When It's Time

I stepped out into the sun for the first time in twenty years. Obviously, I had gotten glimpses of it through barred windows inside of the cafeteria, but that was just that: glimpses. I hadn’t fully been engulfed by its rays for so long, and it felt good to say the least. It warmed my skin like only the California heat could do. As I stepped inside of the police car that was set to take me home, or at least to a house, I began contemplating my life. Twenty years ago I was living the perfect life; I had two teenage kids and an amazing husband that went through hell with me. All of our troubles were set aside once we had had our two wonderful kids: Megan and Alexander. Twenty years ago they were fifteen years old, and I was thirty-two. Twenty years later, my kids are now a little over the age I was when I was arrested, and I’m now fifty-two years old.

For the first five years of my prison sentence, Billie and Megan would come to visit me, sometimes together, and sometimes separately. Alex never really visited that first half of a decade, mainly because he couldn’t believe that he had lived with a murderer for the first half of his life, let alone had been raised by one. On the seventh year, visits from Megan got less frequent, but visits from Alex started up. The first time he visited he lashed out at me over the phone, seeing as that’s all you’re provided when you have a life sentence. Having to see my child yelling at me through glass, and then hearing it over the phone killed me, simply because I could do nothing to calm him down. Months went by and my children soon turned twenty-one. Although I had missed it, I had heard all about it from Billie the next evening. Alex had had to call Billie around four in the morning in order to come get them, seeing as Megan had passed out, her boyfriend had left, all of their friends had scattered, and he was far from legally being able to drive.

A few days after their birthday, Alex came and visited me, a lot more calmly, might I add. It didn’t go exactly the way I had expected, for I was informed Megan’s boyfriend of seven years finally proposed to her and she had accepted. I was somewhat upset that I had to hear this from him, but, nonetheless, I was happy for the both of them. At least they were doing things a little more formally than Billie and I had done.

Visits from Megan and Alex had stopped completely, seeing as Alex transferred to a college out-of-state - he was previously going to the University of California - and Megan was preparing to get married, and things were beginning to get too hectic for her to come visit her murderer of a mother. Billie, however, visited as often as he could. He told me that Green Day was recording another album, and that he too would soon be gone. The last day I saw him was when all three of them - Billie, Mike, and Tre - stopped by to bid me farewell before they went off to tour the United States and numerous other countries and continents. That was the last time that I had ever saw him.

Now, as I ride in the back of a similar squad car that had taken me from my home to begin with, I wonder if that house can even be considered a home to me anymore. Although I had been sentenced to life in prison, good behavior had gotten me twenty years, so coming home so suddenly would be a surprise to Billie, if he even lived there anymore. For all I knew, he moved to a completely different state, married someone else, and adopted their kids as his own. That thought shook me more then it should have, and I found my leg shaking up and down repeatedly, making me look like an ex-drug addict newly clean.

It took a good twenty minutes for us - the police officer and myself - to drive back to the house. The man opened the back door, all but dragged me out, and swiftly took off my handcuffs. Although free, I didn’t really feel the part; the police force still didn’t trust me after twenty years of good behavior. You’d expect me to lash out at every officer, begging them to help me seek my freedom, but I didn’t; not once. Not one single time did I make a sarcastic remark towards a guard, lash out at an officer, or pull the ‘My Husband is Famous’ card. I wanted to fulfill my sentence for the horrible crime I had committed. At the time I did such a thing, I wasn’t thinking of the consequences; having to leave my family and life behind. Why wasn’t I thinking of that back then? Because in my eyes, I had had no one. Billie was only going to temporarily be there, and I wasn’t pregnant at the time. That had all changed, and soon, I found myself with everyone: a set of twins, Billie, Mike, Mike’s wife, Tre, and Tre’s girlfriend. Even though that wasn’t as many people as others had in their lives, it was plenty for me.

The police officer, Jason, walked me up to the front step, turned, and left. It took me a good thirty minutes after the squad car had left to gather up enough courage to knock on the door. And that’s all I could do: knock. I couldn’t just pull my key ring out of my pocket and unlock the door like I had done so many years ago while helping to raise Billie and I’s kids. I couldn’t just walk inside and yell “I’m home!” like I had done all those years ago either, because in all honesty, I didn’t even feel welcome anymore. I heard footsteps bound down the wooden stairs that I could still picture in my mind. The storm door swung open and a child about ten years old, possibly older, was revealed to me. His eyes met mine but soon disconnected as he did a once over of me. Honestly, I didn’t look all that different than I did twenty years ago; a few more wrinkles here and there, but essentially the same blonde hair and the same colour eyes that would easily be recognized. That is, if it was somebody who had ever met me.

“Who are you?” The boy questioned, a curious tone in his voice.

“My name’s Skye. Is Billie home?” I used the nicest voice I could muster up, but not nice enough to sound like a pervert to the poor boy.

“Yup. One second.” He closed the door and yelled a word I never would’ve expected.

“Grandpa! Someone named Skye is here!” Grandpa? That was… my grandson?

I heard footsteps coming towards the door, heavier than the first. The door swung open for a second time within five minutes, and soon, my eyes were met with somewhat-lively green ones.

“S-Skye?” Billie stuttered, shocked by my sudden appearance at his door step, “What are you doing here?” He asked, mouth parted and eyes wide.

“I got out early; good behavior.” I smiled at him, and instead of the plethora of fake smiles I had put on back at the prison, this was a genuine, happy, smile.

He laughed slightly at my response, for he and I both knew that good behavior wasn’t one of my traits by far.

“Who would’ve though? Skye Saliman out on good behavior.”

My smile lessened when I heard him use my maiden name instead of the name that was bestowed upon me after marriage. He must’ve sensed the sudden mood change that had occurred, and instantly his eyes bulged. Had he forgotten we were married, or was it just a simple slip of the tongue?

“What? What’s wrong? I can read you like a book Billie Joe.” In all truth, I could. To me, he was like an open book that I could read whenever I so chose.

“Um, we should talk. Why don’t you come in?” He gestured for me to enter after opening the door further. That’s when I saw it, or rather, them. Two kids sat in the corner playing with my assumed grandson: one fifteen, possibly older, and the other eleven, him also possibly older. They definitely weren’t my grandchildren, and they positively weren’t my actual children, but I could sense they lived here. They were acting too casual for them to be visitors. My thoughts eased slightly when I took a good look at their faces, for they were vacant of any trait that Megan and Alexander had gotten from their father.

“Who are they?” I asked.

“Skye, sit down,” Billie commanded. I did just that and took a seat on the couch that seemed like it hadn’t moved since the last time I had been here.

“There’s something I really should tell you.” He began to fiddle with his wedding ring, and that’s when I saw it, but this time a different it; he had a different wedding ring on.

“Billie?” I asked, sadness hinting in my voice. He looked up.

“Where’s your wedding ring? The one I gave you?”

“T-That’s the thing I needed to talk to you about,” he mumbled, barely audible.

“You married someone else,” I concluded, realizing that twenty years away from someone was far too long, and that you couldn’t expect them to stay truthful to you forever. He simply nodded, obviously not having the heart to admit it to my face.

“Awesome. I hope she’s a wonderful girl.” I stood up and bolted for the door. My grandson and the other two children playing in the corner looked at me in shock. Obviously they didn’t expect an ‘old lady’ to be able to run so fast. They obviously didn’t know my past. Running was what I did best, and like they say, old habits die hard.

“Skye, wait!” Billie yelled, but by this time, I was already down the driveway. Unfortunately, twenty years of solitary confinement took its toll on you and Billie soon caught up to me.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” He yelled, shaking me by my shoulders. “Skye, you’re over fifty now, not seventeen! You can’t just run off whenever you want! You have responsibilities!” He continued to yell in my face about numerous things that he thought would make me stay, but in the end, had no effect.

“Yes Billie Joe, I get it, I’m old now. But at least now I’m legal to do things, unlike back then when I first met you. Back then, I was young and in love, although I still held my weight. I never gave you any of my baggage that you weren’t willing to take. Why do you think I went to jail by myself instead of dragging you down with me? I always told you Green Day would make it big, and I refused to take that away from you. ‘Billie Joe: A Murderer’ would’ve been plastered over newspapers worldwide in less then five minutes if you had went to jail, and just like that your music career would’ve been over. But what did I have Billie? I had only you, Megan, and Alex. You guys were my lifelines, and now, I come to find out all three of you are gone. Megan and Alex have been gone for awhile now and I understand that; they need to live their own lives. But you. You son of a bitch! Here I thought our love story would continue, all sweet and whatnot. You’d be the loving husband awaiting my return, seeing as you committed the damn crime with me! But what do I find out? You remarried without even getting a divorce. What’d ‘ya tell her Billie, huh? That you’d do anything for her and never leave her side? Did you sing her that song you wrote me all those years ago?” I was far from finished with my rant, but I honestly wanted a response to my question: did he sing her that song?

I stared into his eyes for what seemed like an eternity with such anger and such hatred.

“Did you? Did you sing her that song that you sung me that day you found out about my abortion? That day that I was feeling so down about killing him, that you sung that to me?”

Tears were welling up inside of his eyes, as well as mine.

“Never. Not once have I sung her that song. That’s our song Skye, and it always will be.” A stray tear left his eyes as he said those words.

“Well then Billie Joe, tell me when it’s time to say I love you, because right now, I’m clueless.” I muttered, more to myself then to him.

“Tell me now,” he whispered, the wind fighting against his voice, “Please.”

I took in a deep breath before telling him the words that I would always speak from my heart, but somehow knew that today would be the last time I would ever tell him this, “I love you Billie Joe. I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too, Skye. I love you too.” He engulfed me in a hug, kissing me deeply. We let go far too soon for my liking, and I turned to walk away.

“Skye?” Billie asked, making me turn my head.

“Please tell me this is just the end of the beginning?” He asked, or pleaded, a few tears escaping down his cheeks. I shook my head, a tear falling down my own cheek. A cheek that he had kissed numerous times during our relationship.

Although I didn’t say anything, he understood what that head motion had meant: this wasn’t the end of the beginning, but instead, the end of the end. I spoke not another word as I walked slowly in one direction, ending my journey the same way it had began: with my own two feet and the whole world ahead of me.