Behind Bars

Amanda

My life had gone perpetually downhill since the murder trial. Wait—no, scratch that. Since she was arrested; the fear in her eyes as she was dragged away by two uninterested cops. I had screamed a promise that I would prove her innocence. Unfortunately, two months later she admitted to the crimes without so much as a stutter. Still, I couldn’t find it in my heart to hate her, even if she was a psychopath.

I sat on my bed, staring up at the ceiling she had painted with tiny yellow stars when we had our first sleepover at just ten years old. I had been giggling uncontrollably while she painted. She would take us cliff diving, swimming to the middle of a lake at midnight, or climbing a tree about as tall as the Empire State Building. I had inherited my childhood home when both my parents were murdered. I always knew I was going to inherit the house, being an only child, and my parents had told me that my entire life. But I thought I would be fifty, not twenty. My heart rate spiked as my phone started to ring. It was her. I dragged a tired hand across my pale face as I accepted the call. “You are about to receive a call from an inmate at North-point Correctional Facility. Do you accept?” asked an annoying automated voice. “Yes, I accept,” I said, preparing myself to talk to her. Part of me thought it would be just like the old days, when we would talk for hours on end about stupid things—but the rest of me knew that would never happen again. “Hey, Tara. How’s it going?” I asked casually.

Tara

I learned four main things from that whole committing-a-crime thing. One, I was a great actor. Two, Amanda was incredibly forgiving. Three, the police were actually smart. And four, everyone in jail lied. I probably should have expected that last one, but dear God, it surprised me how many people were convinced we believed they were innocent. I mean, come on, Cindy—you were caught red-handed over your dying husband’s body. It was a little lonely there, but it was okay, because whenever I called her, she answered. We talked like none of this had ever happened, like I had never started doing drugs. That’s where the problem started. Those damn drugs—they tasted so good, like blood.

My shoes crunched on the stones that covered the exercise yard as I walked aimlessly around, angry ticked off faces glared at me from whatever they were doing. I smiled back at them and waved politely. My latest call with Amanda was making my head spin, unfortunately not in a good way. She sounded more curt and put out than usual her normally cheerful tone sounded sort of dead and vacant. I decided that I needed to win her back with a big glorious gesture but I was in jail. I sat myself down on a mostly empty area of the yard and stretched out so I could think. I could carve her name into my bare chest or something like that. But that’s a lot of work though it was a lot of work to obtain the drugs that caused me to kill that husband and wife I thought to myself. I sighed and closed my eyes lazily before drifting off to sleep.

I was visited by a familiar dream of running in dizzy circles while holding a shotgun. I cackleed a villainous laugh while shooting it at the empty space around me. The bullets became embedded in a car and a bunch of other cars then inside the hearts of a husband and wife. When I woke up dazed and confused, a big, strong and angry looking woman was standing over me clutching a rock…

Amanda

The bookshop was as busy as always which means not at all. Mr Birman, a sweet old man who adored his bookshop, stood at the door waiting for someone to arrive. I sat slumped on the floor behind the counter on my phone. Thoughts of Tara swirled in my mind, was she ok? Was she sorry at least? Did she miss me? I knew the last one was true, whenever I picked up the phone a note of hope and desperation entered her voice. If I’m being honest I missed her too and I loved her. She was my closest friend. Who was I without her? “How are you doing Amanda?” Asked Mr Birman, appearing above me. “Jesus Mr Birman, give a girl some warning,” I panted, clutching my chest, “I’m doing fine, how about you?” He shook his head and sighed disappointedly, “Dear child, don’t lie.” “I wasn’t lying… completely,” I mumbled, standing up and leaning against the counter. Mr Birman tilted his head, giving me a small sympathetic smile. “You can’t avoid grief, it’s unhealthy. You have experienced a great loss and a great betrayal. It would make sense if you weren’t fine,” he said, placing a gentle wrinkled hand on my shoulder. “Did she really betray me? It wasn’t Tara’s fault,”. “It also isn’t healthy to make excuses for someone who hurt you and shows no remorse,”. The bell above the door rang as a few customers walked in. I went to help them and Mr Birman gave me a knowing smile.

The street lights were on as I walked glumly home. Mr Birman’s words were stained in my mind, why should I make excuses for her? She deserved nothing but the cold hard truth. She killed my parents! She made her own damn bed! I laughed, a hysterical laugh no that wasn’t, a free laugh. I was free.

Tara

I opened my eyes gorgely, unsure of where I was. Something cold was on top of my head and a bored lady was sitting in a chair nearby. She was dressed in clothes that had probably been white at some point in time. She had gray hair with red stains that I hoped were blood. Her eyes looked angry and tired, mostly tired.

“Alright ya good to go,” the woman said in an accent I couldn’t and didn’t want to identify, when she noticed I was awake. “How long have I been here?” I asked. “Two days. Ya gonna wanna get back to ya cell or ya’ll miss visiting day with ya little bestie,” the woman said, already turning away from me. I stood up and started walking back to my cell like a good little girl.

Three hours later I was sitting at a metal table back in handcuffs waiting for Amanda. I needed to see her, I had tried to make myself look close to presentable but I knew Amanda wouldn’t care how I looked. My heart skipped a beat as she entered, dressed in a blue t-shirt and blue jeans that brought out her eyes. The white visitor sticker was displayed on her chest. Her eyes looked angrier than usual but that was probably sadness or something. I jumped up to give her a hug but she refused it and sat as far away from me as possible. “I missed you,” I said, stretching my hands across the table to try and get our finger tips to touch. She jerked her hands away from me “Oh,” she mumbled, looking at her feet.

“So how’s it been without me?” I asked with a wry smile. “Really great, amazing actually. I inherited my parents house and I’m doing some things like painting the ceiling. Oh and Mr Birman has been helping me heal from the toxic people in my life. But you already knew most of that you just wanted me to say how much I love you,” she smiled broadly and I realised that she meant she was healing from me. I had hurt her. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I should’ve listened,”. “Yeah you should have but you didn’t. So it’s too late for sorry or grand gestures. You made your bed so you lie in it. Don’t call me or try to see me ever again. A real friend wouldn’t do what you did,”. That was it. She stood up and started to walk away. I cried and screamed for her to stop and give me a chance but she was long gone. The gardens dragged me away kicking and screaming.

Amanda

Mr Birman and I rearranged the books in pleasant silence on a Monday afternoon after I had seen Tara for the last time. He didn’t ask how it went and that was for the better. I didn't like the idea of crying in front of him. “You know dear I think Monday might be the best day of the week,” Mr Birman remarked. “Why do you say that?” I asked with a small chuckle. “It just feels good to be alive and well on a Monday. Do you feel alive and well?” He asked, as he removed a book from a brown box and slid it into place. “Yeah I do actually. Though I still feel kind of guilty for what I said,” I murmured the last bit, half of me hoping he wouldn’t hear it. “That’s normal but unnecessary," Mr Birman said kindly. “I’m not so sure,” I said as a small tear fell down my face. Mr Birman looked at me before folding me into his arms. “You’ll be ok dear. I’m certain of it,”.