me. I thought that I had someone to spend the rest of my life with and then suddenly I discovered that she took all of the money and I have the cops knocking on my door.
I still don't know whether she was the one who sent the cops or was it Mrs. Bowden?
The answer to that question will haunt me forever.
Will I ever know?
My chest tightens again. I miss her.
I want to talk to her.
I look at the phone and wait for her to reply, but she still doesn't. She took the money, which means that she has no intentions of going anywhere with me.
How much of our relationship was a lie?
They must have something on her. They must've been pressuring her.
That's why she was acting so weird all morning. I had a hunch about it, but I didn't push it.
I thought that she just needed space. I wish more than anything that I’d gotten her to tell me the truth. Maybe we could be going somewhere together now.
“No, no, no,” I say to myself, shaking my head. “You can't think like that. You got out of there and now you just have to keep going. She betrayed you and that's unforgivable.”
Still, I can't force myself to cut the cord completely. I write down her phone number, wipe the phone of fingerprints, take out the chip with all my personal info, and then toss it in the garbage.
19
Tyler
I get back on the freeway and drive north. I have no idea where I'm going, but I need to get as far away from here as possible.
Now that I'm no longer connected to that phone, no one will be able to track me. No one knows what car I am driving.
This car is registered in the name that Isabelle knows, but as soon as I get to where I’m going, I'll change that registration or maybe I'll get rid of the car entirely.
This ID needs to go.
When I first left prison, I thought that maybe I could start my life with someone who knew me after all. She helped me, she mended me, and then ultimately, she saved my life.
Now? She betrayed me. She took the money and she disappeared. I got out in the nick of time and if I had hesitated for a few more minutes, I’d probably be sitting in the back of a police car, handcuffed, or maybe worse, shot dead on sight.
Cops don't usually hesitate to kill people like me, anyone that they see as a threat.
As I put miles between me and Isabelle, my thoughts return to simpler times.
All the fun we had.
All of our hopes and dreams.
I start to tear up. This is the first time that I have actually been able to think about her and miss her. I know that she did a terrible and unforgivable thing, but it was just this morning when everything was so right.
I start to sob. I can't seem to wipe my eyes fast enough to clear my vision.
I should probably pull over, but the flow of traffic is going eighty miles an hour and there isn't an exit anywhere in sight.
I take a few deep breaths and try to calm myself down. I have days and months to process all of this, but now I have to keep my mind focused.
I can't let myself disappear into my disappointments. That's not how I'm going to survive and I have been through too much to not make it.
I drive for hours. I avoid most of the traffic in LA by going north on Interstate 5.
I go for the Grapevine in the rolling hills and then enter the flatlands, the fertile crescent of Central California. There's farmland as far as the eye can see.
The cultivated and tamed earth stretches all the way to the horizon and meets the bright blue sky.
I don't have my phone anymore and there isn’t much for reception around here. I go through static trying to find a radio station. I stumble on three Christian ones, but none of them are playing music, just preaching. When I see an exit, I scroll through again and surprisingly stumble on one that's playing Bruce Springsteen. I catch half of the song, “The River,” and he keeps me going for another two hours.
I’m not a huge fan of music, but I like people who have good lyrics and generally gravitate toward folk rock. Bruce Springsteen and Bob Dylan are some of my standbys, the kind of music that I