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Five years. That's what Marisol got. When she received the sentence, her mother cried. It was a cry full of pain and sadness. It made Marisol want to cry as well, but she didn't. That would make it worse for her mother.
Marisol followed the officers out of the courtroom. She felt nothing suddenly. Maybe it was that she had lost all hope.
...
UPSTATE NEW YORK—PRISON
Marisol felt helpless in prison. She couldn't support her family here. She felt so lost. She had no friends, no one to trust. And to think she still had years left of this, it made her that much more hopeless.
The only place she didn't feel like she was falling apart was in the library. It was quiet. Usually quiet was bad for the mind but not for Marisol. She read best when it was quiet. When she read she didn't feel like she was in prison anymore. She didn't feel stuck in place.
Marisol wasn't a heavy reader during her high school years. As she grew up, she started turning to new things and in all those new experiences there wasn't time for reading. Now, all she had was time. But don't get it twisted, just because Marisol didn't read much didn't mean she wasn't smart. In fact, Marisol was incredibly smart.
Her dream was to become a brain surgeon. Even before she knew how much money they earned, she wanted to be one. But with the money she could support her mother in an honest way.
The honest way. Mari hated that phrase. She hated that whenever she needed something it wasn't possible the "honest way." Her dream required college and where she came from there wasn't a single dollar for college. Her family couldn't even live honestly. She hated that most of all. She hated that people looked down on her because of that. She hated that people thought there were a million other options, but it's never that easy.
"You're new here, right?" Marisol lifted her head from her book. In front of her, stood a woman. She was the most lively person Marisol had seen in such a place.
"Yeah." Mari answered.
The woman pulled a chair out and sat across from Mari. "You're always alone. I was thinking you could use a friend, especially here." The woman was young. It worried Mari. "I'm Angela."
What an ordinary name for such an extraordinary person. Marisol's mood was somehow lifted just by Angela's presence.
"I'm Marisol." She said it without the accent. She had been doing that lately. She hadn't spoke Spanish in so long, that accenting things wasn't so much of a habit anymore.
"Can I call you Mari?" The question was so sudden. They had barely gotten to know each other. And "Mari" reminded her of home. But Marisol needed friends and if this was her way to it, then she'd take it.
