Freedom

Ledley had told me, over the last cigarette we’d shared, that the first breath of fresh air was the best. When the freedom is so new and magical, you couldn’t possibly see a downside. The world is your oyster, and you’re a starved customer at a seafood restaurant.

He also told me that the feeling didn’t last for long. The walk from the prison to the bus stop was a long one, over grey pavestones that seemed to get longer and longer as you contemplate how to get your life back on track when it takes a five year stop at Cherry Hill Low-Security Prison.

The air became noticeably different to Cherry Hill’s own complex cocktail of crime and conviction; I felt like a stranger, breathing in clean and, figuratively, harmless air. People were smiling, and talking about normal things like- well, non-prison things. No one looked at me twice, with invisible grudges formed from years of imprisonment.

There was a café on the way to the bus stop, and for my empty stomach and the seven pounds jingling in my pockets, it was a dim and greasy beacon of light. This café, Ledley had said, had served many an ex-convict from Cherry Hill; he had eaten there twice himself. He had recommended the full English. Ledley normally prepared himself with a ten pound note, pre-potential arrest, just so he had something to look forward to when he got out.

The door rung a small bell as I opened it, and a young man on the till looked up and watched me as I walked in. His nametag read ‘Gary’. I asked for two slices of toast and a cup of tea, and Gary told me it would be ready in five minutes, that I should take a seat at the empty booth by the window. He spoke with the familiarity one develops when one becomes accustomed to the nature of newly released convicts. I handed over two of the seven pounds, went to sit down, and made small rips in a napkin with my restless hands as I waited. 

The café wasn’t empty; every table now had at least one person sat down, either waiting for, enjoying or struggling to pre-digest their own plates of greasy meat and carbohydrates. I wondered briefly how many of them had made their own stupid mistakes in their lives, and how many of them had paid for it with a spell at Cherry Hill. Hopefully none; were it not for my aching hunger, and Ledley’s review, I would be on the bus far, far away by now. I wanted to leave Cherry Hill and never look back. I wanted to try and enjoy the freedom that was growing more and more daunting.

Gary brought over my tea, and told me the toast would be here in a moment. As he walked back to the till, the bell rung and the door opened. A woman wearing a light, flowing summery dress entered, and seemed to illuminate the grimy café. She turned her head, looking for an empty table that wasn’t there. Her bright, blue eyes swept over the rows of customers and eventually came to my booth. In my sudden light-headedness at seeing someone so radiant after five years amongst low security prisoners, I stood up slightly and waved at her.

I felt stupid the moment I left my chair, but it didn’t seem to matter. She raised an eyebrow at me; erm, who are you? But then, she smiled, and walked over. I stared at her as she sat down, set her small backpack beside her, and made herself comfortable. She grinned brightly at me. I tried to say hello, but a stutter might have been impressive at that point.

“You have that look about you,” she leaned in. “That, fuck me, the world is scary look. Cherry Hill, I take it?”

She was American. Her accent had a mild but recognizable southern drawl. I nodded. She nodded back knowingly.

“What did you do? Shoplifting? Dealing? Can’t have been that bad, anyway,” she said casually. She seemed to have an energy about her, a sort of openness that had me slightly uneasy.

“A few things,” I reply quietly, reluctant to dive into such a conversation with her so soon.

“It’s okay,” she said, smiling again. She had a wonderful smile. “You don’t need to be embarrassed.”

I wasn’t embarrassed.

“People do stupid things all the time,” she said.

 “I’m not em-”

“I mean,” she continued. “You’re out, right? D’you know what you’re gonna do now? Most people seemed to just drift around or…”

She kept on talking freely, and for each question she asked she seemed to answer it with a story or another question before I could even begin. I watched her as she talked, hearing but only partly listening. Her eyes were on mine, alive with joy at recounting grim stories of ex-cons being found dead and/or mutilated. For one reason or another, I was rather enjoying her discourse.

“…But I’m sure that won’t happen to you. Your toast is getting cold, by the way,” she added, nodding at my half eaten slice.

“Yeah,” I said, quite lamely. I think she was waiting for me to say more. “So, do you normally, like, just have lunch with ex-cons?”

She raised an eyebrow again. It arched cutely above her crystal eyes.

“Do you normally stand up and wave at strangers for lunch?”

My stomach lurched slightly. I didn’t reply; I wasn’t sure exactly what to say. She looked at me for a second, then grinned, and started laughing again. I breathed out in relief.

“Yeah,” I said again, chuckling awkwardly. “Erm, I’m not sure why I did that.”

“Well, do you have a plan? Or are you gonna be a drifter?”

I paused, considering the question. I didn’t really have a plan at all; I had thought endlessly about what I would do on this day for five years, but it all seemed like coldly distant conjecture now. The world seemed so overbearing, like a huge sky, with people soaring around at liberty. I felt like I’d forgotten how to fly, and I was sitting on the ground, watching everyone and feeling lost.

“I don’t,” I admitted, bowing my head dejectedly. “Have a plan, I mean. I could call someone but I don’t know who to call.”

“Family? Friends?” she enquired, frowning slightly.

“None close by, but I know a couple of people in the next town,” I replied, unable to hide the slight bitterness in my voice, thinking of the two people who had gotten away with their wings intact, where he hadn’t been so lucky.

“Well, you think about calling them,” she smiled warmly, standing up. “I’m gonna go use the ladies’ room.”

 I nodded slowly. As she walked away, I weighed up my options. I didn’t want to call those two for help, but it would be difficult making any sort of start without a hand. I stirred my tea and watched the bubbles spin around. A job would be useful, but who hires ex-convicts?

I sighed. The nearest living family was my brother, who owned a small store a few hours from here. We hadn’t spoken in years. I felt even more lost. I started to think of the woman. She was beautiful, but she was so much more. She spoke and moved with such ease, and smiled and laughed without a care in the world. I longed to feel like that, but talking with her seemed to remind me how far off it was.

Sitting in my hot cell, on my uncomfortable bed, pictures of myself living outside the grey walls seemed to plaster my thoughts. For weeks on end I would sit up, unable to sleep, yearning to breathe in the sweet freedom of the world beyond bars. I yawned sleepily, and took another bite of cold toast.

She came out of the bathroom, and went to the till. I presumed she was ordering her own lunch, before she walked over and sat down at the booth with the same smile she had when she left.

“Thought about it anymore?” she asked.

I shook my head.

“Not really. I guess I’ll need to find a bank,” I said, sighing again. “I should call my parole officer soon, too.”

She nodded. She was remarkably comfortable to be around. I felt like I could tell her anything, and she would convince me that everything was alright. But it wasn’t alright, I thought grimly, regretting having to jump back into the world of living.

Gary brought over a plate of bacon and eggs, and set it down in front of her. His nametag was covered in a film of grease. As she tucked in, I looked at her, a thought suddenly occurring to me.

“I’m Alistair, by the way,” I offered her my hand. She set down her knife and fork, swallowed a mouthful off fried egg and took my hand. Her skin was soft and warm.

“Liberty Bell,” she smiled, holding on to my hand for a little longer than I had anticipated. She eventually withdrew and continued eating, but her eyes looked up at mine as her lips curled up again.

In my peripheral, through the window just behind Liberty, I saw a police car rolled into the car park. I shook my head slightly, still resentful of the law. I had committed crimes I was not proud of; admittedly due to the need for money, but the police had treated me like a cold blooded murderer. I had bruises for months, and they weren’t sustained whilst in Cherry Hill. The police walked by our window, and disappeared from view momentarily.

Liberty continued to eat her lunch. I decided to get to know her a little.

“So, what brings you to England, Liberty?” I enquired politely. She looked up, and paused before answering

“Well, I have a few relatives here and there, but I’m just travelling, you know?” she laughed, slightly nervously. The bell rang, and the door opened. Her eyes darted towards the door, and then suddenly focused intensely on her food.

“Oh, okay. So, where are you from originally?” I thought this was a perfectly normal question, but she seemed to withdraw herself. A man and a woman, both in police uniform, sat in the booth opposite ours, and began chatting pleasantly. Liberty looked out of the window.

“Er, I’m from Texas,” she said, staring out at the car park.

The policeman glanced at us, then again. He turned to the police woman and whispered something.

The silence between us became heavy.

The police woman glanced at me, then Liberty. Her eyes lingered on Liberty.

She started to breathe heavily, and as the two police officers stood up, she grabbed her bag.

What was happening? Liberty tried to run, but the police officers were quicker, and they arrested her right there. She looked apologetically, almost longingly at me, and for a moment, every instinct in me told me to grab my butter knife and drive it into one of her captors.

They read out a list of charges, ranging from theft and robbery, to arson and kidnapping. I stared at them, and the police man told me to fuck off. I breathed for a second, too stunned to move. He yelled at me to leave, and I ran, suddenly as lost as I had ever been.