg couldn’t help but feel as if he were being led down a gang plank.

END, PART 1