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written in bold, block letters was paper-clipped to the top.
Dear Madelyn,
Welcome to your new home and a new beginning of your new life. I consider myself a shrewd judge of character, so I know you are more than deserving of this opportunity. Don't look backward, but focus on your future. You've paid a huge price to get here, but those roots you spoke of are severed. Grow. Thrive. Bloom. You deserve it.
Respectfully,
John and Emma McCloskey
The letters on the paper grew blurry as the tears I’d held back earlier refused to go away. I would never be able to repay John and Emma McCloskey, either for their generosity or their staunch belief in me. I didn't know for sure how my former third-grade teacher had found out about my circumstances, but once she had, she'd immediately sent her husband to me, and he set to work right away filing and arguing for my early release.
It hadn't taken long for me to recognize that my new lawyer not only excelled at his job arguing a case in a courtroom, but also in expelling knowledge from his newest client. Somehow, he'd gotten me to share things about myself that I'd never told anyone. If I were a criminal, I'd hate to be on a witness stand being cross-examined by him.
After Mr. M's initial visit to meet me to learn more about my case, he continued to make visits while he pursued the necessary paperwork. During those times, he asked questions about what it was I wanted to do before I was incarcerated. Slowly he pulled out the painful details of my broken family life and how I wanted to go to college and become a teacher. Eventually, he moved on to my plans once I was released. One day, he informed me of a new program his firm was developing to partner with released criminals to assist them back into the civilian world. I was suspicious of the timing and my deservedness, but he never faltered in his determination to convince me to apply for the opportunity. ‘It's a chance to start over. Where else are you going to go? Why not you?’
I looked back at the paper in my hands. His words touched me. I knew he had carefully chosen them, especially his closing. Respectfully. He understood that I felt I'd lost all chance of being respected by anyone, including myself. In one word, he was trying to tell me I was worthy.
Thoughts of Holten Andrews drifted into my mind. It was obvious by his demeanor that he didn't think I deserved this opportunity. I wondered what he'd think of me if he'd met me under normal circumstances, out in town or at work, or if I didn’t have a criminal background.
Oh, who was I fooling? I wasn't good enough for members of my own family. How could I be good enough for anyone else?
You need to love yourself first.
The words from the counselor we'd been forced to listen to as we were coached about re-entering the 'real world' played in my head. I wasn't stupid; I knew there was something to the sentiment. But she made it sound so easy. She spoke as if there was some magical formula to make everything better. I'd always been an excellent math student, and the laws of math dictated that adding zero to anything else still yielded the same. I felt like adding me to any situation was equivalent to adding nothing.
And yet Mr. M thinks you're worth taking a chance on, I reminded myself. According to him, I was more than a zero. For now, I would have to trust that his math was better than mine.
4
Maddy
I bit my thumb knuckle and paced back and forth in front of the couch, unable to focus on the television show I'd turned on. I didn't know what it was called or what it was about; I just needed something to fill the silence.
If you'd asked me a day ago what was one of the things I was looking forward to the most about getting out of prison, at the top of my list would have been peace and quiet. In prison, it seemed there was always noise: loud shrieks, sharp cracks of laughter, eerie moans, crying, electronic buzzing of locks, and almost constant talking. Even during mandatory quiet hours, I could still hear footsteps, snoring, and mumbles of the guards. Now I found the silence almost unnerving. Glancing at the clock on the stove and seeing it was almost lunchtime, I felt my body tense in anticipation of being called to line up for lunch, but the signal never came.
I tried to occupy myself by exploring the cabinets and drawers in the small kitchen. I had been generously supplied with basic needs, almost all in sets of four: white dishes and mugs, glasses, silverware, and dish towels. There was a set of pots and pans and a small coffee pot. There were even a couple of homemade frozen casseroles in my freezer, complete with directions on how to heat them. According to another note, they'd been graciously supplied by Mrs. McCloskey.
I smiled when I peeked into the linen closet in the hallway. In addition to a couple of sets of dark purple towels, there was a pack of toilet paper. While most people would take that for granted, I saw it as another reminder of finally being free. No longer would I have to endure scuffles over a few sheets of the precious commodity!
I wandered back down the hallway and stood in the middle of the living room. I had managed to kill seventeen minutes according to the digital clock. I'd only been in my new pad for over an hour, and already I didn't know what to do with myself. I thought about taking a nap in that amazing bed, but my adrenaline was still pumping. I wished I could go for a walk and spend some of my extra energy.
That's when it hit me. Why couldn't I? There were no locks holding me inside; nobody monitoring where I went.
I didn't bother glancing out the window to see if it was still raining. It didn't matter. In fact, I'd welcome the chance to feel the sting of the drops since we weren’t allowed outside on rainy days at the correctional center. I swept my keys off the coffee table and darted out of the apartment.
By the time I came back in, I was cold and shivering, but my face hurt from smiling so big. If anybody was home and had bothered to look out their window, they might have wondered what kind of nutcase had moved into the building. But for once I didn't care what anyone thought of me.
At first, I'd been tentative as I walked all around the building and took in my new surroundings, almost waiting for someone to question what I was doing or where I was going. But it didn't take long before I was running toward anything that drew my attention: a bus stop where I paused long enough to notice a schedule; a small flowerbed in front of the building where I dug my fingers into the cold, wet soil to pull a couple of weeds and allow a worm to wriggle in my palm; puddles that I actually jumped in; and my favorite - a small playground where I sat on a swing and pumped my feet until I was soaring high, ignoring the creaks and groans of the old metal structure. I was happier than a pig in mud exploring things I hadn't been able to in years.
I didn't even regret that I was now standing in my bedroom as a soggy, dirty mess. I hadn't considered my laundry issue before now, but I decided I could always wash out the clothes in the sink and wrap up in a towel while they dried overnight. I stripped down and wrapped up in one of my new towels and rinsed out the pants. The shirt was only wet, so I went to the bedroom to see if there might be any hangers in the closet so I could hang it up to dry. To my delight, I found not only hangers but a couple pairs of jeans and long sleeved shirts. In a drawer, there was a new pack of underwear. None of it was fancy, but it was clean and dry and nicer than anything I’d worn in a long time. It had to be Mrs. M again. I loved her maternal instinct to take care of others.
I enjoyed a steaming hot, untimed shower, another first. Even before I went to prison, I had to be careful not to use too much hot water, or I'd drain the small hot water tank. I would, however, need to do some shopping for some personal items. I had no idea where to go, though.
So whatcha gonna to do about it, girlie?
My grandmother's voice seemed to whisper in my head. That had always been her challenge to me when I wanted something that wasn’t readily available. I felt the familiar ache in my chest whenever I thought about her. God, I missed her something awful. I’d only been ten when Charly and I went to live with her. She was my father’s mother, but they had severed ties long ago. I never knew why. But whatever feelings she had
for her son, she loved and took care of us to the best of her ability. She knew I had big dreams to go to go away and go to college.
