Six months after the stormy summer night, my mother’s trial took place. It only lasted three days, and the jury convicted her in less then an hour. There was a fair amount of press coverage, which in a big way frightened me. I didn’t want some news reporter uncovering something that incriminated me. Thankfully, nothing like that happened. There was a certain amount of guilt I was feeling about the whole situation, but I was hoping that would fade in time. Yet, I knew it would fade slowly, like the way water erodes a rock over time.
Anyway, my mother got twenty years without the possibility of parole – a pretty stiff sentence. I was at her trial all three days. My mother, during the whole duration, sat at the defense table, with her court appointed attorney, in a daze. Her attorney brought up the truck that was driven into the barn, and the broken bathroom window, but there was no explanation for those things. No one, to my knowledge knew Ace or I was ever at the house that night. Even Ace’s mom thought we had just gone out on a date. And there were no other witnesses. The prosecution came to the conclusion that my mother, high as a kite on drugs, shot her ‘friend’, probably without even realizing she was doing it. She didn’t take the stand in her own defense, so it ended up an open and shut case.
And five months after she started her twenty-year sentence, I decided to go and visit her. I had some business to discuss with her, and I also wanted to see her because of the slight guilt I was feeling. Ace was against the idea of me going into prison to see her, but I had to do it. Even now – after the conversation I had with her in prison, which I’m going to get to – I’m not really sure what to think about what I did to her. I mean, in my mind she deserved it, but… there’s also a part of me that feels ashamed for not taking responsibility for what I did. There’s no doubt in my mind that I would’ve gotten off; I shot this person in self-defense. In my mind, there was no way around going to see her; I had to do it.
Sitting behind the glass wall of the prison’s visiting room, I felt small… weak, and ill. When my mother walked in, she looked good. Let me clarify that, she looked good for someone who had let years of drug abuse destroy their skin, their hair, their teeth, and their vibrancy. For the first time in two decades she was completely sober. The look of her made me feel even more ill.
She sat down on her side of the glass, and picked up the phone, as did I. “Hi.” I said simply.
“What do you want?” She muttered in hateful tone.
Nothing much changed. She was still just as cold as she had always been. I just shook my head, disgusted with her. Simply, I said, “I’m getting married.”
“What are you… knocked up?”
Of course that would be the first thing she thought of. I responded, appalled, “No, I’m not pregnant. I’m in love. Something you know nothing about.” She scoffed at this. Continuing, I said, “I’m moving out of Windmill Glen, and I’m taking Allie. So your going to have to sign paper’s to give me custody of her.”
“Where are you goin?”
“I’m moving to the east coast with my fiancé.”
“Your not takin Allie, I’m keeping her.”
“Where are you keeping her, huh? In a jail cell? You tried to have her killed!” When I said that, I noticed the guard on her side of the glass look up at me, but I didn’t care. I went on in a lower voice, “I always took care of her. You were never a mother… Now, you can either sign the papers to give me custody of Allie, or I’ll see you in court. Either way, Allie is going to be with me!” It felt good to say that.
In her eyes, I saw that there was no more fight left. Not that there ever was much fight at all, but she was tired. Tired after years of drug use, tired of being used by truckers, and tourist who were cheating on their wives… tired of life. She said, “Fine… you can have her. I never wanted her anyway. It’s too bad I spent the abortion money on heroin.”
That statement incensed me. If I could’ve gotten on the other side of that glass I would’ve tore her apart. There was no need to say that. I gave her a look that could have burnt through metal. Of course, she didn’t care; she returned my look with that same tired glance. Just then, the guard spoke up, “Two more minutes.” It then hit me that I was only going to see my mother – the person who gave birth to me – for two more minutes, then… never again. Normally, this would be a sad time in a person’s life, but I was happy.
Other then telling her that I wanted her to sign Allie over to me, there was another reason for me to come and see my mother. And that was to ask her one question. And although I didn’t really feel like asking it after her comment about abortion, it was the main reason I came to see her. So I asked the question, “Do you remember anything about that night?”
And she answered it simply enough, “I don’t remember anything, but I’m glad he’s dead. I just wish that I could’ve shot you somehow too.”
My eyes remained fixed on my mother… no wait, I don’t want to call her that. My eyes remained fixed on this woman who gave birth to me, for what seemed like forever. I couldn’t believe what I just heard her say. She may have been sober, but nothing had changed. And suddenly, I didn’t feel bad about what I had done to her. She deserved it. “Goodbye.” I said, hung up the phone, and then left. I never saw her again, she committed suicide in her jail cell a few days after my visit, and that was just fine.
Now, two years after the incident at my old house in Windmill Glen, and a year after my visit with my mother in prison, I sit on the beach writing all of this down, watching the waves crash against the shore, I feel good. I didn’t change for the town, I didn’t change for my mother, and I didn’t change for my sanity. My pride was kept in tact.
Looking back, my ‘one shot’ wasn’t some chance that I had to keep my eyes out for, it wasn’t a tiny window of time that I had to get into before it was closed. My ‘one shot’ was freeing myself of my mother. She was my source of pain, and anguish. It was her who destroyed my life. I didn’t blame the townspeople of Windmill Glen for shunning me – not that that was something I would do to someone, I was stronger then that. But, too, I realized that the world is full of weak people, who would rather make fun of you then to say ‘hey, what’s going on.’ It’s their insecurities; sad but true.
My point is that I made it out alive, without changing.
Ace, Allie, and I now live together in a house on the ocean. And of course, Ace and I are married. Ace’s father made him in charge of the east coast operations. My dreams are alive now. But it didn’t take moving to the ocean to cause my dreams to awaken. My hopes and dreams began to stir at the end of that stormy summer night. I love life.
Tessie said, just before she passed away, that she was ready. Well… I’m ready too, just in a different way. You see, I’m ready to live. I’m not sure if I’ll see Windmill Glen again, I probably will, but it doesn’t matter. All that matter’s is that Allie still prays at any cross she sees. It makes me love her even more.
(And butterflies are free to fly; Fly away, high away, bye bye)
And that’s exactly what I did… I flew away. But instead of bidding good riddance to the small town I grew up in… I find myself missing Windmill Glen. That’s pretty funny, huh?
The End.
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