Caramel Apples

No one is to blame for what I endured throughout those two years but myself. If I had simply rejected her after her first relentless accusation that I was a cheating whore, then Francine never would have slammed her fist into my face repeatedly while I held myself in the fetal position on my living room floor. If I had blocked her phone number, then she never would have dragged the issues of our relationship and of herself through the prison in which we both worked. If I had ignored her fabricated tears and scripted apologies, then Francine never would have told me to kill myself enough times to where I considered giving her what she wanted. Hindsight, you ruthless bastard. Just as my relationship with Francine began to teeter on the brink of normal and peaceful, the sudden appearance of a new officer would revive Fran's wrath, insecurities, and narcissism. My incessant protest of a friendless life while Fran did as she pleased would lead to her reluctant approval of a peculiar friendship to form between myself and our new co–worker, Officer Keeler. The uniform that Stephanie Keeler wore was a mere attempt to conceal the angel wings beneath it, for that friendship would quickly lead to an epiphanous dream and a life–changing kiss. Caramel Apples is the true story of how difficult it can be to pull yourself from the unforgiving floor, observe your life with a weary, broken heart, and realize that you have no idea who you are anymore. Sometimes it takes an angel from Minnesota to help you to your feet. Sprinkled with stories of youthful struggles, failed attempts at love, and corruption within our correctional system, Caramel Apples is a reminder that moving on is bittersweet.

-- Julia Birmele