Saving Little Amy (An Age Play Romance) (2 page)

“Happy birthday, mom!”  I handed her a package and sat down with excitement etched on my face.

“A gift?”  She looked perplexed.

“It’s not much, I know.”  I waited impatiently for her to open it.

“Amy!  This is…”  She looked at the bottle of perfume.  “How did you afford this?”

“I’ve been tutoring some kids after school.”  I hoped she would just accepted the lie.

“Thank you honey, but if you’re able to make money, you shouldn’t waste it on me.”  She tucked the bottle back into the package and shook her head.  “You should save anything you get for when you truly need it.”

By the time graduation came, I considered myself a full-time shoplifter.  My mother started quietly insinuating that I should get a job or look at college options, but I was addicted to the life I was living.  The only time I felt alive was when I was adding to my collection.  I had a few close calls, but I always managed to get away in the nick of time.  I took the bus to other cities, spread out my empire of thievery, and got a little bolder as the months went on.  The addiction had reached the point of no return, and it continued to spiral out of control.  The rush was so strong that I loved it, and the more I loved it, the more I needed it.  I woke up thinking about my next score, and went to bed with a smile on my face.

“Mom!  I have something to show you…”  I opened the door with a purse full of loot, one of which was the perfume I had managed to get for her before, which was running low. 

I knew something was wrong when I walked in the door and saw my mother lying on the couch.  It was hours past the time for her to start her second job, and far too early for her to already be home.  I dropped my purse which was loaded with my latest conquests on the floor and ran to her side.  I’ll never forget the look on her face.  The paramedics said it was probably an aneurysm of some sort.  A lot of words I didn’t understand were thrown around until I was left alone in the apartment with tears streaming down my face. 

***

My mother was gone, and with her went everything I knew about life.  I couldn’t afford a funeral, so the state simply laid her to rest a few days later while I stood by the grave and cried.  She was the youngest of her siblings by twenty years and I was an unexpected surprise late in her life, so they had all passed on.  A few cousins came and gave me their condolences, but I barely knew them.  They were just figures I vaguely recognized; our family really wasn’t that close.  There was a life insurance policy, a meager five thousand dollars from one of her employers, but it was riches to someone who had never seen more than a hundred dollars at a time.  I had no idea how to manage money, so it was gone fairly quickly.

“The rent is overdue, Amy.”  My landlord yelled at me as I ran up the stairs.

“I’ll have it tomorrow!”  I promised.  My purse had enough stuff to pay it, but it wasn’t exactly cash.

The job market wasn’t especially welcoming to me, but I did find one waiting tables in a dive bar.  I wasn’t old enough to drink and I thought they weren’t even allowed to let me serve alcohol, but they didn’t seem to care.  I carved my path through the smoke filled room of obscenities and sexual harassment every night from six in the evening to one in the morning.  I began to understand why my mother needed two jobs, because I could barely pay the rent with what I was making.  I looked for better jobs and even applied at some of the stores I stole from, but my skills were limited and the market was saturated.  I needed a college degree to do anything serious, and I certainly couldn’t afford that on top of everything else I was suddenly forced to pay for.  A few of the men at the bar offered me money to join them in the back room or in the ally behind the bar for a few minutes, but I rejected them.  There was some semblance of pride left in me, or at least I hoped there was.  I hadn’t even given myself to a man, so selling myself to one wasn’t exactly tempting.  I never considered myself that pretty, but I guess beer goggles can change perspectives, or just create desperation.

“Amy, you’re beautiful…  You’d look even prettier underneath me!”  One of the older patrons called out as I walked to my car.

“Go home!”  I yelled as I opened my car door.

“The only thing at home is my wife…”  He whined.

“At least she wants you…”  I muttered to myself as I cranked my car.

It had been a while since I stole anything, but I knew I was going to have to if I wanted to survive.  I didn’t need must, just a few things here and there to keep myself together.  Makeup was expensive and my clothes were put through the ringer at work every day, so they didn’t last long.  I found myself making my way through my old circles, filling my previous haunts with my ghostly presence once more, but where there I stole for a thrill in the past, I started stealing for survival.  Stealing for survival was a different beast altogether.  I knew what I was after.  Rather than browsing for opportunity and taking what it gave me, I searched for what I needed.  Instead of multiple items from a single store, I hit multiple stores for a single item.  The windows of the world may have been bolted shut, but I had to improvise until I had my hands around the coveted prize—or in my case, the thing I needed.  Of course it wasn’t going to be that simple.  It couldn’t be.  Everything changed when I pocked a few tubes of lipstick and headed towards the exit of the mall.  I was a few hundred feet from freedom, but that freedom would never come.

“Excuse me, miss.”  The voice was like gravel.  It froze me in my tracks.  I was scared to turn around, but I did with a lump swelling inside my throat.

“Yes sir?  Can I help you?”  I turned to see an older man in his forties with gray around the edge of his hairline.  He was wearing a silver colored suit with a thin tie, but none of that was as important as the badge he revealed when he pushed the coat to the side.

“I think you need to come with me.”  His eyes were sky blue, but they pierced me like steel when they narrowed and locked on me.

“Why?  What did I do?”  That was what I asked, but it was cracked and a shriek accented the last syllable.

“You know what you did.  Please don’t make a spectacle of this.”  He took a step towards me and clenched his hand around my left arm.  He was incredibly strong.

I was half-escorted; half-dragged from the mall by the police officer who had was concealed behind a suit that made me think he was nothing more than an average shopper.  I wasn’t sure if I could have outrun him, but my legs were jelly and refused to try.  When we were away from the mall’s main entrance and forcibly pushed me down across the back of his patrol car and began searching me.  There was nothing gentle about his touch, nor did he apologize when his fingers dug underneath my breasts, squeezed my nipples, and then lingered far too long between my legs.  When the evidence of my crime was laid out on the trunk of his car along with the contents of my purse, I felt the cold touch of the metal handcuffs and heard the loud clicking sound as they locked into place.  The back door opened and I was pushed inside with his hand on my head to avoid injury.  I fell awkwardly into his car, and then the door slammed shut on my freedom.  He slid into the front seat and sighed, shaking his head for a moment before he looked back at me.

“We’ve been looking for you.”  He grabbed his radio and called in the story of his success.

I was no longer invisible.  His words echoed in my ears as everything else just flew by.  I thought I was immortal and invisible, but clearly I had overestimated my own grandeur.  I had been a fool.  The handcuffs came off, but they were replaced by a cage.  I was the only one in there and when the darkness came, I had time to reflect on my life.  I was supposed to be at work, the rent was due the next day, and I had promised my mother I would put flowers on her grave that weekend.  None of those promises would be kept.  Bail was set fairly low, but I wasn’t able to afford it.  A public defender told me to plead guilty, beg for forgiveness, and hope for the best. 

“You’re going away for a long time.”  The guard cackled as he poured a cup of coffee.

“Fuck you…”  I said angrily through the bars.

“You got a filthy mouth.  I got something filthy that would look good in it.”  He licked his lips.

“In your dreams…” I plopped down on the bed.

They had video of me, and although it wasn’t entirely convincing, being caught red handed would likely sway the jury’s opinion.  I followed his instructions blindly, because I had lost the will to fight.  They did go easy on me, but their version of easy was ninety days in jail and two years of probation.  The judge said it would have been less if it was just one time, but there was a history of criminal activity outlined in the grainy surveillance videos, all of which I was admitting to at the insistence of my legal counsel.  Guilty…  I was very, very guilty.  The guard stared at me as I was chained up and escorted to the van.  He marched beside me with his hand on my back.

“You should have taken me up on my offer.”  He slipped his hand down and squeezed my ass.

“Stop it!”  I said angrily.

“You’ll wish you had a cock to suck on when you’re licking cunts in county.”  He slapped my ass hard as I climbed into the van.

“I’ll be just fine.”  I glared at him as the door was slammed.

Jail wasn’t as complex or evil as I had been led to believe by television, but it certainly wasn’t Orange is the New Black or even Oz.  It was mundane and it was boring.  Perhaps that was because it was jail instead of prison, but time passed rather slowly.  I was bunked up with someone who was doing the same sentence I was, and when she got out, I was alone for the last week of my sentence.  Being alone made me think of everything that waited on me when I got out, or rather what was gone…  My apartment would be gone, along with all of my personal effects.  I had seen enough tenants kicked out to know all of their stuff went on the lawn for the buzzards to pick through. 

“It won’t be long until your big day, huh?”  A female guard asked as she walked down the block shutting off the lights.

“Yeah…”  I sighed.  “Big day…”

I would be walking out of jail with nothing more than the clothes on my back.  I spent several nights crying myself to sleep dreading my release as much as I looked forward to eventual freedom.  I knew my job was gone, and how could I really reintegrate into society with the smell of my jail sentence still fresh?  When the day finally came, I was a ball of emotions and nervousness.  Seeing the sun was a momentary glimpse of joy, but as I made my way towards the bus station, I knew that the real horror was going to begin when the night came and I had nowhere to sleep.  As I suspected, there was nothing for me at my apartment building.  I had to check, but the landlord swiftly dismissed me and told me that I knew what would happen if I didn’t pay my rent.  He didn’t care that I had been in jail. 

“Come on…”  I begged.  “I just need a place to sleep.”

“Sorry darling.  I am not running a charity.”  He shrugged.

Everything my mother had worked for and everything I had worked for was all gone.  It didn’t matter if it was stolen property or obtained without ill-gotten gains, there was nothing for me to pick through.  I sat down on the stoop outside the apartment building and I began to cry.  There was nothing left for me in the world.  I had made my own choices and they were there to bite me until nothing remained but an empty shell where my humanity once sat.  It would have been easier if I had someone to blame.  Shouldering it all was the most difficult part of the realization.  If there was someone I could direct my anger at, I could internalize it and use that hate to drive me, but all I felt was self-contempt.  I contemplated suicide, but then an amusing thought crossed my mind.  I didn’t own a gun or even a kitchen knife.  Sure, there were buildings and bridges within walking distance, but that took effort, and effort was the last thing I had.  People passed me by; some stopped and stared, but most just walked into the building.  After a dozen or so passed, one stopped and didn’t move.  I finally lifted my head to see who it was.

“Amy?”  It was a friendly voice calling my name, and a face I recognized; one weathered by age.

“Ms. Randolph?”  I hadn’t seen her in several years.

“I read about you in the papers.  Your mother would have been ashamed.”  She shook her head and let out a nasal sigh.

“I know…”  I felt tears in my eyes again.  “I screwed up.”

“Well haven’t we all?  I managed to save some of your things.  I didn’t know if I would ever see you again, but they are in my apartment.  You won’t steal anything will you?”  She put her hands on her hips.

“No!  Oh my goodness.  Thank you so much!”  I felt a lift in my spirit as I hopped up and followed her inside.

The landlord gave me a dirty look as I walked behind Ms. Randolph.  It was surreal walking into her apartment again as an adult.  One of the strangest parts of the experience was the fact she hadn’t changed it much.  It was still a wreck and barely touched.  She motioned to a pile of things on the table and I found a lot of pictures, along with a few trinkets.  It wasn’t much, but it was something to hold in my hand—things I never thought I would see again.  While I perused my history, she made a pot of tea.  Tea was practically a ritual for her.  It had been a long time since I had felt a hint of kindness.  We drank tea and talked about my mother.  Ms. Randolph apologized for not coming to the funeral, but said she wasn’t able to get out the way she used to.  It didn’t matter to me at all; what she was doing for me at that moment meant more than a couple of hours following a ritual.  When the evening wore on, she offered to let me sleep on her couch.  I was ecstatic and there was no way I could refuse.  It was the first peaceful night of sleep I had since I felt those cuffs slide on my wrists.

One night turned into a week, and then a month had passed.  I did everything I could to help her around the apartment when I wasn’t out looking for a job.  A part of me still craved the ease of just taking what I wanted, but I resisted the urge.  Probation meant regular check-ins with my assigned representative and drug tests, which I always passed without an issue.  The only drugs I consumed were nicotine, caffeine and the occasional glass of wine if Ms. Randolph had one before bed.  Everything seemed to be going in the right direction for me, and I knew that if I could find a job, I could really turn things around.  Ms. Randolph really didn’t ask for anything from me.  I think she was happy just to have another adult in the apartment with her to carry on a conversation.  She had a meager income, but she knew how to live within her means.  I didn’t add much of a strain to that.  Unfortunately, just when I thought things were actually going to remain consistent and steady, Ms. Randolph’s sister and niece came to visit.  They were not pleased to find out she was sharing her home with a known criminal and urged her to kick me out.  She refused, but she did seem to grow distant after that visit.  I knew she was considering what they had said, specifically the warning they gave her about me.  When they came to visit again a week later, I decided to go for a walk.  I didn’t want to listen to them talk about me.