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You've just been released from jail. Freewrite for ten minutes
on how you spend your first 24 hours as a free person.
They open the gates and I am lead out through them with five or six fellow inmates. Inmates? Not any more I guess. A few of them have people waiting for them - to take them home? To take them somewhere. Who knows where. I didn't take the time to get to know anyone 'inside'. I don't want any connections from this place I leave behind. It will become a distant memory that hopefully one day I can walk away from and lose it all within my subconscious.
I shiver despite the sun burning down. Perhaps it is the loneliness or the fear. I have been protected here. I have not had to think for myself in so long. What now? I take a sweater from the bag I carry and pull it on. I then light up one of the few cigarettes my cell mate had given me as a goodbye. Cell 'mate' - funny term. We are not friends. We will not stay in touch. Forced together with no choice we made the best of the situation. Of course, neither of us were guilty - it had all been a mistake - but then everyone in 'there' was innocent. I don't remember anyone admitting to the crimes they were punished for.
I take a huge drag of the cigarette and let the smoke slowly out. As if the action will calm this racing heart of mine. I have been given a little money, and the address of a hostel. I decide to just walk for now. With no where to go I turn left and head down the street. A street of grey houses. All the same. Prison warden housing no doubt. As impersonal and dull as the wardens themselves. I look down at my feet as I walk and notice all the cigarette butts along this stretch of sidewalk. I imagine this walk has been made by hundreds before me. All needing that first cigarette of freedom to sustain them on their travels. Their travels where? I wonder.
I see a small coffee shop across the street and throw my finished dog-end to the ground to join the many others, stamping the life out of it. From the outside, the coffee shop seems fairly run down and neglected but there are lights glowing inside and a strong smell of coffee comes through the window and entices me. I open the door and walk in, taking a seat in the corner and trying not to look up at the few people already seated in there. I am sure they look over at me. I'm sure they know where I have come from. They must be used to us. A young girl comes over and asks for my order. Strong coffee. Donut.
I watch the steam rise from the coffee mug and as I stare hypnotically I consider my options. What to do? What to do? I have an Uncle somewhere further south from here. I remember he wrote when I was first incarcerated. He seemed sympathetic to my 'plight'. Perhaps I could visit him for a while? My Sister lives out West. Perhaps there? But she has a family now. Young children. Perhaps I wouldn't be welcome. Perhaps I would make her uncomfortable. I think of the last time I heard from her. It's been years. Probably not a good sign.
By the time the coffee mug is empty and the donut nothing but a few crumbs on the plate, I think I have the answer. I leave the money on the table and walk out. Turning the corner I head along the next street and keep walking until I find what I am looking for. There ahead of me is a small tired looking strip mall. I head towards it and into the liqueur store. I purchase a bottle of the cheapest, strongest clear liquid I see and pay, before heading out again into the afternoon sun. I continue walking in the direction I had been heading. I know I will find the right place - if I just keep walking. It's an odd sensation. I feel as if I shouldn't be here. I feel like I shouldn't be 'outside'. Like I've made a mistake and they will be here to catch me and take me back to the cell I have grown to love and hate all at the same moment. I am a free man. Why do I feel like I still need to keep looking over my shoulder? I feel as though I have prisoner stamped across my forehead. Do people know - when they look at me - can they tell?
I walk for an hour or so until some trees come into sight. Hopeful, I walk a little faster and then read a sign. 'Public Park - please keep dogs on a leash at all times'. I enter the park gates and head towards a group of trees that offer some seclusion. Using my bag as a pillow I sink down to the ground and rest my back against the trees knobbly trunk. I open the bottle of liqueur , tip my head back and feel the wonderful burning liquid rush down my throat. I drink it all back and let the empty glass bottle fall to the floor. It won't be long. Oblivion.
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