Page 87 of Just Desserts

After a couple years of celibacy, I started seeing a stenographer I had met in court a few times. She's married but in a loveless relationship, she has an agreement to stay with her husband until their youngest kid leaves for college. I know I was on a slippery slope back to old habits, but this time it wasn't my relationship that was in jeopardy.

Our relationship was simple and easy, she didn't demand anything from me other than the obvious of not trying to make our relationship into something bigger, she was adamant about staying in her marriage despite her actions.

Part of me wanted to scream at her, warn her about how shewas making a terrible mistake, and beg her to talk to her husband. But then I would be alone again, and who knows if it would make a difference.

Now back in the town where all my dreams were born and had died, long buried emotions were leaching out of me. The familiar sights and sounds cracked open a forgotten part of me, whose entire world revolved around the tiny ecosystem of this little community.

I had run out to the supermarket to grab some things for my mom when I first heard it. The gentle tinkling laugh that used to drive me wild. It was a private laugh that used to be reserved only for me. I ran out of the store, not paying for any of my items, looking around wildly to try and find Isla, find the person who made that sound.

I was running on pure instinct at this time, a primal urge to see her now that I knew she was near. All of my nerve endings felt alive, like they were waiting for Isla to return. I had goosebumps and every noise seemed heightened as I turned the corner looking around blindly trying to find her.

I heard the laugh again, this time it was different, higher pitched and quieter. I turned in a circle and spotted a small park across the street. How many times did Isla and I walk through this park? Her bakery was nearby, we used to sit in the park and she would tell me about her plans for the shop. How dumb I was, how self absorbed and uninterested, the definition of a shit husband.

I drifted closer to the park, pulled by nostalgia and the vacant hope of catching a glimpse of my one true love. I sat on a bench, staring mindlessly in the distance, all of my old failures running through my mind. I barely noticed when something bounced against my shoe before slipping under the bench.

I looked down to see a bright pink soccer ball followed by a little girl. She had her head down, her dark hair covering her face as she raced to get the ball. I bent down to grab it from where it had rolled under the bench, not wanting the kid to hurt herself. When I sat back up she was hovering nearby unsure of what to do.

"Is this yours?" I asked, softening my voice.

"Yes sir." She said, still looking down.

“Here you go.” I reached my hand out, extending the ball to her.

“Thank you Mr!” She said excitedly. As she reached for the ball, she looked up and all the wind was knocked out of me.

Familiar eyes were staring back at me, Isla's blue eyes specifically. Her features are so similar to Isla's but still slightly off. She took the ball from me and then skipped away, her giggle drifting in the air towards me. I watched as she ran back to her mother, who was listening with a soft smile on her face as her daughter chatted away. It was Isla, my beautiful Isla, who looked down at her daughter so adoringly.

She was sitting on a park bench with a stroller next to her as she watched her daughter play. She looked different, not necessarily older but more refined, comfortable in her body and presence. Her hair still shone like white silk and her peachy skin glowed in the afternoon sunlight. My thoughts were distracted by a screech from the little girl.

I watched as she jumped up and down excitedly pointing at the approaching figure headed that way. Unable to help myself, I watched as she ran forward before launching herself at the man. Bennett strolled up to Isla, their daughter in his arms, hisface full of contentment the likes I would never understand or get to experience.

He stopped at the bench and gave Isla a kiss that was painful to watch. After putting his daughter down so she could resume playing in the grass, he reached into the stroller. Isla watched indulgently as he lifted a small boy, probably just over a year old, out from the stroller.

Even from my seat a good distance away, I could see the white blonde color of the little boy's hair. It was thick and curly and made his silver eyes shine as he gave his father a gummy smile. They were a beautiful family.

That should have been me, that should have been my family. Even after all these years, after all the changes I made to try and become a person I could respect and be proud of, I was still brought to my knees at the evidence of all my failures. Forced to face all dreams I killed. I don't know how long I sat there, ogling the family who were too busy enjoying themselves to notice me.

I stayed seated, frozen in place for hours. The family had long since packed up and turned in for the day. The sun was setting and the chill in the air increased tenfold. I left my car in town and walked the mile and a half back to my parents house. Letting the frigid air and distance cool my temper, help numb me from the emotions over taking me.

There was no escaping my mistakes, it didn't matter how much time passed or how far away I went. I will always know that I ruined the best thing that I had, I ruined the entire course of my life, and as a result another man was living my dream.

Alyssa

Once I recovered from my altercation in group therapy, I was moved from the psych facility to prison. The trial went quickly, I was found guilty on multiple charges and was sentenced to 10-15 years. Prison was no picnic, but at least I understood the rules here. Eat or be eaten. You have to take what you want, all while playing along with the bureaucratic bullshit. Beg repentance, embrace the rules and grovel to the parole panel.

I had gotten into several scrapes my first year in prison, I was like a cornered animal waiting for the opportunity to attack. I wanted to bend everyone to my will, I was no longer accepting any difference in an opinion. If you don't like what I have to say than you can fuck right off. I only cut down on the fighting once I realized I had a chance of making a new life if I got out of prison while I was still young.

My bunkmate introduced me to pen pal websites where it was all too easy to make some money. It was amazing how much men were willing to pay for a few pictures and phone sex. With some money, I could buy my way out of fights. My body was a tool and I used it however I needed. To get cigarettes, beauty products, snacks. Then eventually with the guards I was able to get favors and extra privileges.

I figured out how to play everyone so well that I could get just about any fucking thing I wanted in there. Inmates, guards, it didn't matter they all wanted the same thing. I left prison with over 20k to start a new life with. After 8 years I was let out early for good behavior. As soon as I was released I left town.

I had made enough connections on the inside to know where to go to start over. Get a new ID, a new social security number, a whole new identity. I could move anywhere, be anyone and no one would get in my way this time. I was over 1000 miles away when my first parole meeting was supposed to occur.

I had a new hairstyle, name and was on my way to finding a place to stay and a new man to latch on to. The money in my savings was just enough to get me a new identity and as far as I could from my old life, but it wasn't nearly enough for the life I deserved. The life that was owed to me, that Isla robbed me of.

I found a little house in a hick town and took a job at a local diner. I asked to get paid under the table, letting my boss and the rest of the townspeople assume I had recently left an abusive relationship. It helped explain some of my tics from prison.

It wasn't completely smooth sailing once I was out from behind those bars. Institutionalization is a real thing. I had clawed my way up to the top of the hierarchy there, but even with that power I still had to ask permission to piss. It was a hard rule to break now that I was out.

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