Unyielding.
Deborah glanced over her shoulder. “I’m glad you’re getting out, London. I know what happened, but you have an innocence about you. You’re young and still have your life ahead of you.”
I was twenty-four years old. At times, I felt as if I was older and other times younger—not sure where my place was in this world but I desperately wanted to find it . . . feel like I belonged. The problem was I wasn’t sure where to begin. Baby steps. My life was ahead of me, but I’d already served time in prison. That in itself altered me.
The familiar clawing at my chest started. “Thank you. I appreciate how kind you were.” Goodbyes were hard for me. Most goodbyes had a finality to them—or at least the ones I’d experienced.
Three days ago, I’d been informed I would be getting out a week early due to a space issue. Only Dad and my best friend knew. They were the only two people I still kept in touch with. Everyone else faded from my life.
I glanced out the window to see the women outside in the yard. Were any of them my friends? I hoped so, but the truth hurt. In prison, friends meant survival. We played our part to stay out of the spotlight—to keep any targets off our backs. I never heard from anyone once they were released, which spoke volumes to the depth of friendship.
No one here knew the true me. I wasn’t sure I knew who the true me was anymore.
Leaving quietly was for the best.
As I saw a group of ladies at the table I normally sat at, the goodbyes I’d endured four years ago came rushing back. Each one was acutely felt.
Goodbye to my family.
Goodbye to my dance scholarship at Juilliard.
Goodbye to the love of my life.
Goodbye to my friends.
Goodbye to all I knew.
All because of an event I couldn’t remember. The night of the accident, while I was home for the summer from college, I’d been three times over the legal limit for alcohol. It was amazing I was alive. Sometimes I wished the alcohol had finished me off. None of it made sense. I didn’t drink because it was too hard on my body for dancing. Occasionally, I had a glass of wine. A bottle of tequila, nearly drained, was on my bed when officers investigated my room. Another bottle found in my car.
I hated tequila.
There was something more to that night—I knew it in the depths of my soul, but
there was no proof. My parents and lawyers left no stone unturned. None. At some point, acceptance of my transgressions became eminent in order to try and gain some semblance of myself back.
Focusing on the tile floor, I reigned in my emotions. It had been a while since I thought about it all. But, in the scheme of things, I deserved every goodbye I’d been dealt. A boy lost his life because of me. My four-year sentence was nothing compared to the life sentence I’d given him and his family.
The guilt never left me. Slowly, over the years, it chipped away at my soul.
I followed Deborah into the light-blue walled office to complete the next step for my release. The rooms at the front of the prison were the only ones with any color. A pair of jeans and a gray sweatshirt lay on the table along with my new ID and a manila envelope.
Another female guard, Cassie, who was less than friendly through the years, stood in the corner with a scowl on her face. The spiky haircut and stocky stature only added to the apprehension when paired with her body language. On purpose, she would spill her coffee over a place that was recently cleaned or make unneeded noise while we slept.
Needless to say, I was leery of her and she was not pleased I was released early. After the warden gave me the news, I overheard her saying, “She’s a murderer and should not be getting out early.” This guard believed the justice system was too lenient and my sentence was too light. Murderer . . . the name would be forever associated with me.
I hated it.
Behind me, Deborah lingered and I was thankful. Cassie stepped forward. “London McNally, please sign your name on the line. Within the manila envelope is your discharge certificate.” Cassie huffed and rolled her eyes. “You’ll need the certificate to vote again. You’ll also find gate money in the amount of fifty dollars. There’s a transport waiting outside the gate which will take you to the bus station unless you’ve made other arrangements.”
“My dad, Ken McNally, should be here to take me home.” I tucked the escaped hair behind my ear again and looked down.
“Very well. Once you change, Deborah will take you to the gate.”
The envelope was shoved in my direction along with the piece of paper. Scribbling my name across the line, I took a deep breath. Cassie snatched up the paperwork and stomped out of the room.
Deborah gestured in my direction. “Go ahead and change. I’ll be waiting.”
I nodded and the door closed behind me. With shaking hands, I removed my orange scrubs with my inmate number on them. The jeans and sweatshirt were loose fitting as I’d lost weight since coming here. Being a dancer, I had been thin before but could tell a difference. I finger-combed my hair, hoping I looked somewhat presentable.