The ride home felt different than any other car ride I’ve had with my mother. Rightfully so; she had just picked her only child up from prison. I’m sure my mother had been looking forward to today, as I was too, but five long years in prison put a damper on my once talkative nature. So the long drive from the prison was mostly occupied with silence, accompanied by random questions that just don’t make sense to ask someone who just served time. Such as; “Are you hungry? Do you want to get some food?” I’d eat anything she put in front of me, at any time.
My mom means well though. What is she to say to me? What is she to ask that she doesn’t already know the answer to? The awkwardness I feel is evidently shared equally by her. Her love for me never wavered when I was first arrested. She spoke to many to me once a week on the phone for five years straight. She came to visit every couple months. Visiting was tough on her, she spent most of her time crying upon seeing me. Being on the outside and speaking is different, timid, as if she’s wanting to give me my space, not knowing how I’m feeling after being released.
Maybe I should be my sentimental to her emotions on such a big day for her…but I had her fooled like most others.
Due to the fact that I was seventeen when I was convicted, my case was handled a bit differently. Because I wasn’t a legal adult and I showed remorse, they gave me the least amount of time I could serve; ten years, being eligible for parole after five. I put on a pretty good show, expressing how much I regretted my actions, that I’ve always had a bit of an anger problem that was never treated. This made my mother feel guilty, which is probably another reason why she’s stuck by my side.
Truth of the matter is…
I wanted to kill Grace.
I meant to kill Grace.
I loved killing Grace.
I also loved Grace deeply. A love you’d die for…a love you’d kill for. She didn’t want to by my girlfriend anymore. After a year and a half, she decided she simply didn’t have the same feelings she once did for me. “You’ve changed.” She said it so discouragingly, if I was an average person…that could’ve hurt my feelings. Grace always assumed I was joking, playing around when I told her that she’d be with me forever, that no one else could have her. So as she tried to leave me, the shock on her face was pure when she realized I was about to take her soul to keep it for my own…forever…like I told her it would be.
I would’ve given Grace all of my heart, the world and everything in it if she would have just listened to me. Though I guess she wasn’t aware not listening would result in her dying.
I did everything right in our relationship. I picked her up for school every morning, bought her whatever she wanted, showed her affection, rarely ever argued with her. If Grace didn’t like being treated like a queen by me…then she didn’t deserve it from anyone. Some people just can’t be happy when they have something good. Why ruin it when there’s nothing to complain about?
So my shoulders felt a little lighter once her heart stopped beating.
Poor mom, dad, the town, haven’t figured out and more than likely won’t figure out that Grace was not my first. The police just caught onto that one. How could I be so stupid as to forget her blood on the heel of my left shoe?
There was Greg.
Greg didn’t know when to shut up. Maybe he was jealous of my popularity, overriding his status as the star footballer player that ate attention for breakfast. His snarky remarks towards me could only be taken and warned so many times before I lose my cool. By that I mean snapping his neck, carving him up into tiny little pieces, and dumping him into a far away, desolate location.
Brianna and Harry were only dating for a few weeks. They spotted an abandoned building and wanting to sneak away to get drunk. I didn’t hangout with them often, but when I did, it was always to party. That night, they decided to spend arguing minty nine percent of the time, driving me insane, truly. They ignored my ongoing demands for them to quit fighting, not even pausing to acknowledge me talking. Needless to say…a gunshot wound between both of their eyes made the abandoned place silent again.
My mother’s thoughts weren’t on my mind as we entered our neighborhood. I gaped at the place I grew up that hadn’t changed in the slightest…yet nothing looked the same. The sky, the trees, the grass…nothing is bright. The sidewalks that I once smiled on appeared dull.
Maybe it’s me. Maybe five years behind the same four walls has changed my view.
It still doesn’t feel real, sitting in this car, next to my mom. The days leading up to me getting out of that cell, I honestly didn’t believe I was going to be set free. Changing from seventeen to twenty one in there sorta causes you to think of it as home, your normal, not remembering a life before incarceration.
“Are you okay? Xander?”
I snap out of my thoughts to look over at my concerned mothers in the drivers seat. When I notice her hands off the wheel and not moving, I look ahead off us to see our house.
“Shit, I didn’t realize we were already home.” I rake a hand through my thank brown hair in loose waves on top of my head. “I must’ve zoned out.”
“We can sit in here longer if you need to.” She offers with a warm tone, assuring me that it would be no burden to her.
I take off my seat belt and shake my head. “I’ve waited five years for this.” I remind as I open my door, breathing in that fresh, cold breeze around us. The autumn evening made my arrival feel all the more welcoming, despite what the small town might think of me.
At twenty one, coming back to live with my parents isn’t what the any normal person would picture themselves having to do. Under my circumstances, my parent’s place is the only source of food and shelter that I have for now. As simple minded as they are, I am fortunate enough that they offered this until I get things sorted out. Innocently, my mother still mourns the seventeen year old I was, heart breaking for my time lost, unaware that every second of it was time well deserved.
Mom laughs that familiar laugh of hers, except it’s not the same. Her laugh is suppressed, forced, unreal. She’s trying to make light of my words. “Fair enough.” She says, shrugging through her key ring that still has all the old chains attached to it, along with some new ones. Dad always told her to stop putting so might weight down on the key in the ignition, but the key-chains kept accumulating. With a bright smile, mom swings the door open after getting it unlocked.
“Come on!” Her excited voice sings as she takes my arms to pull me inside.
Instinctively, I jerk my arm back. I guess this is another side effect of being held hostage for so long.
Wide eyed and holding her hand that had touched me to her chest, she’s nervous as she apologizes. “I’m so sorry, Xander. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
For some reason, I have to rub my arm where she had placed her hand, as if wiping the reminiscence of her away. “It’s okay. It just caught me off guard.” I tell her as I take my first step back into my home.
Mom always lit the same candles based on seasons. During the fall and winter, she rotated through a few. Today, I recognize the scent of the Autumn Woods candle from Bath And Body Works that she is crazy about. Dad and I never really understood what she thought was so special about it, but right now I think I’m starting to get it. It smells like home. She hasn’t moved a thing since I left, wanting everything to be just as I remember it for my return.
“Some things just don’t change, huh?” I give a half hearted grin as I enter farther into the house. She shuts the door behind me. It’s going to be weird hearing a door close without the sound of a buzzer and steel squeaking to go along with it. “When’s dad going to be home?”
“Very soon. He went to get some groceries. Then he’s going to bring home some food from that Mexican restaurant you like.”
Ah. Gustavo’s. Our Thursday night tradition of going out to a restaurant as a family, that day it being my choice. Mom got Tuesdays, her cravings each week alternated by her mood of the day. Dad, much like most dad one knows, always wanted a steak dinner on Saturdays, paired with a couple hearty sides and a beer to wash it down. My first month in prison was filled with different ways to keep my mind off the home cooked meals and greasy dinners, Gustavo’s was a thought that popped up quite often, especially when meal time hit or I went to the canteen.
Somehow, after training myself diligently in prison, I had forgotten all about my favorite spot to eat. As she spoke it, the word sounded foreign, for a moment I second guessed what I thought she was referring to. The conversation didn’t feel natural, like I’m in a place, talking about things that are still impossible for me to do. I believe it’ll take a while for things to feel normal, if they ever do again.
“That sounds good.” I tell her with a slow nod, stopping to look in the kitchen. It got some new appliances but the colors are the same. I stop and turn to face her. “Will that give me time to take a shower? I’ve been really looking forward to that part.”
Mom’s eyes light up. “Of course! I’m sure you’re more than ready to take one.” Her face then falls, making my eyebrows draw together in wonder of what got her down all of a sudden. “You’ve grown a lot since I last saw you…” she scans me over, taking in my height and broadness. There’s not much to do in prison, not much to pass the time, working out was a stress reliever. If ever I found myself getting worked up or overthinking, I worked out. My scrawny self before is nothing compared to my six foot two height and muscular arms and legs. I’ve even grown facial hair, a full beard with a mustache and everything. One might say I appear as if I’m in my late twenties. Being locked up makes you age at twice the speed.
“I didn’t think about that…” she sighs, putting a hand to her forehead. “I don’t have any clothes that fit you. I’m so sorry, Xander. We’ll go shopping straight away. I-”
I stop her mid sentence, holding up a hand between us to end her sentence right as it began. “It’s okay, mom. Really.” I think for a moment before suggesting, “you could just give me something of dad’s for now.”
She nods, dropping her hand, still sulking as she says, “Okay. We’ll get a few things after dinner. Then we’ll go real shopping tomorrow. Now go take your shower darling. I don’t want to keep you.” Her soft smile formed before she hesitated to walk away from me.
The shower felt better than it used to. One thing my mom did think about was new shampoo, conditioner, body wash and a wash puff. She even went as far to get me a skin care kit, deodorant, cologne, an electric razor for if I want to shave. She even caused a breath through my nose, acting a laugh, when I noticed a mini dryer in the corner with my towel inside, warm for after I shower. The purchase is ridiculous but so very like my mother.
I almost forgot what it’s like to shower alone, no eyes on you, no tenseness as you have to watch over your shoulders but keep your head down and keep to yourself at the same time.
It’s the best shower I’ve ever had.
Every stiff muscle in my body slowly released, starting with the hot water on my head, working its way down to my toes. Hot water. Not cold, not lukewarm, the kind of hot water that has your body steaming as you step out onto the bath mat. For in what seems like forever, I am truly clean. I could’ve stayed in there all night, maybe even fallen asleep with my hands braced against the wall, letting the water run over me.
I can breathe.
The black sweatpants and black t-shirt, matched with a black pair of socks fit me almost bit snugly, presuming that I am now bigger than my father. Though it was better than my prison clothes, worn by some stranger before me that they threw at me and said, “Put these on, Brand. Time to go home.” The guards always called me by my last name, having a soft spot for me since I was so young when I went in. Most of the time they didn’t call the inmates anything, they just spat orders at them.
“You’re not taking him anywhere!”
The raised voice that I recognize as my dad’s sounds from downstairs and through the walls. Although my bedroom door is closed, with a few steps towards it, I’m able to hear every word of what my mom and dad are talking about. Me.
“Do you know what we’ve been through these past five years?!” He exclaims, not sounding like he cares to much that I am right above him, not that he ever did. “We can barely go to work every day without someone commenting how we’re the parents with a murderous kid! Everyone knows he’s getting out today! It’s all anyone’s been able to talk about all year!”
“So?!” She argues back. “We can’t just keep him in the house because you care too much about what other people think! He’s twenty two, Jacob, we can’t keep him anywhere!”
A hard first connecting with the kitchen counter top sent flashbacks of my childhood through my mind. The constant arguing, the having to stay in my room for hours to avoid a confrontation. It’s a wonder how they didn’t get divorced after I left.
It’s not too surprising to hear that he isn’t as thrilled about my return as mom is. Dad wasn’t as supportive when the cops showed up at our door to arrest me. In his head, justice was served and no way his of a killer son would get his support. I couldn’t shame his logic, as many couldn’t shame my mothers. The poor man is fearful of his own offspring, the person he gave life. I’m sure the conversation about rather or not I could live with them again was quite the show.
“Maybe taking him shopping on his first day back isn’t the best idea, Emily!” He spews. Even though I can’t see him, I know there’s spit flying from his mouth as he talks. He always does that when he’s angry.
“Fine.” She huffs, giving in as she usually does. “I’ll go get him some things tonight and in a few days I’ll take him out.”
I hear dad grumble something in response but it’s too low to hear over the sound of his heavy steps retreating from the kitchen.
What a lovely dinner this will be.
It began how I expected it to. My father digging into his plate at the head of the table without a glance in my direction. Mom forcefully smiled from her seat across from me as she glanced between my father and I. I could sense that she wanted to start a conversation but wasn’t quite sure how. It wasn’t too long before my dad finally spoke up.
“You look good, son.” He says through a bite of food, shuffling his fork around on his plate as he mixed up his rice and queso. “Like a man.” He adds, nodding his head in approval. “You been working out a lot, huh?”
Picking up my own fork and knife, I cut into the steak burrito they know is my favorite. “You could say that.”
“You plan on keeping that up?”
As the food enters my mouth, my eyes slowly drift close, savoring the taste as it soaks my taste buds. I forget where I am, feeling as though I’m in more of a heaven than at home. Who knew we could so easily take the taste of food for granted?
“Let him eat, honey.” Mom whispers to him.
My eyes open again, glancing between them both before beginning to cut up another bite, returning to reality. “It’s really good.” I tell her before answering dad’s question. “I plan on keeping it up.”
“Good.” He agrees with my decision, eyes darting between my food and I before focusing on his own again. “That’ll be good for you.”
I try to keep my facial expressions neutral as his demeanor and the awkwardness between the three of us irritates me. I was looking forward to eating, but right now I find myself wanting to go lay in my bed, a comfortable bed in peace. No cursing and screaming, no banging in cell doors or riots…just quiet. Maybe I’ll be able to sleep a night through for the first time since I was seventeen.
“We know everyone you knew got out of this town and went to college already,” mom begins.
“It might be a little difficult to make friends since everyone here knows about you.” Dad adds before letting her finish.
This gained a slight look of disapproval from her but she continued anyway. “We have some friends with a daughter. She’s eighteen but we thought she’d be good for you. She’s a really sweet girl, good in school, very ambitious.” She says with emphasis as if it will make me eager to meet whomever she’s referring to.
I stare up at her through my eyelashes. Surely she knows the question that I am curious about but not wanting to ask out loud.
“She does know about you.” She states, answering my unsaid thoughts. “But she’s very accepting. They’re the type of family that care for everyone no matter what. So you wouldn’t have to hide. You can be yourself around her.”
Being myself is what got me locked me up in the first place…though there’s no one else I’d rather be.
“What do you think?” Mom’s hopeful stare softened me up enough to not contradict any of her words.
“I think it sounds like you really want her to befriend me.” I comment, swallowing my bite and taking a drink of the soda I’ve craved. “I’ll do it…but let me put this plainly…”
Mom and dad both exchanged a glance before putting their attention on me.
“I have no interest in being friends with anyone right now. I have no interest in being seen. Need not to worry, I’ve mastered the art of being invisible.” I explain. “I will speak and see this girl intentionally, only this girl…because you two want me to.” Mom blinks, unresponsive. “So…you both can save the arguments…I’m putting up zero battle.”
It was the most I have spoken, clearly taking my mom aback as she gapes, mouth parted slightly.
“Um…” mom searches for something to say. “Okay, honey. We understand.”
Dad didn’t say goodnight to me. Not that I had expected it, he was never one to show you he cared in even the smallest of ways. To him, absence did not make his heart grow fonder. As I knew she would, mom offered me unnecessary things and gave me a goodnight hug before I headed upstairs. Although she was hesitant to do it, it felt nice.
My body sank into my mattress, conforming to my body as my thick comforter laid snugly around my body. Being in my own room, the snugly of the bed, made me fall asleep easily and quickly.
I was sent into a deep, dreamless slumber, where everything is serene.
ns 15.158.61.7da2
