The Tattooed Flower

26. In Five Years

It took a lifetime of torment to drive me murder, it only took a second to do it. I killed my father. End of story. The entire country knows that I killed my father, as they should.

The ruling was strange. Somehow, I got off with five years. I'm still not sure of any of the logistics. Just that there were the facts, and then there was the brigade of heartbroken people willing to plead my case. People who wanted to see me live. Five years is a long time to be put away for. In five years, the love of your life could find a new love of their life. In five years, they could settle down and have a couple of kids. In five years, someone could remove you from their mind. Forget you. Erase you.

I don't want to be erased.

When I was released my mother was there. I didn't expect her to be, but she was. She drove us to her new apartment, we ate dinner with her boyfriend, John. I spent the night on her couch.

She doesn't look the same. She doesn't look like my mother. My mother was so sad. So scared. This Eileen, this new woman, that claims to be my mother, is exactly as I have dreamt of her being for five years. She has smile lines on her cheeks and by her eyes. She wears makeup and goes out with friends. She works at a candle store she opened with her friend Stacey. She's living.

"What are you going to do now?" She asks me one night at dinner. We're at John's house, he has pictures of the two of them everywhere. There's even a picture of me, one we took about a year ago when they came to visit me at the women's prison. I'm sporting a baggy beige outfit and a smile. At that time I knew I was so close, so close to getting a life back.

"I don't know." I answer her. "Everything?"

When I was in prison there was a moment, well it was long moment, when I was ready to be done. I was about a year in. Caleb had come in everyday he could, and I would tell the guards I didn't want to see him. One day, he sent me a letter, telling me that he couldn't keep coming in. That if he kept coming to see me and getting turned away at the doors he would lose it. He told me about his counseling. About how Avery kept asking him when I was coming back. He told me that he'd asked Ruth to have dinner with him. He told me he couldn't keep missing me. He told me that he couldn't keep loving me. That it hurt too much.

For the rest of the second year in that hell hole, I was a wreck. For awhile, I wouldn't even see my mother, and she didn't visit frequently in the beginning. Then my counselor talked to me. She told me about codependency. That I had to learn to stand by myself again. Before then, I hadn't realized how pathetic I'd become, I'd forgotten who I was. I'd forgotten that I cared about being strong.

I had to remember.

I could go anywhere now. And there's only one place I want to go. But I'm not allowed there. I need to leave him alone. I can't barge in on his life again.

"I just want to stay close to you." I tell my mother after dinner, while John is talking on the phone to one of his teammates in his bowling league.

"Oh, baby, you can't do that and you and I both know it." She says, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. I just gape at her. "Sweetie, you've still got your entire life ahead of you. You've got to go places, do things. Go someplace warm. Meet a nice boy. Do that for me."

I want to tell her, that I met a nice boy, that I love him. But I can't. He's not mine anymore and he hasn't been for four years. "I don't know where to go." I tell her.

"Yes you do. I can see it in your eyes."

***

My move to Nevada is funded partly by my mother and partly by the funds that my "fan-base" have put together. I'm horrified the entire plane ride down to Nevada. And my trip into Moapa Valley is even more terrifying. When I get there and drag my bags into the motel and check in the woman at the desk recognizes me, but lets me by with a nod and a key card. This is my life now, nodding, and nervous glances over the shoulder while people try to convince themselves that you are not going to kill them. But I'm okay with it. It beats prison.

There were people in prison that were so much scarier than me. I thought women's prison would be a breeze, but I don't think that there is an easier kind of prison. There are just different kinds of prisons. People in prison just called me after different physical traits. Things like Browny (my hair), or Boobs. I can't really explain that one. There were women in there much chestier than me.

There was one old women in there serving a life sentence for murder, and to this day I still don't know the circumstances or what her real name was. Everyone called her Sugar, and she called me "Little Girl". In my third year she passed away. One day she was with us eating in the cafeteria and the next morning her body was being carted passed the library where I'd been reading. I didn't talk to her much but she was always good to me. When I'd pass her out in yard or in the bathroom or anywhere she'd always tell me something. On a good day she'd say, "Keep smiling, Little Girl. Brighten this place up for Sugar." And I would. On a bad day she'd say, "Keep you're chin up, Little Girl. You're too pretty to cry." She was like a mother hen and there were days that I might have died had she forgotten to say something to me in the hallway. Luckily, she never did.

When I get in the room I set my bag at the end of the bed and reach in my pocket for my new iPhone. My mother sent me a text.

Good luck, baby. I love you. Call me when you can.

I set my phone aside for a second and look at my ID. My new name printed into the card. Quinn Paisley Renee Hawkins. I took my mother's last name. The one she had before she had anything to with my father. I'm happy; I've started fresh.

I smile and flip to the google search engine on my phone. I type in the location I've had on my mind all day. Permanent Paint and Piercings. The listings pop up, the first is the original location in Vegas and then a second. A parlor right here in Moapa Valley. I click on the web page and am instantly thrown by what I see.

Caleb. Smiling. Drilling away on a woman's arm.

I see links to set up appointments and numbers to call, but I'm not concerned with any of that. All I know is that I'm in Moapa Valley and Caleb is still here and his world is all around me.

***

In the morning I wake up and get dressed, pair of black tights, a short, deep purple skirt, and a black short-sleeved shirt with a white, peter pan collar. I stand in front of the mirror, drawing on the deep, black, cat-eyed eyeliner. I pin my bangs out of my face and call it good. I look nice, I haven't looked nice in a long time.

I call a cab to pick me up and we drive to the other side of town to the Parlor. I'm nervous and part of me hopes that he wont be there. I don't want to see him yet. But if I don't see him soon, then I never will. I have to buck up. It doesn't get easier if I run away.