Yesterday's Tomorrows

Chapter 4

Maddy

I bit my thumb knuckle and paced back and forth in front of the couch, unable to focus on the television show I'd turned on. I didn't know what it was called or what it was about; I just needed something to fill the silence.

If you'd asked me a day ago what was one of the things I was looking forward to the most about getting out of prison, at the top of my list would have been peace and quiet. In prison, it seemed there was always noise: loud shrieks, sharp cracks of laughter, eerie moans, crying, electronic buzzing of locks, and almost constant talking. Even during mandatory quiet hours, I could still hear footsteps, snoring, and mumbles of the guards. Now I found the silence almost unnerving. Glancing at the clock on the stove and seeing it was almost lunchtime, I felt my body tense in anticipation of being called to line up for lunch, but the signal never came.

I tried to occupy myself by exploring the cabinets and drawers in the small kitchen. I had been generously supplied with basic needs, almost all in sets of four: white dishes and mugs, glasses, silverware, and dish towels. There was a set of pots and pans and a small coffee pot. There were even a couple of homemade frozen casseroles in my freezer, complete with directions on how to heat them. According to another note, they'd been graciously supplied by Mrs. McCloskey.

I smiled when I peeked into the linen closet in the hallway. In addition to a couple of sets of dark purple towels, there was a pack of toilet paper. While most people would take that for granted, I saw it as another reminder of finally being free. No longer would I have to endure scuffles over a few sheets of the precious commodity!

I wandered back down the hallway and stood in the middle of the living room. I had managed to kill seventeen minutes according to the digital clock. I'd only been in my new pad for over an hour, and already I didn't know what to do with myself. I thought about taking a nap in that amazing bed, but my adrenaline was still pumping. I wished I could go for a walk and spend some of my extra energy.

That's when it hit me. Why couldn't I? There were no locks holding me inside; nobody monitoring where I went.

I didn't bother glancing out the window to see if it was still raining. It didn't matter. In fact, I'd welcome the chance to feel the sting of the drops since we weren't allowed outside on rainy days at the correctional center. I swept my keys off the coffee table and darted out of the apartment.

By the time I came back in, I was cold and shivering, but my face hurt from smiling so big. If anybody was home and had bothered to look out their window, they might have wondered what kind of nutcase had moved into the building. But for once I didn't care what anyone thought of me.

At first, I'd been tentative as I walked all around the building and took in my new surroundings, almost waiting for someone to question what I was doing or where I was going. But it didn't take long before I was running toward anything that drew my attention: a bus stop where I paused long enough to notice a schedule; a small flowerbed in front of the building where I dug my fingers into the cold, wet soil to pull a couple of weeds and allow a worm to wriggle in my palm; puddles that I actually jumped in; and my favorite - a small playground where I sat on a swing and pumped my feet until I was soaring high, ignoring the creaks and groans of the old metal structure. I was happier than a pig in mud exploring things I hadn't been able to in years.

I didn't even regret that I was now standing in my bedroom as a soggy, dirty mess. I hadn't considered my laundry issue before now, but I decided I could always wash out the clothes in the sink and wrap up in a towel while they dried overnight. I stripped down and wrapped up in one of my new towels and rinsed out the pants. The shirt was only wet, so I went to the bedroom to see if there might be any hangers in the closet so I could hang it up to dry. To my delight, I found not only hangers but a couple pairs of jeans and long sleeved shirts. In a drawer, there was a new pack of underwear. None of it was fancy, but it was clean and dry and nicer than anything I'd worn in a long time. It had to be Mrs. M again. I loved her maternal instinct to take care of others.