A Diamond In The Rough

Chapter 1

The only time I see my mother is in my dreams. I try not to think of her, and I sure as hell don't talk about her, but I can't help my subconsciousness. When I think of her, there's always a possibility of me crying, and crying is the last thing I need. It's a sign of weakness, and that's what can get you dragged under here. It won't help me. It will only make things worse.

My stomach is growling ferociously. I was in solitary and missed meals yesterday. I should probably get up before all the good food is gone. The heat isn't on yet, so I would freeze in the stone hallways. I war with myself for a moment. My stomach growls again and settles my internal quarrel. I tiptoe all the way to the cafeteria; you can never be too careful. It's nearly empty. I take a few things from the counter and scan the barcode on my wrist. When we get sent here, we get a tattoo for identification. So I'm stuck with this barcode for the rest of my life. As I'm tiptoeing back to my cell, I see a guard turning the corner. I duck into the nearest catty-corner and wait for him to pass. His footsteps are getting closer, and I try to quiet my breathing. He stops just a few feet away from my hiding spot.

"As you may remember, I know all the nicks and crannies of this place too, Evangeline." I slowly come out and know I have no reason to worry. It's only Senior Officer Jackson. He's barely eighteen but came from a military family, so he passed through the ranks quickly. He must have done something wrong to get sent here, though. He has a grin on his face, but it's not the leer of the other guards.

"Than I'll never have to worry about getting lost, sir," I said the last part mockingly and grinned back. His face turned hard as he stared behind me. I twisted around to see why. Three other girls were coming this way. He grabbed me by my upper arm and dragged me to an empty corridor. If the other inmates caught wind of any leniency between us, it would mean trouble. 

"Guess what?" He asked.

"What?" I said, immediately excited.

"They just got your release date!!" He said, breaking into a breathtaking smile.

"Really?" I started doing a happy dance. "When is it?" I asked, giddy.

"About a month," he responded, just as excited as I was. He knew I was innocent. He knew I didn't belong here. "I've got to get back to my rounds. But we'll talk later, all right?" He said.

"Kay," I said, still riding the high of being released. When I got back to my room, I started to worry. Where would I go? I couldn't go home; that would be suicide. Emilee would let me stay at her place for a few days until she needed money. Or I was costing her too much money, or taking up to much space, or annoying her customers. Dad would shoot me if he saw me. His late wife's bastard daughter. I don't even know who my real dad is. I only found out a year ago. The memory comes unbidden. "Evangeline," my mother said that fateful day. "I need to tell you something. Something important." Her voice was a faint whisper between the coughs that were stealing her life away. "I had an affair years ago, and I was going to take Emilee and go away from her father. I didn't want her growing up around him. When I found out I was pregnant with you, I told your father. He said he couldn't stay. I let Emmy's dad believe it was his." She stopped to take a breath. "Don't go looking for him. You won't be able to find him I couldn't." I was stunned. I couldn't comprehend what she had just told me. "You mean dad... Isn't my dad?" She gave a weak chuckle that turned into a coughing fit. "No, he's not," she said quietly. I felt relieved but also a sad kind of hollow. My mom was dying, and I didn't even have a father to comfort me. I am brought back to the present with a sharp gasp. So his house is out. I have several other family members, but none of them would want me to show up on their doorstep. I'm sure everyone's just begging to take in a drug-dealing convict to come and stay with them. What am I going to do; I'm going to need a job. Who would hire me, though, when I might start a drug den in their back room. I could leave Manhattan and try my luck somewhere else; I don't fancy homeless shelters, more bad experiences. Aunt Amelia might take me in; she's always been called a free spirit. I haven't a clue where she is, or else I'd send her a letter. I could call her if she hasn't changed her number. I would have to use my money, though. I want to have as much as possible when I get out, so it'll have to be a quick call. I stop pacing; This is the right thing... isn't it? Is it more important for me to have money when I get out or call a distanced relative who may or may not even be willing to take me in? I shake my head, trying to banish those errant thoughts. Of course, this is the right thing. I wouldn't need money if I had a place to stay. But it could be used as a bribe; here, take me in, I'll pay rent. I determinedly walk from the room and go to the phones. I have to do this; there isn't anyone else. I dial the familiar number and listen to it ring and ring and ring. Finally, on the last ring, she picks up.