Freedom
Iwake up to Alana staring down at me.
3 ½ years.
1,254 days.
30,096 hours.
That’s how long I’ve been inside this shithole. And the only thing that got me through was a tiny streak of light in a world full of pitch black. I run my finger over her face. The face I recreated from memory. A moment in time that was so perfect I immortalized it. Us, sitting on the beach, watching the sunset. I would give my left arm, eye, and leg to go back to that moment. To have her back. But I know that’s impossible. I destroyed any chance we had when I walked away. When I took her virginity and then tossed her aside like she didn’t matter. But she did matter. Even if she’ll never know it. I sacrificed myself for her. I wanted to protect her from all the fucked-up shit in my life. My family, my flaws, my failures. And I feel the loss every single second of every single day. And as time ticks by I don’t think that will ever change.
“Inmate one-one-three-seven-four, pack your things. You’re free to go,” a deep voice echoes through the hall. Inmate 11374, that’s me. A corrections officer has come to pluck me out of incarceration and fling me back into society.
I pull the picture of Alana and me down from where I taped it to the bunk above me. Then I get up and proceed to pull down all the other pictures from the wall that I made while taking classes. Basic art like colorful bowls of fruit to elaborate coal-sketched pictures of cityscapes. Three and a half years’ worth of mindless artwork. Three and a half years’ worth of irreplaceable time.
“Leave them,” my cellmate Fat Elvis croaks. He doesn’t talk much. We’ve barely spoken two words since he arrived a few weeks ago, but it doesn’t take a genius to know he’s nobody to fuck with.
“You want them?”
“I said leave them, didn’t I?”
So, I do.
I’m escorted out of my cell through the hallways and electric doors. I’m so close to freedom I can taste it. I change out of the baggy scrubs I have lived in for the last three and a half years and put on the clothes I was arrested in. I don’t remember them being this snug. I empty the plastic bag that holds my wallet and phone, then I follow the guard to the last steel door I will ever set foot through. I’m jumping out of my skin. I step onto the gravel and make my way to the open gates. I nearly weep. It’s January, and it cold. But I don’t mind the weather. It smells like snow. I pick up the pace as I walk toward the familiar face grinning at me. Mac.
We hug hard, and he slaps me on the back. It’s the first comforting physical contact I’ve had in years.
“You look fucking good, man. And solid.” He squeezes my bicep. “Been working out?”
“You spend three and a half years trying to keep your asshole a virgin, you put on some muscle.”
Mac turns white. “You are still a virgin, right?”
I laugh. I know I shouldn’t, but I do. “Yes.”
He grins. “Get the fuck in the car.” He pounds my shoulder and slips into the driver’s seat.
“Did you get a new car?” I ask, investigating the impressive Mustang.
“No, it’s a friend’s. I don’t have a car anymore since I moved to the city.”
“A friend’s?” I make air quotes as the engine purrs to life. I know all about Mac and his “friends”.
“Yup,” he confirms my suspicions.
Nothing’s changed.
Mac pulls out onto the road, and I melt into the leather interior. It’s like all at once my muscles uncurl. Fucking freedom.
“So...?” Mac asks, “Where to first? Find Alana?”
I snap my head in his direction.“Whythefuckwould you bring her up?”
Mac shrugs. “I don’t know. You’re out now. Thought you’d want to find her.”
I bubble with uncontrolled laughter. “Oh yeah, I can just imagine how that would go. Me, showing up on her doorstep after three and a half years.Hey baby, remember me? I’m out of prison now and ready to pick up where we left off.The nicest thing she could do is slam the door in my face. And if I know Alana, she’d probably kick me in the balls first.”
Not that I’d blame her.