Redemption's Bitter Path

Scott's sweatpants scoured his skin with each step over the bridge. Time was the only thing that could wash away the stench of horror endured for the last year, and he wasn't sure it would ever dissipate. He clenched his tickets, a reminder of his opportunity for a do-over. When he arrived at Rikers, he had a team of people to part the sea of paparazzi. Tonight, there were just two cameras, one from channel five and the other from a cable station. It's funny how everyone rides with you to the top, but no one trudges through the mud when it matters, he thought. 

The bus bumped further away from the city, and Scott's old life faded into the distance until it vanished. The air was ghostly; things had changed. He couldn't see it, but he felt it. 

In a few short hours, he'd be with Angelina; she'd waited for him. Although their talks were curt and her I love yous labored, she'd waited. With each transfer, his mind reeled. What would his first words be? What would she say? Everyone talked about the grand reunions they would have, but after what he put her through, he wondered why she stayed.

"My guy! Last stop, wake up." "This is it. I've got to get going. Sleep at your own home if you have one." The driver walked away, banging the broom under the seats and pushing cans and bottles to the front of the bus. 

"Got it," Scott clutched his duffle bag, wiped the sleep from his mouth, and entered his new world.

Angelina's joyless "Hey," with his two kids, Collin and Leana, on either side resembled sacrificial lambs. He was officially the absent father.  

Her voice cut the stillness, "James said you can come in tomorrow. He wants you to start as soon as possible." She pushed the seat forward, the kids crawled in, the doors closed, and the darkness engulfed the car and Scott's soul.

He'd only seen trailer parks on television. The oil and dust slid down his throat like a bitter elixir when he exited the car. Scott knew if he made it out, he would never be able to return to his city life unscathed by the poorness of this place.

Scott was a titan in NYC before he got disbarred. Angelina and her rooftop sip and garden club never had an open seat. The kids had success coursing through their veins. Now, their dreams were on life support, and Scott wasn't sure they'd make it. 

Women can always marry up, but men can never marry out. Angelina returned to her hometown because no one there cared about the news in the city. She felt they could start fresh and leave their old selves in the smog of the past. She was soft and firm, different from the women he grew up with in the city. 

Angelina had done what she could working at a local diner, and tomorrow, Scott began his new job as a restaurant manager at the town's favorite spot, TGI Fridays. Chain restaurants were a new low, and now, to work at one solidified his new place in society. At least he would be able to buy Christmas gifts this year. Last year, he missed it, and instead of unwrapping presents, he tore open his Ramen cup and made a wish to live. Looking around, he understood there was much more to living than life.

Angelina never cooked, but this morning, an oily-haired lady glanced at him a few feet away as she fried eggs and pork, which they had never eaten. "Scott, I love you. It's just going to take a little time. Things aren't the same, and I am unsure if they will ever be." 

The night wasn't what he expected, and he knew her words would eventually consummate this new state." I got it." he barked.

"The kids are out of school, so we will be fine this week with the car. But I'll need to show you where to drop them off. You will have to keep the car." 

"Yeah." Scott grabbed the keys and headed to work.

The condiment-stained carpet gripped his feet like quicksand. James, a guy ten years Scott's junior, yelled from behind the bar,

" I'm over here. Head back."

It's come to this after Hofstra, Vanderbilt, an apartment on 5th Avenue overlooking Central Park, now Scott had a kid as a manager and a role as gatekeeper for frozen food and slushy drinks with liquor on top. Life is cruel. 

Scott met James's eyes and saw the clients who said he had stolen their money. What would they do with it? He'd worked for this kind of person for years. They'd get the money and squander it on a stupid house they would never be able to manage taxes on and some idiotic clothes. 

It was always some "hard-working" parent with tears in their eyes when the settlement came through, lamenting how their kids would now be the first to go to college. In less than six months, their money would be gone. Then, they wanted Scott to somehow resurrect the buried dollars. 

He decided to put the money in trust, and yes, a few extra dollars for maintenance was nothing. He saved these people from the embarrassment of going from rich to broke in front of the jealous guillotine's eyes of failure. For that, should he have to suffer?

"I was glad when Angie told me you'd returned from ummm…"

"Cabo Verde," Scott said, sitting in a seat that rocked back and forth with one leg off-kilter. 

"Yeah, I know it was some strange place. Angie said you guys were ready to leave the city life."

"We needed something different." Still trying to adjust his seat.

"She's a good woman. I've seen how she's managed those kids. Nice gir..."

Standing up, frustrated and impatient, Scott interrupted, "So what do I need to know? What are the ins and outs of this place?"

James's belly laugh seemed uncharacteristic of such a petite guy. "The restaurant or the town?"

Scott leaned forward, put his face in his hands, and sighed through the tension. "I guess both." 

"We're good people. Simple, you know. Not like what you are probably used to you." 

"Hmmm"

"And the job. Smile and make sure the place makes folk feel good." 

He slammed down a glass. "What do you want?"

"I'm not drinking."

"OK, I'll see you tonight for the dinner crowd; it starts around 5:30."

A week passed, and it was better than Scott thought. But the potato-built people with yellowing teeth, who could never speak without spitting, reminded him of all he tried to escape as a kid—the gutter—the zipcode nemesis. He beat it, so he thought. Yet he still ended up in Rikers with the same kids from the neighborhood. 

Scott thought this was a new start, and the bell notification paused his thoughts. His check had been deposited in his account. How in the hell was he supposed to spread Christmas joy with this?

"Scottie," Angelina called out of the screen door. It was the new name Angelina had used since he'd gotten out. It's almost like she belonged here. These were her people. She seemed comfortable, but he knew they would leave this dump in six years, and maybe he could have his wife and life back.

"I'm coming." Angelina, well, Angie had taken on this new life and acted as if she had never been a NYC socialite.

He walked in and bumped the plastic tree, turned, and straightened it. Colin stepped out of a corner, "I hope I can at least get something this year. Mom got us this, uh, place."

The FBI came and took everything they had to pay restitution. That included the kid's stuff, too.

Scott walked past as if he hadn't heard Colin. He lay down, and the dingy light bulb lulled him to sleep. When he woke up, Angelina ran the same program she'd run for the past week. She had no idea he was off today, and he decided not to tell her. 

After breakfast, Scott drove through town, and the wirey lights implied Christmas but fell horribly short of the storybook ones he'd grown accustomed to. He pulled up to the filling station and came out with malt liquor. Today was going to be a day for him. Life hadn't been anything like he'd imagined. Everyone always talked about the long nights of lovemaking and grand coming-home events they would have when they got out. Scott had low expectations, and he stared at them face to face.

The park across the street from the town strip mall gave him a semblance of solace. He drank and thought. Then he just drank. A gate slammed and woke Scott up out of his darkness. It was Old Man Crenshaw, the Pawnshop owner. He saw him walk back into the store, and evil poured over Scott, giving him the courage to man up. 

He walked to the store and stepped in. 

"Yeah, I'm closed." a little ruffling came from a closet. 

Before Scott realized, he'd grabbed a hammer and began beating the old man. Each hit fed the monster that had grown inside him. He felt free and powerful again. He looked in the corner of the stale closet and inhaled Old Man Crenshaw's last breath. A bag of money called toward him as if it was his destiny. It couldn't have been more than 2500k. Since Crenshaw lived there, he locked the door, bathed, changed, and headed home. 

"Scottie, you can stay in here tonight." The used couch, a worn blanket, and a cold breeze had been Scott's only comfort since he'd returned. It was like a cage without bars, even worse because there was no escape. 

He slithered in the bed next to Angelina. They lay motionless. She gripped his hair, mounted him, and adjusted the gears, but they didn't work. She grinded, rocked, then brutally pounded. He wanted to work, but like everything else he wasn't the same. The last ounce of masculinity evaporated from his soul. She slid down, grabbed the sheet, and moved to the couch.

Scott woke up alone, but at least to the smell of frying bacon, the one constant in his life. He remembered Old Man Crenshaw, but today was Christmas Eve. He had to get his family a Christmas. He had to do something. 

"What time do you get off?"

"Same as usual. Late night." He grabbed his keys and headed out the door. 

When he drove to the restaurant, James pulled in next to him. 

"Scottie, I knew you would have a good work ethic."

Dumb kid.

"You don't come in today; remember you work Christmas Eve?" He slammed the door, leaned onto Scott's car, and tapped the window.

"I know." looking at his sports watch, the one thing Angelina did keep.

"Then why are you here?" He showed those crooked teeth and forced Scott to roll down the window.

Scott looked at his watch. It was the twenty-third, for sure. "I just stopped by. My son told me the kids were throwing eggs, and I wanted to ensure we weren't one of the targets last night." 

He leaned over, rolled up the window, and breathed," See you tomorrow."

He sped off of the parking lot and rattled his brain for answers. Scott stopped at the gas station, grabbed some malt liquor, pulled into the park, and started to drink. The lights went out. 

A scraping boom woke Scott. He looked out, and it was Old Man Crenshaw. He closed down the gate and walked into the store. Scott felt like last night had been a dream. He checked the glove compartment, and the money was gone. He ran into the store.

"Yeah! I'm closed. Come back after the New Year." Tired feet shuffled into the closet.

Scott knew he wasn't a monster. A lot had changed. No matter what NYC thought, he wasn't evil. 

"Hey, boy! I said I'm closed." the old man peered out of the closet. 

Scott lunged, grabbed his throat, and landed on the ground. He choked the old man until his eyes bulged from his skull. His feet propelled him up again, and he looked and saw the money in the same corner as he had the day before. Scott grabbed it and ran out to the car.

A few hours later, Angelina grabbed her robe and went to the couch. The first circle of hell devoured him in that moment. He closed his eyes, and a few moments later, he woke up to the smell of frying bacon. It was Deja Vu. His watch still showed the twenty-third. 

Maybe this was his new prison. He was doomed to live in limbo for eternity, never able to become who he was. Today, he decided on something different. Scott felt like his redemption was in his honesty. 

"Babe, I'm off today. Do you need something?"

Angelina rubbed his back, "Scottie, thanks. Just take some time for yourself."

He drove off, stopped at the filling station, grabbed some beer, and backed into the circle drive at the park. He sat, he drank, and he slept. He woke up to a light across the street, Old Man Crenshaw closing for the night. Scott started the car and drove home. 

When he opened the door to the trailer, Angelina's brown eyes looked up at him and longed for all that was lost. He held her. They sat in the cacophony of quiet. 

Scott beat karma. 

"I'm going to grab a cigarette and be on to bed." There was no need for the invite; he knew it was his time tonight. He opened the door, and a spotlight blinded him. His lighter fell, and he bent down to grab it.

"Put your hands up. You are under arrest for murder." 

He grabbed his lighter, and thunderclaps lifted Scott off his feet and thrust him to the ground. 

Angelina ran outside screaming as the police closed in.

"We had a tip that the guy who killed Oldman Crenshaw ran through the trailer park. He tried to grab a gun."

Angelina screamed," It was his lighter!"

She reached down and stroked him. He looked at her and coughed, "I'm still a statistic." Then, slowly, he closed his eyes.