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Age Seventeen – Eight Years Ago

Alora

“No. Fucking call Mom,” I said, annoyed that my sister not only had snuck out of the house to go to a party, but here she was calling me to pick her up. She was only fourteen. She wasn’t even supposed to leave the house without Mom knowing, let alone slipping out to go to a shady ass party. I was totally going to end up blamed for this, just like always.

“Lora, please, this place is creepy as fuck, and the guys are worse.”

“Where do you think I am, Evie? I’m at a party, and I don’t have a car. I’d have to walk to Mom’s work and steal her car, pick you up, and put it back before she notices. No way, that’s too risky. What if she calls the cops thinking her car has been stolen? She already hates me for getting brought home by the police last month.”

My mom and I rarely saw eye-to-eye on anything. If there was ever a relationship that was oil and water, it was ours. We fought about the stupidest things that never needed to be fought about, but at this point, neither of us could walk away from the argument. Getting picked up by the cops for walking home alone at night was bad enough, but I’d also been at a party and was heavily intoxicated. I thought the cop was hot and tried to grab his junk. Not my finest hour, and I was lucky they only brought me home with a warning.

“Please, Lora? I swear I’ll do anything, but I can’t call Mom. I’ll clean your room and do all of your chores. I’ll even give you half of what I make from my shifts at the bakery for a month. You can’t turn that down. I know you need the money for school.”

“Make it two months,” I said. “And I want you to bring me home a box of the stuff that doesn’t get eaten whenever you work.” My sister loved to bake, and she’d been going in and harassing the owner to give her a job for two years. He finally caved and took Evie under his wing. The sweets were to die for. Molisano’s was known for the best of everything.

“Six weeks,” Evie negotiated.

“Dude, I can just leave you there.”

“Yeah, but you’d feel bad if I got raped or murdered or some shit trying to walk home,” she said, and I couldn’t tell if that was supposed to be a bad joke or if she was serious.

I glared at my phone. “That’s a low blow,” I said. My best friend Sadie had been grabbed off the side of the road on her way home from work by a group of guys. She would live but was still in the hospital and too terrified to talk to anyone, including me. My sister knew what a mess I was over it.

“I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. I’m just…it’s just that.” She sighed loudly, and I could hear an anxious waver in her voice. “Please, just…come on, sis, you’re the only person I trust to pick up me and Tammy. I’m begging you.”

Shaking my head, I set down the bottle of beer I’d been nursing and maneuvered my way around those smoking up in the backyard to get out the gate. I heard Sam, my ex, laughing, and I cringed as I rounded the side of the house to the front. I’d just broken up with his cheating ass two days ago. It was humiliating that I’d given this dick my virginity when all I’d been was another notch in his belt.

But, of course, even with school out, I couldn’t escape him and his pretty boy face. There he was in all his asshole glory, leaning against the garage, without a care in the world. He was probably here looking to score with someone new even though he’d asked out the bitch he cheated on me with the same day I broke up with him. Asshole.

I walked straight up to him and his best friend, Matt. He eyed me warily and stopped smiling. There was still so much I wanted to say to this prick, but instead, I grabbed the cigarette from his mouth and took a pull, blowing the smoke in his face.

“Hey, what the fuck,” he yelled. Giving him the middle finger, I walked away.

“Thanks for the smoke, asshole,” I called over my shoulder.

“Lora? You still there?” For the first time since Evie called me, she sounded genuinely scared and like my little sister.

“Yeah, I’m coming. This party was getting lame and letting losers in any way,” I said, looking back. “Where are you,” I asked, heading for my mom’s work. Fuck me, if she found out that I took her car, she was going to skin me alive.

Five and a Half Years Later

I pulled the few belongings that I had out of the plain grey bin and stared at them like they were foreign and belonged to someone else. My fold-up wallet with the long chain was covered in dirt. Rubbing it with my thumb, I cleaned it off before stuffing it in my back pocket and clipping it into place.

“Do you have a ride,” Correctional Officer Stevens asked. I glanced up at the woman I’d never seen smile and shook my head. “You want me to call someone?”

“Don’t bother. There’s no one to call,” I said, grabbing the clear plastic bag that held the rest of my stuff.

Walking down the hallway to the door, it buzzed as I approached, unlocking. I pushed outside for my first taste of freedom in five years. The sun was shining, birds were singing, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. It was like walking into a fairytale rather than simply walking outside. Then again, anything would seem like paradise when my outdoor time consisted of a concrete box that could’ve easily been Satan’s asshole with how much it stunk of sweat as the heat radiated off everything.

The tall chain-link gate with the barbed wire top rattled as it slid open. “Keep your nose clean, Dubois,” the correctional officer manning the gate said, and I gave him a nod.

Most of the officers were decent, but there was always a prick or two everywhere, and inside, there were a handful that I learned quickly to stay away from if I didn’t want my privileges taken away. There were a few shady ones who didn’t mind a little extracurricular activity for things like smokes or a cell phone. I’d traded myself a few times, and I wasn’t proud of it, but it was necessary. Having extra shit like that was what bought you out of jams and got you favors with other inmates, a painful lesson I learned my first week.

The Second Chance organization offered to pick me up, but I wanted to walk. I couldn’t believe how much things had changed. Even the plaza I walked past had new stores and a coffee shop. A sign caught my eye hanging on the door of Harper’s Diner. Help wanted. Considering I had a total of six dollars and twenty-five cents to my name, it was never too soon to look for a job.

Yanking open the door, I walked into the sweet smell of burgers and fries, but it was the glass case full of pies that caught my attention. My stomach grumbled in response. The diner was relatively quiet, but it still felt like everyone was staring at me and knew exactly where I’d been the last five years.

Stepping up to the counter, I waited, and it didn’t take long for a robust woman to wander over with a wide smile on her face. Harper was on her name badge. Either she was the owner, or this was a really weird coincidence.

“How ya doin’ sugar? What can I getcha?”

“I’m actually here about the job,” I said and pointed to the sign on the door.

“You ever worked tables before,” she asked, stabbing the bun on her head with her pen. It stuck there like a decoration.

“No, ma’am.”

“What experience do you have?”

I stuffed my hand into my pocket and looked away. “I’m sorry this was a mistake.” I turned to leave.

“Now hold yer horses. I didn’t say I wouldn’t hire someone without experience,” Harper said, walking around the counter and wiping her hands off on her white apron.

“I don’t have any experience, ma’am,” I said, clutching my small bag tighter. The only paying job I’d ever worked was stocking shelves at a grocery store. I’d only been there a year before I got tossed in jail.

“Are you willing to learn?” She looked at the bag in my hand, and it felt like I was waving a red flag announcing that I’d just gotten out of prison.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Come by Monday, and we’ll see what we can do,” Harper said.

“Really? Thank you, ma’am, I really appreciate that,” I said, excited at the prospect of working and making money.

“Call me Miss Harper. When was the last time you ate, hun?” She held her hand out toward one of the stools at the counter, but I hesitated, knowing I needed to make every penny I had last two full days. If not more.

“I can’t pay.” A flush of embarrassment swept through my body. I couldn’t even afford the dollar-fifty coffee that was advertised on the board.

“This meal is on the house. I made way too much gumbo, and I hate to see it go to waste. Come on now, hun, sit down.” Miss Harper pulled out a cup and poured a coffee before unwrapping a large piece of cornbread and setting it down. There was no way to say no to that, and my stomach led me to the table.

I probably shouldn’t have missed breakfast, but it was tradition that you didn’t eat breakfast the day you were getting let out and instead gave your food to someone else. It was a screwed-up version of catching the bouquet at a wedding. It was supposed to bring you good luck so that you would get out sooner. I hadn’t seen it work once while I was inside, but everyone still insisted.

“Thank you, Miss Harper,” I said, sitting down on the stool and pulling off a small chunk. That golden morsel tasted like a million-dollar meal, and I moaned as it hit my tongue.

“Here you go, hun,” Miss Harper said, setting the gumbo down and then waving at the new people walking in. I’d never been a foodie, but now here I was, eating like I was inspecting each warm bite.

By the time I left Harper’s Diner, I had a little spring in my step and a dab of optimism in my heart. My next stop was Second Chance, and as I stared up at the blue and white sign, all the joy that had been building dissipated on the afternoon breeze. Was living at a halfway house really any better than prison? At least there, I knew what to expect each day, but out here in the real world again, I had no idea what tomorrow would bring.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door.