Cast your soul to the sea, he said to me once. From some stupid love poem he wrote. Donny always talks weird, in romantic images that are pretty but empty. Like Donny. He's serving ten to life down in Walla Walla. Sometimes I even miss him.
From this pier, if I close my eyes, I can still see him in those heavy boots walking the surf-soaked rocks where we used to sit and talk. He loves to walk the shore. Maybe that's why he says those stupid things? Maybe they somehow make up for the bad things he did--we did. I try to remember that, but sometimes, my head's all confused. It's the new rehab treatment they gave me today.
Carmen Slater, my probation officer, stands at the opposite end of the pier, waiting for me. She doesn't usually follow me around like this, but my community service starts today, so she's sticking close. I glance down at the thick black band around my ankle. This tracking device will lead them right to me if I decide to bolt. Not many places for a convicted felon to run.
Still, I'm lucky. I got out in five with a stint in rehab and community service. It'll be a year before I'm through with both. I didn't kill that guy in the alley that night (Donny did), but I did gank his money. Donny told the guy if he handed over his cash, he wouldn't shoot him. Stupid fool made Donny kill him. Over twenty bucks and a lousy credit card.
"Kip, it's time to go!"
I turn away from the ocean and stare blankly at Carmen with her severe black hair, stuffy lace blouse, and over-pressed blue skirt. Like some store window mannequin. Carmen taps her watch. "I need to get you to the hospice now." Her words are loud and slow. Don't know if she thinks I'm deaf or stupid. She reminds me of my fourth grade teacher, always talking to me like I don't understand English. I hated Mrs. Williams. I don't have much use for Carmen either.
She motions me away from the pier and slowly, I comply. I'll come in my own time. Finally, I reach her and with a smirk, I slip past her into the car. I lean my face against the window to catch another glimpse of the ocean. My hair smells salty and clean from the breeze. Carmen frowns, but she puts on that fake, everything's-okay smile and slides into the driver's seat. Then she drives away, toward some stupid hospice where I'm supposed to do my CS. There's some experiment going on there and I'm part of it. Some choice--the rest of my prison term or some bullshit experiment. I'd rather be picking up trash in parks, but I guess my gig's easier than Donny's. He may never see the ocean again.
Carmen drives out of the parking lot and onto the highway. The Puget Sound flickers at the edges of the rocky, tree-covered shoreline rushing ahead of us. The pines are so tall and green against the bare trees around them. Autumn came fast this year.
My head still hurts from the rehab session. I thought it'd be some sort of therapy where they'd talk at me and give me drugs, but it turned into minor surgery. Some chaff about a device to signal some brain chemicals to be released. The doctor showed it to me. It's smaller than an aspirin. How can something that small do anything? I don't quite understand it all and I don't want this thing in my head, but it beats that rat-trap cell and getting a shiv in the gut some night. They say I don't know right from wrong, but this thing in my head does and eventually, it will teach me. One of the doctors calls it an artificial conscience. Guess if Donny and me had had this thing, he wouldn't have killed that jerk in Seattle. A twinge of pain ripples through my stomach and my hands start to shake, like I'm hungry or something.
"We're not far from the hospice, Kip," Carmen chirps from the front seat, all smiles and bouncy. Like we're going on a picnic. She's so fake she makes me sick. "It's just past Coupeville."
The blue and green water is bright against the steep cliffs that rise around us. I close my eyes, not realizing I've fallen asleep until Carmen gently nudges my shoulder.
"Kip, we're here. Kip?"
I step out of the car and stare at the cedar building on the hillside. With all its windows, it looks fragile, like a strong wind would knock it over. A thin curl of smoke rises into the gray sky. The air smells burnt.
"This is Crossroads Hospice," says Carmen. She carries my duffle bag with her toward the front door and I have no choice but to follow. I hate this thing on my ankle.
A silver-haired woman opens the door and greets Carmen like a long-lost relative. She's short and squat and looks like she should have eleven grandchildren.
"Carmen, how are you? It's been ages, child!" The old woman hugs her.
"How are you, Miss Miller? It's so good to see you again." Carmen grips the old woman's plump arms.
The woman shakes a finger at Carmen. "It's Mary Margaret."
Carmen slips over to me and puts her hands on my shoulders, but I pull away. "Mary Margaret, this is Kelly Thorpe."
I sneer. I haven't been Kelly Thorpe in a long, long time.
"I go by Kip."
The old woman's expression turns serious as she stares at me, looking through me. Uncomfortable, I look away. "You've got quite a bit of work ahead of you, Kelly Thorpe." She pauses and the hint of a smile touches her wrinkled, pale face. "Kip."
I shrug. So, I empty a few bedpans and change a few sheets. Big deal. Doesn't mean anything. In a year, I'll be out of here. I'll head south, toward San Diego. That'll be far enough from this state.
My stomach hurts again, but I keep a straight face.
Old Mary Margaret opens the door and waves me inside. I glare at her as I pick up my bag and walk past. She's gotta get the message right off that I'm not interested in being her friend. I'm just here to do my time. I'll be their little maze jockey as long as I get my chocolate bar.
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