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“Yes, Your Honor,” I answered, my voice hoarse and my heart thundering.
Somewhere in the courtroom, someone began to cry.
Billy’s mom.
“Additionally,” the judge went on, “for the crimes of involuntary manslaughter and possession of a controlled substance with the intent to sell, a fine of fifty thousand dollars is required. On top of that, you will be required to serve two years of probation upon your release, in which you must report to an assigned officer as well as remain within the state of Connecticut for the remainder of your sentence. Do you understand this?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
The judge nodded, then leaned forward and folded his arms against the bench. His eyes met mine with a touch of sympathy, and then he spoke. “Mr. Mason, as I mentioned before, I do wholeheartedly believe that you are, regardless of the unfortunate circumstances in which you were born into, a good man because it is mypersonal opinionthat a truly terrible man doesn’t believe he is in fact terrible. It is my deepest hope that you will somehow find peace in spite of the crimes you have committed and the tragedies you have faced during your short life and that, at the end of your sentence, you are able to begin the second chapter of your life with the brightest of lights guiding your way—the way the firstshould havebegun—coupled with a predisposition to act in a way worthy of your character.”
I heard the words he spoke; I saw the honesty in his heavy, wrinkled eyes. And yet I couldn’t allow either to touch my heart. Not when Billy’s mom sat somewhere behind me, her cries of anguish escalating as her husband tried desperately to console her.
She hated me. Everyone did, including my own mother—who hadn’t bothered to see me in the year I spent locked up, let alone attend my sentencing. And for that reason alone, how could I not hate myself?
Still, I stared ahead, as I’d been told to do by my assigned lawyer, and said, “Thank you, Your Honor.”
His lips barely twitched into a forlorn smile. “And with that, Mr. Mason, I wish you a good life.” The gavel hit the bench. “Court is adjourned.”
I stood as the cop came to collect me and take me away. I kept my eyes trained forward, not wanting to so much as glance over my shoulder at the people who had come on Billy’s behalf. But there was a commotion, a shuffling of chairs and loud voices, and then there was Billy’s mom, shouting above the rest.
“Soldier! I opened my heart and my home to you. Ifedyou, and Ilovedyou, and you repaid me by taking away the thing I loved most in this world.”
“Okay, Laura,” Billy’s dad said quietly, his voice choked with anguish. “Let’s go.”
The guard gripped my shoulder, silently urging me not to engage, and led me toward the door where I’d entered the courtroom.
“How am I supposed to live with that?!” she yelled after me. “How am I supposed to go on with my life, knowing you get to live yours?!”
I stopped walking despite the guard’s insistence. I glanced quickly over my shoulder, keeping my gaze diverted, unable to look at the woman I’d always wished had raised me instead.
I wanted to ask her to let me know if she ever found the answer to her question. I wanted to beg her to never stop loving me despite it all because if she did, there wouldn’t be a single shred of love for me left in this entire world. I wanted to thank her for everythingshe’d everdone for me over the years, especially during the ones in which I had nobody else.
But I didn’t. Whether for a lack of time or courage, I didn’t know. Hell, maybe it was both.
Instead, I whispered, “I’m so sorry,” hoping she heard me. Hoping she knew I meant it.
“Let’s go, Mason,” the guard said, nudging me along.
So, without another word, without looking back, I went.
CHAPTER SIX
LETTERS TO RAIN
Age Twenty-Seven
This is the part where you probably expect me to say that prison was a slice of hell, served to me on a shit-stained platter. You probably expect a harrowing tale of endless fights, shower seduction, and enough misdemeanors to tack another fifteen years onto my sentence.
Am I right?
Well, I wouldn’t lie to you.
For those first five years, Iactually hadn’thated prison.
I didn’t love it; don’t get me wrong. It was far from a walk in the park. But for all intents and purposes, it was better than how I’d lived the first half of my life.
I had a guaranteed roof over my head and three meals a day.
