Change

Chapter One

"What?! Community service?!" I say, distraught. I run my fingers through my hair. How could I have let my addiction get this far? I promised myself I would never get behind the wheel while under the influence. I was never a drunk-driving kind of person in the 6 months I've been hooked on the poisonous venom people call alcohol. How could something I'm so reliant on, something so important to me be so deadly and punishable?

And I guess being 19 wasn't the best part either. I was not even allowed to be consuming when the blue and red flashing lights pulled up behind me. Funny, don't you think? Red and blue are colors of America, colors of freedom. But also colors of stinky, rotten, no-good police officers chasing you down to ruin your dreams, and empty your wallets.

"Yes, but I can assure you, community service is way better than paying the fine, especially at your age and just having left the financial anchor of your parents," the asshole of a police officer tells me in a monotone voice. How could he be so calm when he's so clearly burdening me? "Now, the minimum amount of hours I can give you is 50 since its your first run-in with the law. So, I will give you the benefit of the doubt. 50 hours."

My heart drops into my gut. 50 damn hours of "giving back"? I've never helped anyone in my lifetime; more so the opposite. He was right, though, I don't have the money to pay the fine and still get along on more than ramen noodles for every meal. I would rather do 50 hours of grimy community service than have to live with sand-paper toilet tissue I'd have to downgrade to.

Now that I think about it, 50 hours is only a little over 2 days. And 2 days of "helping people" then getting on with my life doesn't sound so bad, right? I guess I could just man up and deal with the shit life throws at me, especially while I still have my two-ply, angel-like toilet paper.

"What will my community service consist of?" I cringe a little asking this question, scared for the response. On the TV shows I always see the people picking up trash with pointy sticks while wearing blinding vests. I was hoping to God, if he was even listening to my mini prayers, that I wouldn't have to do that. Especially where there are people around. How embarrassing.

"I had something different in mind than the usual community service activities." He says, and I say another mini prayer, thanking God for listening to my pleas. "There's this orphanage on Lake View Road, 'Miss Karen's Home For Girls.' Its pretty beaten up and in terrible shape. I was thinking you could go and help them restore the place."

I thought over this solution for a second. Definitely sounds better than picking up other peoples used coke cans and candy wrappers. Right? I mean, how bad could this be? Besides the little girls running around, I was sure I could handle this. He gives me a list of times I could show up at this place, and some of them didn't tickle my fancy just right.

"You can start tomorrow. I will let Karen know you're coming." He says throatily. I give an annoyed wave, heading out the door and into my dump of a car. I knock away the Burger King trash and stick the key in the ignition. And boy, was I in for a hell of a ride.