Chapter 2
556 Words
Dear Stranger, today is a special day.
More special
than any other, in fact.
Can I tell you why? You don’t need
to listen. I understand.
You’ve got your own day to live.
And live it well, I say.
Cause you never know when the life
you live – and love – might be taken.
It can happen, just like that.
But that talk is for another day.
We can get coffee. On
one of your days off. There’s
a new shop at the corner
of 8th and Broad, I hear.
To be honest, I’ve always preferred
home-brewed tea.
No matter. Today is the day I begin
to live again.
You see, 268
days prior, late in the month
of July, I erred.
Us humans, we have flaws. I’m no
different than any other.
Except for my timing. Sis always
Scolded me for my lateness. Warden, too.
Turns out Sis – not Warden – was right.
My brain runs in a disorganized manner.
Not unlike the yellow taxis up and down
5th Avenue. Though I hear there’s
Less of them these days. Less of me, too.
As letters come in, I place
them in stacks. On the counter.
I know they’re there.
Only sometimes, I forget.
Turns out some letters
Are more important than others.
Turns out some letters
have deadlines.
I learned a lesson.
The hard way. Those letters. They had bills.
And those bills had late penalties.
And those late penalties had consequences.
Consequences out of my league.
I couldn’t pay any of them.
The medical bills were such big
numbers. Far larger
than any balance in my cracked
piggy bank.
I never asked
for a stomachache
that turned to an appendicitis
that turned to an operation. All such bad timing.
Too bad Wilde was right. Turns out that “it is only
by not paying one"s bills that one can hope to live
in the memory of the commercial classes”
Damn, their memory was sharp.
Sharper than mine. Seconds turn quickly
to minutes. Hours to days. The monthly
bills came so fast. Always
in a manila envelope and always addressed:
Dear Sir.
Sis knows how little I like being called Sir. She also
knows how much needles and doctors scare me. I craved
only sleep. But life craves consequences.
And the bills continued to filter in through the
two-inch mail slot in our freshly painted red door.
After Sis got busy with some cleaning, she put the full
stack before me. I knew I was in trouble. Her head
moving right to left. Again. Again.
Don’t know why I did what I did. Taking that check
From the drawer. And pen, too. Filling it out. Just to make
Those bills stop coming. And Sis stop scolding.
I know it was wrong. So did my boss.
And he told his boss.
And his boss told her boss.
And then the cops called.
Knocking at the door. Sis knew I’d done
Something wrong. Unforgiveable, she said.
I nodded and mouthed I know.
Only today, I’m ready to forgive.
Myself.
Locks turn left and my two feet
cross the line cast by the shadow
formed by the sun as it streams
through the bars in the upper
right hand corner of my cell.
A cell. Mine no more.
I’m free. And it’s a good day.
- Writer
