Saving Rain

by Kelsey Kingsley

“What's that in there?” He pointed at the white cap of the bottle sticking out of her pocket. Mom shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. “I have a headache.” “Oh, yeah? So, what are you taking for it?” “Something for a headache.” “Let me see.” Grampa held out a hand and waited for Mom to give the bottle to him. I didn't like this. I didn't feel good. My heart was going to blow up, and Mom was going to yell. I could see it in her frowny mouth and tomato-red face. “How about you just mind your own fucking business?” she shouted, proving me right once again. Grampa squeezed my shoulder. “Soldier, go downstairs and eat your pizza with your friends. Tell Gramma to come up here.” “B-but … but I have to pee,” I said, suddenly feeling like I was five again, not eight. Eight-year-olds weren’t supposed to sound like they were going to cry. “Go pee downstairs,” Grampa ordered. My bottom lip began to wriggle like a stupid baby. “B-but, but, but—” “Fucking hell, Soldier! Why the hell are you like this?! Get the fuck out of here!” Mom yelled at me, pointing her finger toward the stairs. I took one look at her angry eyes, and then I ran. I ran down the stairs to the bathroom with the baby-powder soap, slammed the door behind me, and wished so, so, so hard that my friends hadn’t heard my mom yell at me. I bet their moms didn't yell at them. I bet their moms didn't fight with their grammas and grampas. I peed and washed my hands with the gross soap and hoped my friends didn't ...

“Soldier? Soldier, wake up, sunshine.” My eyelids opened a crack to see Mom kneeling beside my bed and humming her sunshine song. She was crying, but she was also smiling, and in her hand, she held a cupcake with one lit candle standing in the center. “You didn't think I'd let you go to bed without singing ‘Happy Birthday,’ did you?” I sat up slowly, rubbed the sleep from my eyes, and asked, “Why did you fight with Gramma and Grampa?” She sighed and shook her head. “Because I screwed up again, baby. I … I have to get a new job, and I had a headache and took something I shouldn't have to make it better. The Bad Stuff, you know. But I'm gonna clean myself up, okay? I promised them I would, and I'm promising you too. Everything's going to get better.” She always promised. But unlike Gramma’s and Grampa’s, Mom’s promises broke easily. “Okay, Mom.” “Now”—she checked her watch and smiled—“it's eleven eleven, baby. You changed my life at this time eight years ago. I told you then you were gonna save me, and I still believe that. I really, really do. You're gonna save me, right, baby?” I didn't know what she was talking about. I was only eight years old. I was just a kid, and I wasn’t Superman. How was I supposed to save anybody? What did she mean? But I didn't bother asking because, sometimes, it was better to just let her talk, so I did. “Sure, Mom.” “Now, make a wish, sunshine. Make it a good one, okay?” So, I squeezed my eyes shut, made a wish that this promise wouldn’t break,...

Grampa's tackle box creaked open to reveal his treasured collection of bobbers and hooks. Last year and every year before it, he never let me touch them myself. I was too young, he'd said. I could hurt myself, he'd said. But now, he was showing me how to attach the hook to a line and bait it without his help. “Look at you go,” he said, watching with a glimmer of pride reflecting in his tired eyes as I hooked the wriggling worm with ease. I didn't poke myself once. “Cool.” I grinned, holding the line up to smile at my handiwork. Grampa laid a hand against my shoulder and squeezed. “Soon, you won't need me anymore.” All at once, my pride was wiped away by an unfamiliar, unexplained sadness and dread. Billy's grandfather had died a couple of years ago, and ever since then, I'd been acutely aware of Grampa's wrinkled skin and white hair. He wasn't as fast as he used to be, and he couldn't go up and down the stairs without complaining about his knees. I was doing more of the chores around the house because Gramma had insisted Grampa couldn't do them anymore, and I didn't like it.

I didn't like that dead meant gone, and with every chore that Grampa couldn't do, I knew he was closer to being gone. What am I going to do without him? Maybe if I do all the chores, he’ll never be gone at all.

Are you gonna cast that line or what?” I cleared my throat and threw away all thoughts about death and growing old. Grampa wasn’t dying. He was fine. He was here right now on the lake, like every other summer, and we were fishing, like we always had. Nothing was ever going to change that. So, I stood on the dock and sent my line out into the water, refusing to pay attention to how he needed to sit instead of stand.

Grampa glanced at me across the truck and lifted one side of his mouth in a smile that made me feel weird and confused. “What?” I asked before taking a bite of my Big Mac. He stretched his arm out to lay it across the back of my seat. “I don’t think I've ever told you how proud I am of the young man you're becoming.” “Oh …” I looked at the burger in my hands and shrugged. “Thanks … I think.” Grampa laughed and gripped the back of my neck, giving me a little shake. “I mean it, Soldier. Gramma and I … we have tried so hard to do right by you and your mother. And I know we've made mistakes—of course we have. God, we’ve made a lot of them. And sometimes, I'm not even sure we've done the right thing at all. I mean, there were a couple of times, I—you know what? Never mind.” I stared at the gooey mess of cheese and meat and lettuce, even more confused than I’d been before. “What?” “Nothing. It doesn’t matter. I’m just saying, all things considered, life could've been worse—so much worse. And the fact that you are such a smart, kind, good kid tells me that, even if we haven't always made the right choices, we never ever went wrong with you. There’s gotta be something to be said for that.” I turned my head to look at him then, forgetting entirely about the burger in my hands, even as shreds of lettuce fell out and onto my lap. I knew what he was talking about now—Mom's drinking; the parties she went to and the people she hung out with; the trips Gramma and Grampa sent her on; the...

And then, as we walked up the concrete path to the stoop, he clutched his hand to his chest and collapsed at my feet.

“Grampa!” I screamed, tossing the tackle box aside and dropping to my knees beside him. “Gramma! Gramma, help!” But no amount of screaming, no amount of dialing 911, no amount of pleading or incessant I love yous could stop him from dying in front of me before the ambulance arrived and took him away. Making his death the first real and horrible tragedy to strike my life. At least I wasn't foolish enough then, even at eleven, to believe it'd be the last.

“Soldier, wait,” she said gently, preventing me from leaving, and I turned to face her with a tired nonchalance. Last year, I had been shorter than her. This year, I could see the top of her head. “What?” She removed her hand from my arm and sat at the edge of my desk, a look of deep concern creasing a line between her brows. “Is everything okay?” I shrugged and hoisted my heavy backpack onto my shoulder. “Sure. Why?” She didn't look like she believed me. Not at all. And she had every right not to. “Well”—she wet her lips with her tongue, and the act stirred that stupid thing in my pants—“I know things have been difficult … different at home, what with your grandmother passing away earlier this year and you and your mom having to move and all. So … I just wanted to make sure that you were okay.” My fingers tapped erratically against the strap of my backpack at the mention of Gramma dying of cancer. Of moving from the house I’d grown up in to live in the nasty apartment building across from the train tracks. She hadn't mentioned Sully dying or Mom losing another handful of jobs, but I guessed she wouldn't have. She didn't know about that stuff, and I definitely didn't talk about it. But I thought about it now, tacking that stuff onto the long list of heartache I'd been dealt since Grampa had had a heart attack in front of me over two years ago. So, no, I wasn't okay. Far from it. But I wasn't going to tell her that in the event that my not okayness could lead her back to Mo...

“You'd tell me if things weren't okay, wouldn't you?” No. “Yeah, sure.” She didn't look like she believed me, but she relented with a nod anyway. “Okay. I'll see you tomorrow.” I hurried to the door, relieved to be released, but she wasn't finished. “Oh, and, Soldier?” Come. On. I noisily huffed out my agitation before glancing over my shoulder. “Huh?” “If you ever need a break, if you can't handle the work and you just need to focus on yourself and how you're feeling, let me know, and we'll figure something out. Okay? Just … just let me know.” An overwhelming rush to tell her everything whooshed through me like the trains that passed across the street from our crappy apartment. My eyes met hers as a painful ache pressed against my chest, making it hard to breathe, and I thought maybe she could see every truth I tried to hide behind my lies. I hoped she could. I hoped she’d help and rescue me in any way she knew how. But she didn’t. She just offered a sad smile and wished me a good night, and I turned away and hurried down the hallway while I thought about how not okay I was.

“Hey, Levi,” Billy said, talking to him like they were pals but I knew better. “Do you have any of those … you know …” Levi looked me over, his gaze meeting mine with a hardened edge I didn’t understand. What was his problem? I barely knew him, and we never spoke, so I couldn’t figure out why the hell he’d be looking at me like he couldn’t trust me. But then, he pulled his eyes away from me to give the girl a kiss on the temple. She didn’t seem to notice though. Her gaze was on me, just as his had been, but hers lacked the judgment his held. Instead, she looked hungry as she bit her lip. I didn't think I liked it, but then again … I found I maybe liked it a lot. She raked her eyes over me as she asked, “What’s your name?” I watched Billy hand his ten dollars over to Levi with a heavy dose of confusion as I replied, “Uh … Soldier.” She laughed like she thought I was kidding. “No. Are you serious?” That was when I decided I didn’t like her at all as I glowered at her and her sarcastic grin. “Yeah. Why?” “Just making sure.” She looked over me from head to toe as she licked her lips—in a different way than Mrs. Henderson had—and there came that stirring again between my legs. “How old are you, Soldier?” she asked me. “Thirteen.” “Hmm, too bad,” she replied with a pout of her pink lips. “You're a really big boy.” No. I definitely didn’t like her.

“Ten bucks only gets you one oxy,” Levi said, opening the bag. Oxy … There had to be fifty pills in that bag. Fifty pills that looked an awful lot like the ones Mom liked to take. The kind that made her drop onto the couch and stare at the TV until she passed out. Where was Levi getting them from? And why did Billy want one? “That’s okay,” Billy said. “We can split it.” Split it? Wait … what? Split it with who? Billy shot a grin in my direction. Is he talking about me? No way. He wouldn’t be … right? Levi dropped a pill into Billy’s hand. Billy thanked him and told me to follow. I did, uncomfortable and stunned, feeling like everything was suddenly even more messed up and wrong than before. What did Billy want with that pill? Why had he spent money on it? I had known him since preschool. He didn’t do that type of crap. Kids like him had nice moms and nice houses and no reason to want the pills my mom took. Yet he had one. “Dude, she was into you,” Billy whispered, both disbelieving and excited. “You should’ve—” “Why do you have that?” I cut him off, my voice urgent and hushed against the voices around us. “Because I saw Robbie take one last week and it looked like fun.” Last week, I hadn’t gone to The Pit with Billy and Robbie when they asked me to. Last week, I had been too scared to leave Mom alone. I had wondered what my friends were doing without me. I had felt jealous and left out, worried I was missing something crucial while I was too busy cleaning up Mom’s puke an...

It wasn’t until a couple of painful hours later, when the sun had set and the moon dropped silvery beams of light into The Pit, that Billy finally announced that he was ready to go home. He said his mom would start to worry about him if he didn’t get back. He said she’d be mad, so we collected our stuff and left, although I doubted his mom could be mad about anything at all. I insisted on walking him home, making sure he got there safely, even though he'd sworn he was fine. Mom said she was fine all the time, too, but I knew better than to ever believe her. “Hi, Soldier!” Billy's mom called from the door, waving in my direction as her son slowly trudged his way up the path. “Do you wanna come inside for something to eat? I made a spiral ham!” God, when was the last time I'd eaten ham? When was the last time I'd eaten anything that hadn’t come from the school cafeteria or out of a can at home? I couldn’t say for sure, but it had to be before Gramma had gotten really sick and couldn't cook anymore. What I did know was, ham sounded great. Billy's mom was a good cook, and I knew there'd probably be a couple of excellent side dishes to accompany the ham as well. But I smiled and shook my head. “No, thanks, Mrs. Porter,” I replied. “I gotta get home and do my homework.” “Oh.” She looked disappointed. Billy's mom was always so nice to me; she always seemed like she genuinely enjoyed my presence in her house. “Well, okay then. Maybe another time. Get home safe, okay? Tell your m...

we don't have any money?” If Mom couldn't pay to keep the lights on, how were we gonna pay for anything else? What were we going to eat? What if we didn't have a place to live? “Mom … what are we going to do?” “God, Soldier, it's fine,” Mom said, throwing my worry away with a roll of her eyes. “I'll go on some more interviews, find another job … you know how it goes.” I did know. Mom had been through probably a million jobs as far as I could remember. But back then, I hadn’t worried. I had Gramma. I had Grampa. They didn't let us go without lights. They had made sure we had food and lights and TV and whatever else we needed. But now, without them, things were bad, and they were getting worse, and what if Mom couldn't find another job? What if she'd been through all of them and there were no other jobs to lose? “Soldier,” Mom interrupted my thoughts and walked into the living room, “it'll be fine, okay? Now, stop worrying about it.” I didn't say anything because I didn't believe her. Then, she announced she had a headache and was going to bed. I stayed in my uncomfortable folding chair and watched as she opened her purse and took out her bottle of pills, popped it open, and dropped two little pink pills into her mouth. She swallowed without water, put the bottle back into her bag, then went to her room without saying good night. My eyes remained on her bag as I thought of everything that could happen if Mom couldn't find another job. If we couldn't get the lights back on. I...

“Thanks so much, Soldier,” Billy’s mom said after I finished loading a dozen bags of groceries into her trunk. “Am I allowed to tip you?” My boss, Gordon, had told me I wasn’t supposed to accept tips. Sweeping the floor, bagging groceries, and helping people load them into their cars were what I was paid to do, he had said on more than one occasion, and accepting extra money for it was strictly prohibited. Still, I hesitated for a moment as I watched her dig a ten out of her purse. I stared at the bill in her hand as the very end of the green paper flapped gently in the breeze, tempting me with every flutter. I heard the sound of it like an alcoholic heard a cap pop off a beer—amplified ten times over, resounding louder than the rest of the world around me. I wanted to reach for it, grasp it in my greedy hand, and spend it on something. A nice, juicy burger or maybe a new pair of jeans down at the thrift store. Something I needed more than I wanted. But I didn’t. “Oh, I can’t accept tips,” I finally told her, peeling my eyes away from the bill after too many seconds went by. “Gordon doesn’t let us.” Billy’s mom eyed me with more sympathy than I preferred. Then, she whispered, “You can take it, Soldier. I won’t tell anyone. You know that.” She was tempting me too much. If she’d pushed just a little harder, I probably would’ve taken it and blamed it on her insistence and not on how badly I needed some new socks. But I shook my head profusely and thanked her anyway with a for...

I loved that Billy’s mom asked her son how school had been that day and how Billy answered in a bored kind of way, as if she asked him that question all the time and he was sick of hearing it. I loved that they all listened to each other and cared, and most of all, I loved that his parents had no idea what their kid was up to after school and on Saturdays. I loved that they couldn’t fathom the idea that he’d ever want to do shit like get high on little pink pills. But I also hated it just as much because I knew the truth. Billy was messed up, and I wished I knew how to stop it. I wished I could say something to his mom, I wished she knew the same things I did, but … To tell her about him would be to tell her about me—and I couldn’t afford to do that. I couldn’t afford the lack of money or the way I knew her disapproval and disgust would pierce my heart and make me bleed out on her living room floor. So, I said nothing about that. In fact, I said so very little about myself all night, afraid Billy’s mom might see between the lines and discover every dirty truth I tried to hide. Then, when it was time for me to leave, I thanked her repeatedly for dinner. She wrapped the rest of the meatloaf up and sent me home with it, insisting that I could stop by whenever I wanted, and then I wished for something else. Something I hadn’t wished for since I had been eight years old and in the middle of my one and only birthday party. I wish she were my mom instead.

“I’ve been working at the grocery store,” I told her, pouring the milk. “And?” I looked up from the glass to meet her accusing glare, my eyes narrowed with irritation. “And what?” “What the hell else have you been up to? Because I know damn well you’re not spending all your time at the fucking grocery store, and if you’re not at school, you must be doing something else.” She was right about that. But I wouldn’t tell her what exactly I was doing. Her wrath wasn’t worth it, and I needed the money. We needed the money. “I just hang out with the guys.” “Bullshit,” she spat, snatching the milk carton from my hand and stuffing it back into the fridge. “I bet you’re out there, knocking some of those slutty girls up. Aren’t you?” “Yeah, Mom, that’s exactly what I’m doing,” I muttered, shaking my head. Little did she know, I was still a virgin. When the hell was I going to find the time to have sex when I was too busy making enough money to make sure I could keep the lights on between her thousands of lost and found jobs? “Well, I know for a fact that you’re popping pills.” Now, that got my attention. “What?” I snapped, neglecting the glass of milk on the counter. “What are you talking about?” She hurried for her purse, hidden among the piles of mail and oddities on the table. She pulled out the orange bottle I was all too familiar with and shook its contents in my face. “Look familiar?” she accused snidely, and of course it did. I’d only been watching her shake that thing around s...

“Hey, Soldier, you got something for me?” “Maybe.” I slipped my arm from around the shoulders of Tammi, a girl I was getting used to calling mine. At least for the moment. “Do you have something for me?” The Pit was crowded, but that was typical for a Saturday night in late spring. I led the kid who I knew to be a senior away from watchful eyes and let my hand drop to my side. He slipped a folded bill between my fingers. I looked down to see that it was a twenty and proceeded to produce two little pink pills from my pocket. “You know the deal,” I said to him, keeping my voice low with a cool warning. “You don’t come back to me for at least a couple of weeks. And I’d better not catch you asking anybody else to buy for you. I have eyes all over this place. You understand me?” It was a rule I stupidly believed would do some good. They could pop a pill, maybe share it with a friend, and have a good time, but that was it for a while. I figured if these kids weren’t coming to me constantly for a fix, they were less likely to become dependent on the shit—or so I told myself. I guessed, deep down, I knew they were just going to someone else. I mean, there was always Levi Stratton—who had in recent years become something of a rival—and that creepy asshole he always hung out with, Seth. Neither of them had gone elsewhere since I’d started swiping Mom’s pills and selling them to my peers, so I knew business had to be worth it for them still. But … I dunno. I supposed I liked to think...

I headed back to Tammi. I’d known her for years—from the moment she’d asked me for my name and age five years ago. I knew she’d been interested ever since—she didn’t keep it a secret with her frisking eyes and bottom lip clamped salaciously between her teeth—but she had never made her move until I was legal. Now, at twenty-three, she loved teasing that she was a cradle-robber. Me? Well … honestly, I just liked getting laid. “You wanna give me one of those?” she asked, holding out a hand and waggling her fingers. “No,” I said, perching myself on an old, rusty bench someone had dragged into The Pit way before my time. “Come on, baby.” She climbed onto my lap and straddled my thighs. “I’ll suck your dick.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m not letting you suck me off for pills, Tammi.” “Why? I’m your whore, aren’t I? Treat me like one.” Okay, can I be honest? I didn’t like Tammi a whole lot. We had nothing in common. Kissing her was akin to licking an ashtray, she wore enough cheap perfume to make the strongest lungs asthmatic, and the way she spoke made me cringe. Still, I was also eighteen, feeling a little too much like hot shit with the cash lining my pockets, and it was nice to have someone as sexy as her hanging from my arm and sitting on my lap. It also felt nice when we fucked. But I always respected her and treated her right, and I’d never give her pills in exchange for sex. “You’re not a whore,” I told her flatly, tipping my head back to catch her eye and wrapping my arms arou...

my thoughts were blown apart by a bloodcurdling scream not twenty feet away from where I sat. Tammi turned her head abruptly in the direction of where the sound had come from. “Wha—” She couldn’t get her sentence out before I shoved her off my lap. I bolted from the bench and ran toward the scream that had now turned into a girl’s pleading voice, saying, “Stop it! Please, get off of me! Get off!” Her frantic, desperate words crushed my soul, and what I found made my blood boil. A young girl I had never seen before was pinned against a tree by the body of Levi’s buddy, Seth. One of his hands was on her chest while the other was working at getting his fly undone. She was writhing, struggling to get away from him, as she cried and gasped and begged for someone to help her in a field of dozens of people who were ignoring her. But not me. Without a moment of hesitation, I grabbed Seth from behind, gripping his shirt in my fists and pulling him off her with such force that we both fell backward into a couple of other kids. “What the hell, man?!” one of them asked, as if they hadn’t been aware of the girl being violated against her will mere feet away from them. Seth rolled away and o...

I laid a hand over my cheek and pulled it away to stare at my blood-soaked palm. “Holy shit,” I muttered, shaking my head before looking at Seth and asking, “What the fuck is wrong with you, man?” His eyes reflected a rage that threatened to pierce my soul as he snarled, “With me?! You fuckin’ attacked me out of nowhere, you asshole!” I thrust my hand toward the girl, frozen and terrified of what was happening in front of her. Terrified of what had almost happened. “You expect me to just stand back like all of these other pieces of shit while you fucking rape someone?” “Rape?” Seth snickered, rolling his eyes. “I wasn’t fucking raping her. She wanted it.” I looked at the girl, noting now that her hair was the softest shade of brown I’d ever seen. Like a teddy bear. Warm. Comforting. Almost familiar in the way it begged to be touched. Like Sully. “Did you want it?” I asked gently. She shook her head rapidly, and I looked back at Seth, scowling. “She’s fucking lying!” he spat, his eyes now on her. I knew a liar when I saw one, and she wasn’t it. I walked over to the girl with the soft brown hair, noticing the way she stiffened as I approached. “How old are you?” I asked quietly, too hushed for the others to hear, while my eyes fell upon hers. God, they were so green and vivid, and my soul jerked restlessly, as if trying to rid itself of the confines of this body in this fucked up life. Desperate for something better. Something more vibrant and alive, like the emerald sparks...

“W-what are you going to do to me?” was the first question she asked after I had her in my car. It was a ten-year-old piece of junk, held together by rust molecules holding hands. But it was mine, and it always took me where I needed to go. I didn’t immediately answer. Instead, I asked a question of my own. “What is your name?” “Rain,” she replied without hesitation. I looked across the car at her, dubious, while holding a handful of blood-soaked napkins to my face. “Rain? Your name is Rain?” “Yes.” I snorted, turning my eyes back on the road. “Wow. Okay. What, are your parents hippies or something?” “Uh, I don’t think you should be the one making fun of my name,” she fired back with more confidence than before. “Like, hello? Your parents named you Soldier.” One side of my mouth quirked into a smile. I saw no reason to tell her I only had one parent, and I winced at the pain in my cheek. “Touché.” “I mean, is that really your name?” “Yep.” I glanced at her again, noticing her reluctant smile, and I was glad to see her relax in my presence. She was pretty. Maybe the prettiest girl I had ever seen. “And by the way, I’m not doing anything with you. I’m just taking you home. So, where do you live?” “Really?” She sat up straighter, and I darted my eyes toward hers, startled to find a heartbreaking amount of hope glimmering within those mosaic shards of green. I didn’t know her. She meant nothing to me, yet the thought that she could lump me in with those other guys in The Pit c...

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” I replied honestly. “But you hurt him.” I shook my head. “I hurt him because he was hurting you. Protecting someone is different. I’ll always pick protecting over making someone my victim.”

I pulled up to the curb a couple of houses down from hers. The last thing I needed was for her parents to see her getting out of a car driven by an eighteen-year-old guy with a bloody face. “Thank you for the ride,” Rain said quietly. “And thanks for being so nice to me.” “Yeah, no problem,” I replied, turning to rest my elbow against the back of the passenger seat. “But please swear to me you’ll never go back there or be around that guy again.” She didn’t even hesitate. “I swear.” “Good.” She got out of the car, and I waited the two minutes it took for her to run to her house and get inside the door. Then, I drove myself to the ER, all while cursing Seth and his inability to understand the word no.

“Oh my God, look at your face! What the hell happened?!” There was panic and affection in her eyes, one I hadn’t seen since I had been small enough to hold her hand when we crossed the street. An unexpected surge of emotion barreled straight through my hardened muscle and into my weary, wounded heart, and I suppressed the need to wrap my arms around her and cry for no other reason than to simply be held by my mom. “I got into a fight,” I answered plainly, like it was nothing. Because, well, it was. I was no stranger to fights these days. But most of them didn’t leave me needing anything more than a few Advil. She looked horrified, like she couldn’t believe I’d do such a thing. Diane Mason had always been a good actress. “A fight?!” I shrugged. “He got me with a broken beer bottle.” “Did they check for rabies? Or tetanus?” The gray-haired nurse setting up the metal tray with the supplies to do my stitches smiled reassuringly without making Mom feel stupid. “It’s unlikely that he contracted rabies from a broken bottle. But we did give him a tetanus shot, just in case.” Mom sighed and sat beside me on the bed. Her hand reached out to grip mine, lacing our fingers together and squeezing tightly. I reminded my heart it meant nothing, that she’d go back to being her usual self the moment we got back home, but, man … I hoped she’d hold on for a while. “How does the other guy look?” “Well, his nose isn’t ever gonna look the same—that’s for damn sure,” I muttered while thinking Set...

And that was when I realized that it didn’t always matter what tree the apple fell from. Sometimes, it was just rotten.

The rent and electric bill were both due, and it wouldn’t be long before the cable bill was late. There was nothing to eat in the kitchen. And Mom had, of course, forgotten to do anything but buy her precious pills and booze with the little money she’d gotten at the new salon in town. She had worked there for a promising two months before Gordon asked me to open the grocery store for a week. Apparently, Mom needed me to wake her up in the morning, and she had failed to show up for work that entire week. “Mom, you need to get another job,” I said with a sigh, holding my head in my hands at the kitchen table we could no longer use for eating. I hadn’t seen the surface of that table in years. I had six hundred expendable dollars in my wallet. That could cover the electric, groceries, and part of the rent, but it wasn’t enough for everything. And while I could maybe beg the landlord for a couple more weeks to get the rest of the money together, that would only solve the problem this month. What about the next or the one after that? “Maybe you can pick up more hours at the grocery store,” she suggested, slumped in her chair. She was taking more pills than usual these days. She could barely keep her eyes open on a good day—and today wasn’t one of them. “I can’t work more hours. They have laws against that.” “Since when do we care about laws?” She might not care about laws, but I did. Maybe I didn’t always do the right thing, maybe I didn’t live my life by the book, but that didn...

I barreled toward my room with determination, then dropped down beside my bed and felt around the underside of the bedframe until I found the envelope. A pitiful, strained sound squeezed its way from my lungs before I uttered, “What the hell?” As if my brain needed a few seconds to catch up, I stared at the flat envelope—too flat to have as much money as I’d had in there—turning it over in my shaking hands while my heart rapidly climbed to an anxious, irregular beat. “Oh no. Oh fuck.” I tore the paper open, revealing what I’d already known. “No, no, no, no … no! Where is it?!” I dropped the envelope, thrust my hands into my hair, and pulled tightly at the strands as I tried to think over the hammering of my heart. “It was right here. Where the hell did it go?!” I had just put away a hundred bucks last night, and now, nearly nine thousand dollars I’d saved throughout the years was gone. My mind tripped over itself, scrambling to make sense of what was happening. You know where it went. I didn’t want to believe what I knew to be the truth. But you know it’s true. “Fuck.” My throat tightened as I slumped against the rickety bedframe, holding the back of my hand over my mouth. My eyes watered, and my nose burned, but I couldn’t afford to give in to the tears I desperately wanted to unleash.

“Have you been in my room?” I enunciated every word through my throat, clenched with panic and despair. “I … I don’t know, Soldier. Probably. Why?” “Did you take anything?” My hands were shaking uncontrollably. My teeth were chattering, as if I were freezing, despite the fire licking away at my veins and cheeks. She turned away to face the ripped cushion beside her head. “Mom! Did you look under my bed?! Did you take something from me?!” Her silence told me everything I needed to know. “Oh my God.” My eyes flooded as I lifted my hands to my hair. I stared down at her limp form, shaking my head and taking one, two, three steps backward. What the fuck am I going to do now? How the fuck are we ever going to get out of here? I gasped, choked by a blinding panic I’d never felt before in my life. I knew we needed to get the fuck out of this hellhole. We needed to leave if there was any hope of us getting better and turning shit around for ourselves, and she had taken every last shred of hope for that from me—from us. She had taken every last penny I’d saved—and for what? More drugs? Jesus fucking Christ, didn’t she have enough? Angry and upset, I spun on my heel and headed straight for her bag on the floor beside the buried table. I knelt and opened it up for the first time without a care if she saw or not. “What are you doing?!” she shrieked, sounding like a scared little animal as she tripped from the couch. “Get out of there! What are you doing?!” There were four full bottles...

“Hey, man, I’m heading to The Pit. Just thought you might wanna come,” I said over the phone, steering my piece-of-shit car through the darkened streets, barely lit by the dim streetlamps in need of new bulbs. “Ah, jeez, I don’t know … Jessica wanted me to head over to her place tonight, and Mom was saying she has some shit for me to do around here tomorrow morning.” Billy liked his drugs—he liked them a whole lot—but he at least still had a handle on his responsibilities. That was one thing I could give him—more than I could say for my mother. For now. “Tell Jessica to meet us over there.” “Dude, you know she hates The Pit. She doesn’t like it when I’m high.” Neither did I, but I never pushed the point the way his on-and-off girlfriend did. “All right. It’s fine. I just—” “You know,” Billy cut me off, already talking himself out of being the responsible one, “maybe I can go for a little bit. Then, I can just swing by her place afterward.” I smiled despite the gross feeling in my gut. I was grateful I wouldn’t have to do business alone. Ever since Tammi had gotten back with Levi, I’d been flying solo a lot of the time, and most days, it sucked. It got lonely, and if I was being real, I was starting to feel like a creepy piece of shit, surrounded by a new batch of high school kids with so much potential and hope—if only there weren’t guys like me and Levi around to take it all away. Hell, if we were being really real here, I hated myself. So much. But what could I do?

we drove away, and Billy reached for the orange bottles in the center console. “Holy shit! What did you do, hit the fuckin’ jackpot?!” “We’re not selling them all,” I warned him, flashing him a pair of narrowed eyes. “But I need to get rid of them. I dunno … maybe I’ll, uh … I dunno. Maybe I’ll throw them in the lake or something.” “Fuck, no, don’t waste them! I’ll take whatever you don’t get rid of tonight.” He popped one of the tops off the bottles. “God, how much did she buy?!” Billy was the only person on the planet who knew where I got my supply from—and who the hell knew who Mom bought them from? It was a question I never asked because I knew she’d never say. But I had my suspicions. “I’d say nine thousand dollars’ worth,” I grumbled as I begged the anger nagging at my nerves to settle just a little. Nobody wanted to buy from a guy who sounded like he was two seconds away from choking the life out of someone. “Get the hell out.” He shook his head with disbelief, then plucked one pill from the top. “Well, don’t mind if I do.” He swallowed it in one quick gulp and sighed with satisfaction. I shook my head, the disappointment in my soul never ending as I drove toward the high school parking lot. The snow had melted, the night was a little warmer, and I was hopeful that enough young people wanted a Friday night out of the house. I wouldn’t sell enough to replenish my savings—of course not—but with any luck, I’d make enough to pay the rent and keep a roof over our heads f...

I glanced at Billy. His head was lolled to the side, bouncing off the window, his neck limp. “Billy?” It never happened like this. His high never hit quite like this. He never blacked out. He never breathed like he was trying to suck bubbles through a straw. “Billy!” The tires squealed as I pulled the car over, just outside the high school parking lot. I reached over and gave his shoulder a violent shake. “Billy!” He didn’t wake up. I threw my door open and got out to race around to the other side. I opened the passenger door, unbuckled his seat belt, and pulled him from the car. He was limp, every breath shallow and slow—but he was breathing. And I held tight to every one of those puffs of air with more hope than I’d ever thought I could muster as I got down on my knees and called 911. “Fuck!” I cried, releasing the torrent of emotion I’d been suppressing. “Fucking hell, Billy. Don’t do this to me. Please. Don’t do this.” The operator answered and asked for my location and what the emergency was. “My friend just took an oxy and won’t wake up,” I told her after telling her where I was, wiping the tears from my cold, wind-bitten face. “Okay, sir. An ambulance is on the way. Can you describe to me what’s happening to him right now?” I did as she’d said, and I realized that what little breath had been passing through his lungs had stopped. “F-f-fuck, no … h-he’s not breathing. He’s—he’s n-not breathing. Oh God! What do I do?! W-what the fuck do I do?!” A few stragglers from t...

Two minutes was a long time. It had been too long. I was surrounded by flashing lights on the side of the road, watching through wide, bewildered eyes as a handful of cops searched my car—Stone Temple Pilots’ “Big Empty” playing on the radio—and the paramedics zipped up a body bag. Billy was inside. “It’s not him anymore,” I could hear Gramma saying as the paramedics took Grampa away. “It’s just his body.” But it had looked like Grampa then, and it had looked like Billy now. Just … different. Empty. Cold. “Soldier Mason?” I looked up at the man in a police uniform through eyes that couldn’t stop tearing up. “Y-yeah?” Maybe it would’ve been more respectful to stand. But I didn’t have the strength in me. Not after I’d watched my closest, longest, oldest friend die beneath my pressing hands. So, the cop sat beside me instead. “I’m sorry about your friend,” he said quietly, folding his arms over his knees. I just nodded, unsure of how I would ever look at Billy’s mom again. God, who’s going to tell his mom? I imagined her receiving the news, imagined her pain and screams and tears, and I started to cry again, unable to find it in me to care that this cop and all of those people against the fence behind me were staring. “My name is Officer Sam Lewis. But you can call me Sam if you’d like.” I didn’t call him anything as I pulled my knees to my chest and pressed my forehead against them. Fucking hell, Billy. You fucking idiot.

Somewhere beyond my realm of thinking, a little voice told me to run and to not stop until every person in this shitty town forgot my name. But there was no forgetting a guy named Soldier, and that was just another thing to blame my mother for. “So, do you think you could answer a couple of questions for me, Soldier?” I lifted my head and watched as the ambulance, void of its siren, drove away with Billy in a body bag. A second cop car drove closely behind it, and I presumed they were on their way to deliver the heartbreaking, life-changing news to Billy’s oblivious parents. They would blame me, and they would hate me, and they wouldn’t be wrong in doing either. It was all my fault. And it seemed that Officer Sam agreed.

“So, you have a lot of pills in your car,” he said. “Are they yours?” My brain worked quicker than it ever had before. If I said no, he’d ask whose they were. I could tell him they were Billy’s, but Billy was dead. I had killed him, and whether he was here to fight for himself or not, I couldn’t do that to him. I refused. No, I’d have to be honest and tell him they were Mom’s. She’d be arrested—oh my God, they’re going to arrest me—and she’d go to prison. But Mom wouldn’t survive jail … but I could. I was younger, stronger, more resilient. Mom would let it break, destroy, kill her, and I couldn’t live with that. I was supposed to save her after all. It was all I knew how to do. So, with a shaky breath, I closed my eyes and nodded. “Yes.” “What were you doing with all that stuff, Soldier?” “I was going to The Pit.” It wasn’t a lie. That was exactly where I’d intended to go. But I wasn’t going to sell them all. I’d wanted to get rid of most of them. All I’d wanted was to make enough money to pay the stupid fucking rent, and the rest would be gone. Thrown in the lake, flushed down the toilet—gone. But Officer Sam didn’t know that. “That’s where the high school kids hang out, isn’t it?” “Yeah.” “You sell to high school kids?” “N-no …” But that’s exactly what you’ve been doing, Soldier. It doesn’t matter how careful you’ve been. It doesn’t matter how good your intentions are. It doesn’t matter. Don’t be a fucking idiot. “Yes,” I gasped, breathless, like the word had been presse...

“In my twenty-six years as a judge, I have unfortunately had a number of these cases pass my desk. I will say, most have been colored in stark contrasts of black and white, and an appropriate punishment has nearly always been easy to decide. “Mr. Mason, your case has not been one of those. “I have thoroughly reviewed the charges against you over these last few days, and while I wholeheartedly agree with your plea of guilty on every account, I don’t hold the same opinion as you that you are, as you have repeatedly put it, a bad person. “Mr. Mason, I believe that, while, yes, you committed these crimes, you unwittingly did so with curiously good intent and without a genuine desire to harm. And your outward displays of emotion and your cooperation with law enforcement, along with your excellent behavior since your arrest, have been greatly taken into consideration in determining your fate. “And so, with all the aforementioned in mind, I have decided to sentence you to a total of twelve years of imprisonment at Wayward Correctional Facility, taking into account the year you’ve already spent in custody, with the possibility of early release on good behavior. Do you understand this?” Eleven more years. It felt like an eternity—a death sentence—and yet it still didn’t feel like enough when all I could think about was Billy and the life I had stolen from him. “Yes, Your Honor,” I answered, my voice hoarse and my heart thundering. Somewhere in the courtroom, someone began to cry. B...

I kept my eyes trained forward, not wanting to so much as glance over my shoulder at the people who had come on Billy’s behalf. But there was a commotion, a shuffling of chairs and loud voices, and then there was Billy’s mom, shouting above the rest. “Soldier! I opened my heart and my home to you. I fed you, and I loved you, and you repaid me by taking away the thing I loved most in this world.” “Okay, Laura,” Billy’s dad said quietly, his voice choked with anguish. “Let’s go.” The guard gripped my shoulder, silently urging me not to engage, and led me toward the door where I’d entered the courtroom. “How am I supposed to live with that?!” she yelled after me. “How am I supposed to go on with my life, knowing you get to live yours?!” I stopped walking despite the guard’s insistence. I glanced quickly over my shoulder, keeping my gaze diverted, unable to look at the woman I’d always wished had raised me instead. I wanted to ask her to let me know if she ever found the answer to her question. I wanted to beg her to never stop loving me despite it all because if she did, there wouldn’t be a single shred of love for me left in this entire world. I wanted to thank her for everything she’d ever done for me over the years, especially during the ones in which I had nobody else. But I didn’t. Whether for a lack of time or courage, I didn’t know. Hell, maybe it was both. Instead, I whispered, “I’m so sorry,” hoping she heard me. Hoping she knew I meant it. “Let’s go, Mason,” the gua...

This is the part where you probably expect me to say that prison was a slice of hell, served to me on a shit-stained platter. You probably expect a harrowing tale of endless fights, shower seduction, and enough misdemeanors to tack another fifteen years onto my sentence. Am I right? Well, I wouldn’t lie to you. For those first five years, I actually hadn’t hated prison. I didn’t love it; don’t get me wrong. It was far from a walk in the park. But for all intents and purposes, it was better than how I’d lived the first half of my life. I had a guaranteed roof over my head and three meals a day. I landed a janitorial job and started working shifts in the cafeteria, cooking and serving breakfast a couple of times a week. After accepting the fate handed to me, I’d spent the first two years working toward taking the GED exam, and by the time I was twenty-four, I had passed with flying colors. And once I was done doing that, I spent three years taking some online college courses and got a bachelor’s degree in business. In my downtime—and there was a lot of it—I decided to finally take up something I hadn’t had much time for since I had been a kid—hobbies. I quickly found that when I wasn’t swiping shit from Mom, selling in The Pit, or working my ass to exhaustion, I could devour about four books a week. I genuinely enjoyed running and strength training. I had a knack for carpentry, and gardening was something I found a lot of pride in. So, all things considered, I was doing okay...

easy to be lonely in prison. And I wasn’t talking about finding someone to chat with during mealtimes or while working whatever job you were assigned to. No, that part was a piece of cake, and if we were talking about casual acquaintances, I had plenty of those, and all of them were just like me. Good-hearted guys who had ended up in shitty situations. But what I was talking about was, when everyone else was having visitors or weekly phone conversations or receiving regular letters and packages in the mail, I had none. And that honestly blew my mind a little. To know that these guys—and I mean dudes convicted of worse crimes than me—had parents, wives, kids, and friends out there who loved them and cared for them after everything they’d done and I had no one. Not a single fucking person. And that sucked. A lot. So, one day, out of desperation, I took up writing letters to the one person I could think of who I’d never wronged. The only person who I’d truly saved. I wrote letters to a girl named Rain. A girl with the prettiest, softest brown hair I’d ever seen. I knew, even when I’d started writing them, that it was stupid. I also knew I’d never send them and she’d never read them. But it was cathartic, in a way, to write to this person I’d built up around a girl I had known for all of fifteen minutes. And while I knew what had happened to me—up to this point in my life anyway—I often wondered what had happened to her after I dropped her off at her house. She’d be twenty-fou...

Mopping the bathroom floor was dirty, disgusting labor, and I was sure it was understandable when I said I didn’t care much for it. But it was quiet work—monotonous and relaxing—and it gave me a lot of time to think. To remember a life I’d once had and fantasize about the one I probably would never have at all. I thought about Gramma and Grampa. How disappointed they might’ve been to see where I’d been living all these years and the things I’d done to put me there. But sometimes, I thought, You know what? Maybe they wouldn’t be all that disappointed after all. Maybe they’d even be proud of me. Not for the things I’d done—of course not—but for what I’d done since I had gotten there. I thought about Billy’s mom and the grief and pain she lived with every day. The broken heart I’d single-handedly stuffed inside her aching chest. Every now and then, I considered the possibility that, Hey, maybe she doesn’t hate me as much today as she did yesterday, and that pipe dream filled me with the smallest amount of hope. But the reality was, I knew she wouldn’t ever care about me again. Not until the day I was also dead. But mostly, I thought about Billy. Where he had gone wrong and how he was also to blame for the choices he’d made in his life. And, no, I couldn’t say I was mad at him, even given the situation I was in because—let’s be real—I would’ve ended up behind bars eventually, whether or not he had died. But I was sad. Sad he wasn’t still around. Sad that my friend was gone. Sa...

His eyes twinkled, and he reminded me of my grandfather. There was just something about him. Familiar and comfortable. “Hey, so, listen, you have a visitor today.” My smile was quick to turn into a frown. “A visitor?” The words felt strange in my mouth. Nobody visited me. I hadn’t seen a person from my life outside of this place since my sentencing, and I couldn’t even begin to imagine who’d wanna see me now after all this time. Harry nodded with the same suspicion in his eyes, seeming to read my mind. “Yeah. Someone named Diane.” I dropped my gaze to the bucket and held on tightly to the handle of the mop. “Holy shit. That’s my mom.” “I know.” He reached to lay a hand on my shoulder, the way Grampa used to. “You don’t have to see her if you don’t want. I’ll tell them you’re not interested.” Harry was a good guy. Always looking out for me. But I shook my head. “No, I’m good. I’ll see what she wants.” The curiosity would kill me if I didn’t. I left the mop and bucket in the bathroom and headed through the halls to the visitor center. I’d never been in there before, but I knew exactly where it was, and when I crossed the threshold into a crowded room, guarded by several officers at every entrance, I spotted her right away. Mom. She was thinner than I remembered, and her hair was as dry as straw, piled on top of her head in a sloppy bun. Her eyes were fixed on the table in front of her, her hands fidgeting like crazy. She was nervous or doped up—hell, probably both—and I wasn...

I walked toward her, trying to think of something to say, when she looked up at me, startled and looking as though she’d seen a ghost. From her perspective, that was probably exactly what it was like. “Soldier?” “Mom.” She dropped her gaze to my hands and said, “Are you allowed to be in here without handcuffs?” I stepped over the bench across from her and sat, staring at her with narrowed eyes. “Do you think I need to be in cuffs?” “Well, what if you hurt someone?” I snickered and looked off toward the window, secured by chain links and a lone spiderweb. “I’m not a psychopathic killer, Mom. Frankly, if I were, they probably wouldn’t let me in here at all.” “Some people think you are.” My eyes met hers then for the first time in … God, I didn’t even know how long. “Oh, yeah? Is that what you think?” She shrugged, not a hint of regret on her bony, sallow face. “I haven’t decided yet.” I couldn’t help but laugh as I raked a hand through my hair. It was getting longer. I’d have to start pulling it back if I didn’t want to get it cut, and I wasn’t sure I did. It was nice to have a change for once. It was nice to become a new version of myself … or someone else entirely. “What are you doing here, Mom?” My voice sounded exhausted to my ears. Like the two minutes in her presence had already been too much. She seemed taken aback by the question. “I’m not allowed to see my son?” “Nobody said you’re not allowed. But considering you haven’t come to see me in fucking years …” I lifted...

She glanced around the room at the other inmates meeting with their loved ones. They behaved differently than we did. They spoke with affection and hope. They hugged until the guards told them to stop. Mom though … she looked at me like she wanted to run away. Maybe she really does think I’m a psychopath. Then, she asked, “How long do you have in here?” I shifted on the hard bench. “Right now, to have a visitor? Or do you mean, how long do I have left to be locked up?” She looked uncomfortable. “The, uh … the second one.” “I have another six years, max, as long as I don’t screw up.” And I had no intention of screwing up. Her lips pursed as she nodded, like she was considering what to say next, and then she replied, “People in town … they don’t want you getting out.” “Well, that’s too fucking bad,” I said, lowering my brows and scowling at her. “Yeah, well … that’s not for a long time anyway.” She sighed and seemed to relax, and a part of me wondered if she was one of those people who didn’t want me getting out of this place … and why. I cleared my throat and decided to change the subject because it was a long time and I didn’t like to think about that. “So, how’s—” “I guess I’ll get going,” she cut me off, beginning to stand. “What?” I asked, taken aback. “But you just freakin’ got here.” “Yeah, but I have stuff to do, and I’m sure you’re busy, so …” She hoisted her bag onto her shoulder—that same bag I had taken those last bottles of pills out of—and forced a smile. “I’ll...

I turned on the stove, getting it ready to fry up the mystery meat. It had been stupid of me to expect I could eat something other than what I’d been choking down the past nine years of my life. And why? Because it was my thirtieth birthday? I hadn’t been special to anyone since I had been twelve when Gramma was still alive. What the hell had made me believe something would suddenly change now, especially as a convicted felon? So, we cooked while Harry supervised, and then I ate my dinner with a little less enthusiasm than usual. Chuck and Jag did me the solid of rounding up a couple of other guys to sing a rousing chorus of “Happy Birthday,” and they gifted me with a Twinkie someone had grabbed from the commissary. It was nice—more than anybody had done for me in years—and I enjoyed my Twinkie with the stupidest smile on my face. Because when I closed my eyes, sitting with my back against the library wall, I almost felt normal. I had come in to find a new book to read, hoping there’d be something I hadn’t read yet, and thought I’d enjoy a few quiet minutes alone, surrounded by the warm scent of musty, old books. And now, I sat on the floor, finishing my birthday present with my arm wrapped around my knees, as I breathed deeply and imagined I wasn’t here, trapped within these stone walls. I was on the outside, free to come and go as I pleased. Free to breathe the fresh air or buy a pizza whenever I damn well felt like it without worrying if it would give me salmonella. The...

I opened my eyes with a jolt to see Harry standing before me, and I said, “Man, you’d make an awesome thief, you know that? Nobody would know you were coming.” He chuckled and offered a kind smile. “I think I’ll stick to my day job, thanks.” Then, he handed me what looked like a piece of paper. “Here. I came to give you this.” “What is it?” I asked skeptically before accepting the white bundle that turned out to be a folded-up paper towel. Inside was a slice of pizza. “Oh, man, Harry …” It was stupid, the way my eyes teared up at the sight of the melted mozzarella and sliced pepperoni. “We had pizza for dinner in the break room. So, I saved you a slice.” He nudged the toe of my beat-up canvas slip-on sneaker with the toe of his shiny shoe. “Happy birthday, Soldier.” “Don’t ever let anyone say you’re not my favorite,” I said before taking a big bite. It wasn’t the freshest, and it was a little cold, but, holy God, nothing had ever tasted better, and I groaned like I’d just received the best blowjob of my life. Fuck. I missed that too. Women. Blowjobs. Sex. The guys and I talked about it sometimes, remembering the people we’d had at one point or another, but most of the time, I preferred not to think about it at all. It didn’t suck so much that way. But right now, with the pizza and pepperoni mingling joyously in my mouth, I recalled other things I wouldn’t mind tasting, and it left an ache so dull in my chest.

“Good?” “You have no fucking idea.” I took another bite, and as I chewed, I left behind the memory of women and instead thought about a time from even longer ago. A whole other fucking life really, and I said, “The last time I had pizza on my birthday was the only time I had a party. My grandparents—I told you they raised me in the beginning, right?” Harry nodded, a hint of melancholy touching his eyes. “You’ve mentioned it a few times.” I’d known Harry for eight years, and there were only so many things to tell. Hell, it was likely he’d heard this story before too. But he didn’t stop me from telling it. “Right. Anyway, my gramma wanted me to have a normal birthday, I guess, and had me invite a couple of friends over. Billy was one of them. We ordered pizza, and right before I sat down to eat, I went to the bathroom to take a piss and walked in on my mom popping pills.” I studied the pizza crust. The hardened bubbles of sauce. The crispy edges and softer middle. “All my grandparents had ever wanted was to give me a normal childhood while still protecting my mom. She was their only kid. I always got that they genuinely thought they were doing the right thing, and I don’t blame them for anything ever, but …” “All we can do is our best,” Harry said, injecting a bit of wisdom into my moment of reflection. “Even if our best isn’t all that good at all.” I nodded thoughtfully, turning the piece of crust over in my fingers. “It’s crazy. Like … sometimes, we have these moments, you...

don’t want you coming home.” Off to my right, Coop—a guy who’d attempted a bank robbery after finding out he was gonna lose his house—must’ve just told his wife he had a good shot at getting out of here, too, because she was jumping out of her seat to throw herself at him. The guard allowed the hug for a few seconds before asking them to break it up. And there was my mom, telling me she didn’t want me coming home. It must’ve been nice to have someone who wanted you out, where they could hug you without someone telling you to stop. A muscle in my jaw twitched. “Why not?” “Because …” She squeezed her hands into white-knuckled fists, like she was suddenly angry. She leaned forward and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Do you even know what you have done to my life since you murdered Billy?” The air was sucked out of the room as I stared at her skeleton face. Those words—murdered Billy—sliced deep, cutting through bone and muscle, until they pierced what was left of my heart. Except she had it wrong. I hadn’t murdered Billy. I hadn’t wanted him to die; I hadn’t asked him to take her poisoned drugs. But he had done it anyway, and I would live with that for the rest of my life. The fact that she thought I’d murdered him though … that hurt when I knew it shouldn’t. Her opinion shouldn’t have mattered. Yet it did. It always would. “I didn’t murder anyone,” I replied, my voice low. “Bullshit,” she hissed, sneering. “And I’m not the only one who thinks so. Billy’s mother? You ever wo...

Without thinking, I stood up, grabbed the heaviest book I could reach—sorry, Stephen King—and made my fast approach. I was going to bring that book down onto his head. I prayed I wouldn’t kill him, but if I did, my apologies to Gene, but at least I would ensure my spot here for the rest of my shitty life. The book was high, ready to drop, when Gene turned to find me looming over him like the angel of fucking death. His eyes were immediately huge, his hands raised to shield his face. “Soldier, what the—” “Hey, hey, hey!” Harry hurried into the library. “All right, Soldier, put down the book.” I stared right at my friend, barely able to focus on his silver glasses, and shook my head. “Harry, I have to. I-I don’t—” “Soldier, give me the book. We’ll talk, okay? You don’t want to do anything to Gene.” He was right. I didn’t want to do anything to Gene. I didn’t want to do anything to anybody—never had. My resolve crumbled quickly, and I dropped The Stand to the floor. Harry told Gene to get the hell out of there as I turned and rested my forehead against a shelf, and then I felt Harry’s warm hand against my back. “What happened, son?” Son. Nobody but Grampa had ever called me son. Nobody else had ever treated me like one. I didn't know what it was like to have a biological dad, but I did know what it had been like to look up to Grampa for the first twelve years of my life. And for the last eight years, I knew what it had been like to turn to Harry. And I turned to him then, not...

A week later, I had my hearing, and I waited like a kid on Christmas to hear the news. Two months after that, the board made the decision to release me back into the world, and two more months went by before I was receiving fist bumps, handshakes, and even hugs from the friends I'd made inside. I promised to write them letters, and I made them promise to come see me if and when they got out themselves. And then, there at the end of the line, on his day off, was Harry. In an instant, a flash of memory came rushing in from nearly ten years ago. I had been much younger and scrawnier and way, way, way more scared then but just as tall when I walked through those gates and made reluctant eye contact with this same man before he ushered me through to Receiving and Discharge. I had noted then that, while the rest of the guards manhandled us and spoke in condescending tones, Harry never did. And although I never thought of the others as bad men for looking down on us, I always considered Harry better because he never did. Now, I stood before him—not in prison garb, but jeans and a plain black sweatshirt—and for the first time, we felt like equals even if Harry never treated me as anything but. “I'm not saying goodbye to you,” I warned him, defiant as I hoisted the duffel bag higher on my shoulder. He scoffed despite the heavy swallow of his throat. “I'm not saying goodbye to you either,” he insisted, grinning before pulling me in for a tight bear hug. “It's been a pleasure getting...

hold on a sec.” He held up a finger and dug a hand into the bag he'd brought with him. He pulled out a wrapped box a bit smaller than my hand and gave it to me. “Merry Christmas, Soldier.” “Harry, what the fuck?” I turned the box over in my hands. “You're not supposed to get me shit.” He shrugged casually. “You're a free man now. I can do whatever the hell I want. But, hey, don't open it now, okay? Wait until you're in the car or home or whatever.” Home. Fuck, I couldn’t believe I was actually going home. I hated the way my limbs and hands shook as I pulled the duffel bag off my shoulder and put the present inside. Harry didn't get it … or, hell, maybe he did—what the hell did I know? But the thing was, I hadn't received a present—a real, honest-to-God present, all wrapped up and shit—since I had been twelve years old. Mom hadn’t given enough of a shit to get us a tree, let alone buy me a present and wrap it up. With this thing in my bag, I hardly knew what to do with my emotions as I pulled the duffel back up my shoulder and bit at my inner cheek until the urge to cry or jump around like a little kid subsided. I cleared my throat and glanced toward the door. The car was here and waiting, sitting idle in the parking lot. Harry followed my gaze and pulled in a deep breath before saying, “Anyway, I'll see you around, okay?” I nodded, not knowing if I’d ever see him again. Not knowing what I was going to do without him. “Yeah.” “I'm proud of you, son,” he said as another offi...