First dates and Food Trucks.

I ignored his greetings as I sat down on the chair and leaned back, trying to look as tough as possible. He stared at me, a little bit frightened, as he took his seat. We locked eyes, and I refused to back down from the staring contest. He cowered and said, "You look good, Brenda." I threw my head back and laughed like a maniac, attracting stares from fellow prisoners and their visiting families.

"I look good? Michael? Me? Good? Well, I guess orange is my color and it makes the brown in my eyes pop," I said with sarcasm.

Coming from someone who let me rot in jail, your compliments mean jack shit to me. I hope you have a good reason for being here today, Michael," I said, leaning very close to him.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding eye contact. "Brenda, I... I heard there is a way we could shorten your sentence," he stammered, glancing around nervously.

"We? We? Michael, who the hell is 'we'?" He winced, sitting as far away from me as possible.

It's been 15 years, and I still don't have any idea how I was framed for murder and arrested at your place. So, before you talk about how "we" can do something to get my sentence reduced, you owe me an explanation," I yelled.

He sighed and asked, "Do you remember our food truck date?".

"How could I forget, Michael? It was our first official date and I trusted you with all I had at that point, so how could I ever forget?" I retorted.

"I am so sorry, Brenda. I didn't know it would get to this. That was supposed to be the first and only time I took you on a job."

"A job? I thought that was a spur-of-the-moment 'let's get something to eat' date," I asked.

"The food truck was our spot. It was far away from the main campus, and there were usually a lot of people around, so it wasn't in the least suspicious. No one expects anyone to bring a date on a drug deal, so it was ideal. The date was my cover, and at that moment, I didn't know I would end up falling in love with you, Bren," he said.

One moment, I was standing on solid ground, and in the next, I felt the whole world underneath me crumble.

I was overwhelmed with a mixture of disbelief, confusion, and a profound sense of loss.

"Drugs??" I exclaimed, putting my hands on my head. He stretched out his hands to touch me, but I shifted away from his reach.

"I thought you really liked me," I said with a bitter expression on my face, my head tilting slightly to the right. "You used me for drug deals?"

I felt strong emotions that ranged from shock to intense betrayal. I grappled with the fragments of truth that remained as the illusion of my former life dissipated right before my eyes.

"It wasn't always like that; I was just a simple delivery boy," he said. "You knew about my family and our financial situation, and I know we weren't exactly poor, but I just wanted to make some extra money as a young guy in college and be less dependent on my folks. So when some seniors approached me to help deliver something for them once in a while for some extra spending money, it seemed like a good deal to me, so I took it.

I did not know that it was drugs at that point, Bren. I just delivered packages at designated spots and left. I never met anyone.

"But at some point, you knew, and you continued dealing drugs," I asked.

"I was asked not to look in the bag, and the money was just too good to pass off. Eventually, I got curious after I had done it for about 6 weeks. I peered into the bag, and it was 4 bags of white powder, and I panicked.

In a moment of fear and extreme confusion, I chose not to deliver the "package." I decided that I was just going to reach out to the guy who I was delivering the package for and pull out, but it wasn't that simple. When I reached out to him, he met me with his friendly and endearing demeanor, but that swiftly changed when I told him I had not delivered the package and did not want to be involved anymore.

His response was fast and aggressive. He grabbed my shirt collar, held on very tight, and slapped me across the face as he issued me a warning. It was a message that I had ventured into an arrangement where consequences were as real as the powder I had discovered.

Panicking, he pulled out his phone and got on a call to someone I did not know at that point, profusely apologizing for the delay in delivery and assuring them that he would fix it. After the call, he straightened me out and told me I was just to deliver the package one more time, and I could get out. He assured me that I would walk away, and nothing would tie me back to the drugs, but that wasn't even at the very least true.

Michael sat with his head in his hands, attempting to regain composure. The defeated look on his face was a stark contrast to the times we had spent together, but given my current situation, I tried not to dwell on his feelings.

"And?" I prodded.

He gathered himself, preparing to continue the narrative of how our lives had reached this unfortunate point. At that very moment, the metal door of the visitation room swung open, revealing Guard Tight Pants, with his usual menacing look and evil grin.

"Inmate 2105, visitation time is over. Say your goodbyes now, Brenda," he said.

Michael turned to face him, "Just a few more moments, please."

"Rules are rules, and I'm sure 2105 knows all about it," Tight Pants retorted, smiling.

If it were up to me, I would have begged for a bit more time, but confronting Tight Pants wasn't on my agenda for the day as I was already faced with an ocean of emotions from my interactions with Michael.

"We are not done; you owe me an explanation, and the next time you are here, we are finishing this conversation," I said as I stood up and walked towards the door.

Michael swiftly stood up, turned, and said, "Bren, I am sorry it took me this long. I promise to fix this." The sincerity in his voice clashed with the defeated look on his face, leaving me with a lingering sense of unease.