Song: Cruel World by Tommee Profitt
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The words tasted sweet as they touched my lips.
The words spurred excitement in my chest. It grew larger and larger with each low thump of my heart.
The words gave me hope.
Because these words signified my new beginning.
Because these words had to do with my freedom.
Freedom is in the palms of my hands now. It is being dangled by a string in front of my eyes. I'm so close. It's right there, and I can just reach out and touch it.
Because now, it is mine.
The judge's words sound so unreal as she declares that finally, I am a free citizen. I am free to walk and live as I please.
I.
Am.
Free.
The mother of the loved ones I killed in the crash are in the room with me, though. She sends me hateful glares and tears stream down her cheeks. Her hands are balled into fists at her sides and heavy bags are nestled under her eyes.
She looks exhausted.
It's nearly been four years, and she's still devastated. She's still affected.
And that thought causes my heart to shatter.
I've truly changed people's lives in one of the worst ways possible. Once more, it feels as if I lug around the dead weight of a boulder that is strapped to my back.
But it is not a boulder, but guilt that feels heavy like one.
I take deep breaths, calming myself so that a panic attack doesn't creep up on me. I learned a lot about how to manage my mental problems with the therapists, and for that, I am grateful.
Murmurs erupt in the room. Whether they are for or against me, I don't care. At this moment, I just care about my freedom.
"This case is dismissed." The judge says, the sound of the mallet hammering fills my ears. The therapists that have been assigned to my case smile at me and I run up to them and thank them for the help they've given me.
The mother glares at me and flips me off as she exits the courtroom. I am, however, escorted back to the institution to collect some clothes so I can change out of this institutional light grey jump suit.
Once I change into the old dark green, v-neck tee shirt and faded skinny jeans, I am driven outside of the gates and dropped off by the driver. It's a surreal moment when I watch the government car drive away from me.
The earth is before me and the sun leaves no shadow to hide as it rises high in the sky. The grass is dry and dead around me and the light breeze plays with my hair. I breathe a breath of fresh and and smile as I look up at the vibrant blue sky.
For the first time in nearly four years, I am alone.
There's no prisoners to beat me up nor patronize me. There's no mental patients to talk to or interact with. Human presence is gone for me and with it, privacy has returned. For the last three years, I've had no privacy.
In prison, there was a single toilet in the cell in which my cell mates and I used. There was no door, no concept of privacy in prison. Then, when I went to the mental institution, that didn't change.
There was always cameras in my room to monitor my state.
But now, all that has changed.
With confidence, I begin my trek down the short gravel path that leads into the city. Life is bustling and I can't help but stop and stare at the life before me. People rush around to their destined places and they brush by me quickly.
Some people chat about their days with their friends while others walk alone and in silence.
The scent of fresh goods pour out from a nearby bakery. Through the bakery's window, I see a young man and woman smile and chat with each other with a mug of hot coffee in their hands.
An old man leisurely walks his black lab down the chipped concrete streets. A cigar sticks out from his lips that billows out smoke with each breath. A newspaper is tucked under his arm securely, and I wonder if he will read it while reclining in a dark green recliner just like my own father had done every Sunday morning.
I see the homeless curled up into the cold brick walls that the buildings provide. They beg society for money but receive very little. Scraggly dogs are by their side, mirroring the worn out look of sadness that their owners carry.
Cars honk at the mass of pedestrians who cross the street slowly. Teenagers on skateboards whiz by me, shouting profanities at me to make me move out of the way.
I guess I'm staring.
I go to shove my hands in my pockets, but then I remember I haven't worn skinny jeans in a long time, and I've forgotten that they don't make girls skinny jeans with pockets. If they do by chance have pockets, they are shallow and useless.
Welcome back to life, Addison. I think to myself and smile.
I trot down the little concrete path, in search of the bank that stores my money. I figured I could grab some cash so that I could perhaps leave the city and perhaps, even the state and find a new home to make a new life for myself.
But fate had other plans, and soon I would find out exactly what. I wait in line at the bank, and when I get to the banker, I ask her to withdraw several hundred thousand dollars. I give her my account details, surprisingly I had remembered that after nearly four years.
She bites her lip and looks up at me with sad eyes. "Hmm....I'm afraid there's an issue."
I raise my eyebrow, becoming concerned. My new life depends on this money, I can't afford things to go wrong right now. "What is it?" I ask, concerned.
"Your mother closed the account nearly three years ago. I'm afraid this account no longer exists." She informs me.
"What? What do you mean? O-of course it exists....I-I've had money in it since...since forever." I say, panicked. No no no! Why would my mother do this? Did she purposely set me up for failure? "I-I thought she couldn't touch my account since I was an adult and...."
"Your mother is a powerful woman. She can get away with almost anything by waving cash in someone's face." The woman replies.
"You don't understand. I-I'm depending on this money. This....i-it was all I had left!" I cry out in frustration. My heart pounds and my hands shake.
"I'm sorry, dear. But I'm afraid the only way I can help is if you talk to your mother about this. Then you can come back to me."
My mother....she hates me! She won't want to see me.
I nod any way, and with eyes filling with tears, I rush out of the bank and zoom down the streets. Why did life have to throw yet another shitty thing at me? Do I have some sort of "kick me" sign on my back that only life sees?
I groan in frustration and I slide down the wall of concrete. I sit down, thinking about what to do. I hold my head in my hands and thread my fingers through my hair. I blink away the tears that want to escape my eyes. I'm desperate at this point, and I'm dreading the thought about talking to my mom again. Last time, she hated me as did my entire family.
But it's worth a shot, right?
Sighing, I shakily stand up and retreat from the shadows that unbeknownst to me, a monster lurks, watching me with jaded eyes.
* * *
My family still lives in the same house I grew up in. The rich gated community setting that shows off their riches and wealth.
There was nothing wrong with money itself, and there's nothing wrong with being rich. It's what you do with it and how you act when you have it that matters.
I've noticed that money seems to blind the eyes of those who reach up and indulge themselves in its green warmth. It creates ignorance a lot of the time, because with money brings perfection.
Or so they think.
They, (being the people I grew up with,) seem to think that lots of money brings perfection. It brings them cars, better clothes, the best makeup brands, the most beautiful homes, and even fame. To most people, that is a perfect life.
But perfection is an illusion.
It's a dangerous illusion at that.
It distorts the picture of reality and makes you unaware of your true self.
They say ignorance is bliss. But as they bask in their beautiful ignorance, one day, reality will hit them all. And then they'll finally realize that their neon walls they built will be nothing more than a house of cards that can easily be blown away.
And everything they once had will be gone.
And nothing will be able to save them because it will be too late.
They will have missed their chance to open their eyes and hearts.
And won't a day of reckoning will that be.
Luckily, I remembered the gate code to get into the gated community. It was a password I've known since I was a child. It was a simple combination of numbers reading: 2436.
So as I walk the paved streets my childhood had played on, I can't help but feel slightly bitter inside. I grew up with everything and now I have nothing. This neighborhood seems to rub that fact in my face, and for that, I am bitter.
Deep breaths, Addy. Bitterness will eat you alive. I tell myself.
I slowly approach the mansion I grew up in. The grass is healthy and green just as I remember it. My mother's hydrangea flowers that she had lovingly picked out as tiny little plants when I was only eight years old are still there.
Only now, they are beautiful, giant bushes with vibrant flowers decorating the thick green leaves.
The oak tree in the front yard has grown a lot since last time I saw it. It is a dark, dull green and the tire swing still hangs from one of its mighty branches.
The air smells floral and I've realized just how much I've missed the outside world.
The house still looks as grand as ever. It is the epitome of wealth itself. It truly is a beautiful home, but too bad the inhabitants are not as beautiful on the inside.
My feet touch the sidewalk made of stone and I find myself slowly and hesitantly walking up to the door. I know they are all home as their cars are parked outside. They never park their fancy cars in the garage because they want everyone to see just how wealthy they are.
Shallow, I know.
It isn't long before I find myself at the big, beautiful front door made of polished oak. I squeeze my eyes shut, my heart beating a million miles an hour. I am tense and nervous, and I dread the outcome.
I raise my fist to knock on the door, but I quickly pull it back down.
What will I say? Do they still hate me? Will they even recognize their own daughter? All these questions run through my mind, but I guess there's only one way to find out.
So I raise my fist once more, and gently knock. The hollow sound of wood against skin meets my ears and I dread what is to happen next.
I hear the pitter patter of feet before the door slowly opens. I immediately smell the scent of the home I grew up in and the home that I now miss. It smells of cinnamon and pumpkin, and I can't help the memories that flow through my mind as a result of that scent.
Opening my eyes, I see my mother.
She doesn't look like she's aged at all. The makeup she coated on her face hides all. Her face is expressionless as she eyes me and her mouth curls into disgust when she examines my outfit.
"You shouldn't be here." She says, almost emotionless.
"Mom....I won't bother you a-at all, I swear. I-I just need money and then I will go on my way. You won't ever have to see me again, if that's what you wish. Y-you closed my bank account and I need-"
"That was my money I worked hard for. You don't deserve to touch any of it, because it was mine in the first place. Maybe that's my way of cutting ties with you." She says, squinting her small eyes at me.
"B-but I just got out of prison and I'm f-free now. I don't have anywhere to go." I beg her, my voice breaking. I didn't want to tell her I actually just got out of a mental institution. Who knows what she'll think then.
"Well then you should have thought about that before you drove drunk and slaughtered the child in cold blood." She hisses.
I wince at her cold words. They struck deep and I'm sensitive to what I had done years ago. Don't cry, damn it. Be strong.
"B-but mom-"
"Honey! Who's at the door?" I hear my dad call out from the background.
"Goodbye Addison." She whispers coldly before slamming the door in my face.
But her next words causes me to feel like a cold sword has been driven into my heart mercilessly.
"It was nobody, dear." She says back to my dad through the door as her voice fades away until it was nothing.
I'm just a nobody to them now.
Warm tears swim in my eyes and a choked sob leaves my lips. I run down the streets I once grew up in and run out of the gated community. My feet slap against the pavement and my chest heaves with sobs.
I now have nowhere to go and I can't shake the feeling that someone keeps watching me.