Behind These Bars

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

  

   The ride was silent except for the stereo that was playing classic music.  I had always been a fan of classical music and didn’t mind listening to it at night to fall asleep but in this moment, I wish something more upbeat would be played.  All I could focus on was what it would be like to be home again.  Would mom be there?  What would school be like now that I’m back?  Who, if anyone, would talk to me after knowing what I had done.  Every single one of these questions was continuously running through my head as soft violins played in the background.  At least if there were words I could focus on those but alas, my life had never been so easy.

   Looking out the window, I watched silently as the bare trees flew by the window.  It was a sharp contrast to the picture I had seen when traveling to the Juvenile Detention Center.  When I was found guilty in late June, the trees down here in North Carolina had been a luscious and vibrant green.  Now in late November, only a few leaves were left.

   Out of my peripheral vision I studied both the driver and the guard.  The driver looked to be in his mid to late forties with dark brown hair as well as genetically tan skin.  He looked to be foreign but I wasn’t sure.  Turning my head to the right I looked at the guard.  He looked to be in his mid twenties and was as white as a ghost.  I had seen him guarding our corridor on a couple of occasions and had heard girls call him vulgar names more than once.  Although he was one of the younger guards he was one of the more serious.  Suddenly his eyes met mine in the rearview mirror.  I stared back at him until he slowly lifted an eyebrow at me in a questioning way.  I quickly turned away and stared at the trees again as I felt his gaze move away from me.

   The total ride in all had probably taken only thirty minutes but to me it felt like hours.  When the only thing that stands between you and your comfortable plush bed is time, trust me it will feel like an eternity.  When you’re locked up, one minute feels like ten.  That was one thing I didn’t understand about repeat offenders.  When you’re free to do what you want at whatever time you want, time flies by.  In juvenile detention, you have to follow a strict timetable following someone else’s rules doing thing you most likely don’t like to do.  So why anyone would purposefully put that freedom in jeopardy twice is beyond me.

   When we passed the weathered sign that said, “welcome to Wake Forest, North Carolina”, I knew my home was getting closer.  My hometown, although close to Raleigh, was fairly small.  Most everyone who lived here fell into at least one of the three categories:  old and retired, rich entrepreneur, or smart teenager.  Sadly, I didn’t fit into any of those categories.  A complete shock, I know.  Even though I wasn’t a genius I wouldn’t say I was a dumb blonde either.  I had my moments.  One thing was for sure though, even though I had lived in Wake Forest my whole life, it had never truly felt like home.  Something always felt like it was missing; I just have yet to figure out what that something is.       

   After passing the county sign I knew from memory that we were about eight minutes away from my house.  First, we would pass the standard golf courses and rest homes located in Wake Forest.  Next, we would go by the middle school, elementary school, the private high school, and then the public high school, Wake Forest Prep.  If you’re curious how a poor delinquent like me is able to attend a prestigious school like that, just know that my mother has connections. Lastly, we entered a gated community.  Here I had to give the guard my name so we could be buzzed in.  After sitting in the car a couple of minutes, he ever so politely informed us that I wasn’t on the guest list.  After arguing with the no-so-nice older man for about five minutes, I finally gave up and promptly told him my mother’s name.  Quickly his attitude changed from unbearable to delightful as he opened the gate while profusely apologizing.

   As we drove to my house, the guard turned around to look at me and said, “So I’m guessing your mother is a big deal around here?”  I just turned my gaze from him to the million dollar houses we were passing.  “Yeah something like that,” I mumbled as we pulled up in front of my house.  The guard got out and escorted me to the door.  There he gave me a quick and impersonal goodbye as he got back in the car.  I watched them drive off until I could no longer see the car.

   Slowly, I turned back to my door trying to decide whether I should ring the door bell or just use the spare key.  Deciding that the spare key option would be best, I lifted up the welcome mat and proceeded to open the door.  Upon shutting the door, I picked up on the sound of running water in the kitchen.  Deciding to announce my presence, I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted “Mother, I’m home!”  In response, all I heard was a plate shatter as it was dropped on the hardwood floor.