“Hi, I’m Jeremy” I say with trepidation to them. “Hi Jeremy” they all responded in a smirching monotone. I’m the new guy. I get it, they don’t like. Actually, they probably don’t care about me, my problems, or why I’m here. They all just avidly want to get out of here, just as I do. I stare at the floor. I don’t know what else to say to them. Andrew, the counselor sees my uncertainty and comes to my rescue. “Come on, Jeremy. Tell us why you are here,” he says. I remain silent. These people don’t deserve to know my secrets, my story. They don’t even have the right to walk freely. Neither do I. Andrew disappointed, moves on knowing I won’t be answering. “Ok Leo, your turn.”
None of these other guys can even fathom what I’ve been through. They are all criminals and probably do this stuff for a living. They will probably pick up right where they left off as soon as they get out of here. I won’t though. I don’t really belong here. It was all a big mistake, an accident. I never meant for any of it to happen at all. I got so angry. I had never been that angry in my life and the knife hadn’t been there. I don’t know what would have happened. Actually I do. My ex would still be my girl and obviously, I wouldn’t be here.
It was only a week ago, though it feels like another lifetime. We were having a fight about something really stupid; I think it had something to do with her dad or something. We had just gotten to my house and we planning on making out for a little bit and then doing some homework. Instead, we kept yelling and then I got too mad. I don’t blame her. I could never blame her. It was entirely my fault. I remember her blanched face when I pulled the knife off the counter. I remember seeing my hatred reflecting in her fear filled incredulous eyes. When I realized what I had done, I dropped the knife and stuttered, “I’m sorry,” to her but I knew it meant nothing. She ran out the front door and the next time I saw her, she was on the witness stand testifying against me.
After she left she ran right home. She told her parents everything and within an hour or two, the police had me in handcuffs. News of what happened exuded throughout school and town so quickly. I had visitors almost every day, all of which I refused to see. I didn’t wan to see anybody. I didn’t want anyone to know how upset and hurt I was. I didn’t even call my parents, as if they cared, because I didn’t want them to know I had failed. I didn’t want them to know that I had made it to the abyss that my dad said I was destined to be in forever.
Judge Forestor sentenced me to 6 months in the slammer and 3 years of probation for attempting to assault with a deadly weapon. I think I should be in here much longer, for what I did, but I can’t help but wish to see her face with something that isn’t hatred or fear. I know I broke the status qou of our relationship and I know that can never be mended. I’m actually not at all titillated for the “freedom day” to come either. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I will never, ever make the horrendous mistake of letting myself lose control like that again.