i want my life back.

[another prompt from the writers' retreat...]

They say you can’t take things back- that what’s done is done and what’s gone is gone. But what do “they” know anyway? Do “they” know what it’s like to have lived in 12 states in the past 15 years? To have to change their name so many times they don’t know who they are anymore, and never stay in one place long enough to find out? Do “they” know what it’s like to see their front windows shattered by gunshots, even in the 3rd state they were relocated to during that first year? To nearly lose their husband to those gunshots, and then to only have him stick around because he’s trapped by a secret that keeps him close to you? How about how it feels to be told that you are “strongly encouraged” by the government to avoid getting pregnant, because kids would be too much of a risk to have around? I’ll sure as hell bet they don’t.

I’ll also bet they haven’t seen what I’ve seen, and I’ll save you – and myself - the trauma of relaying the details. 3 poor little girls, somebody’s little girls. A dark alley, late at night, the wrong side of town. It’s not my fault they died. It’s not, and I pray for their souls every day. But it’s still not my fault I stayed late at the office that night, missed my train, walked home that way, saw them like that. It’s not. I’d give anything to be able to take that night back for them. But to be entirely, humanly, selfishly honest… I’d give even more to be able to take that night back for myself.

“Janet,” Rich says, tension rippling his voice. “That was Mr. Holden on the phone. From Witness Protection.”

I look up at him. I know the drill by now, but that doesn’t mean it gets any easier. “Well?” I finally gather the strength to ask.

“Well, we’re going to Kentucky, Lula Mae.”

State number 13. Unlucky 13. I want my life back.