Unlikely Ride to Freedom

Hesitation isn’t powerful enough a word to describe the feeling which overcame me when I discovered who had arrived to pick me up from jail. Ever trusting and naive, I calmly entered the car, unsure of what verbal punishment would follow. What was she doing there picking me up after I had slept with her, her daughter, and pocketed her emergency cash? I was obviously dealing with one crazy bitch.

Conversation was nonexistent and the first few moments of our journey were filled with the hum of her car’s engine as she violently shifted gears. Journey to where, was a good question, right? Most people go home from jail, but I was without one. My car was impounded so it wouldn’t be providing me with transportation or shelter until I could somehow retrieve it. I’d sleep in the snow for a week if it only meant Mrs. Thompson would say whatever the fuck it was she was there to say.

The silence lasted a few moments longer and as we began to make our way towards Boulder it was finally broken. Her words were calm and she didn’t even mention any of the atrocities I had committed. She was more worried about her husband finding out than anything and seemed willing to bite her tongue and assist me in whatever way she could to prevent such revelations from surfacing.

From our conversation I was able to discern that she had picked me up as a favor to my mother. I’ve never believed that was her only motivation; she was obviously terrified that I would rat her out and ruin her marriage. I had been a member of the Don’t Snitch Movement long before being incarcerated and had no real intentions of putting her out there like that. This doesn’t mean I didn’t harbor bitterness, but was simply resolved not to make a terrible situation worse. What good would it do anyway? It certainly wasn’t going to make the D.A. dismiss my case.

The drive was conveniently short. She was taking me to my girlfriend’s house where I would spend the night and could be close by to retrieve my wheels in the morning. As we turned the corner onto Lauren’s street, I can remember thinking that the next time I saw this lunatic ex-lover of mine that she might be staring me down from across the court room as she informed the jurors of how badly I sucked at life. I was sure those same jurors would be just as shocked by the circumstances surrounding my knowledge of the cash’s whereabouts I had stolen. No way would she take the stand with so much to lose.

As the wheels of her car crunched to a halt in the thickening snow I knew I didn’t have much to worry about in the way of her potential testimony. My only problem remained finding somewhere to live and staying as far away from the Thompson family as conceivably possible. Mrs. Thompson had my balls in a vise, but she’d never tighten it without a push from my side of the conflict. Stepping from the car I felt relieved to be distancing myself from the bane of my existence and welcomed the cold that enveloped the night sky. It seemed warmer outside of the car and I was thankful that her face, one which had often made me smile, was one my eyes would never again have the displeasure of looking into. My hands were washed of that crazy fucking family, but were assured to get much dirtier in the upcoming weeks of my freedom. I seemed destined for prison and I’d be damned if I thwarted destiny.

Tagged as: Autobiography, blog, crime, writing