BOUNDLESS (Mama's Story) by Lexie Ray

that really what I was willing to do, too? Was I looking at my future?
    “That night that I’d had nearly all the tequila, Bob told me that I’d stay with him so I wouldn’t be out on the roads,” Desiree said. “We both agreed that I was too drunk to drive, but I didn’t want to stay at Bob’s. I had money that night, and I paid for every shot. I didn’t have a tab, but I knew he’d try to come collecting anyway. He’d force himself on me, and I knew I didn’t stand a chance—not with how drunk I was.
    “So when he was cleaning up, counting the money in the register and stuff, I told him I was going outside for some fresh air, that I felt sick. He let me go because he didn’t want to clean up my puke right after he’d already mopped up the floor for the night, so it was easy enough to get to the car.”
    Desiree gave a smile, but it wavered a little.
    “Tequila made me invincible, remember?” she asked. “I’d agreed with Bob that I was too drunk to drive, but I told myself that I could do it. Never mind that I stumbled over my own two feet getting to my car. Never mind that I dropped my keys twice—twice—trying to even open the car door. Never mind that I hit my head getting in, shut my coat in the door, stalled the car out four times trying to get it started. Never mind that I sideswiped the entrance gate to the parking lot and scraped the whole side of my car, or that Bob came tumbling out of the bar, shaking his fist and screaming at me to stop, that I’d kill someone or myself.”
    Desiree’s lips trembled. “I wish it had been me, sometimes,” she said. “Then I would’ve paid for my crimes. Not that nurse. Not her. I think about it all the time—how sleepy I was, how badly I wanted to be at home and in my own bed, how much farther I had to go. I must’ve passed out for a second, because all I saw was a pair of headlights, and I was bearing down on them. It was too late to try to swerve away. I hit the other car head on. She was a nurse. She helped people for a living. She was just trying to go home after finishing up on third shift at the hospital. She never made it. I kept her from it. The doctors at the hospital said it was a miracle that I didn’t die, too, but it didn’t feel like one. It still doesn’t.
    “I killed that woman. I shouldn’t have been on the road that night. I shouldn’t have been drinking. I’m doing time now and facing my consequences. But I never want to drink again. It makes me sick when I get the urge to. Still, I’m six months sober. It’s helped me so much to be in prison, away from temptation. I’m happy that I’ve been sober, and I’m happy that I’ve found AA and the power to stop drinking. I just wish that it hadn’t taken an innocent life for me to see the errors of my ways.”
    I could see even from my row, way in the back, that Desiree’s face shone with tears, but she smiled all the same as everyone applauded. What did she get from this? Why rehash her past over and over again? It was like never-ending punishment. When was there the chance to really move on?
    “Thank you, Desiree,” Karla said, standing back up at the podium. “Now, who’s next?”
    All of the inmates who spoke had different stories, but they were still all the same somehow. They were all addicted to alcohol, though every circumstance was different. All of them had had a formative moment when they wanted to stop drinking. I couldn’t quite relate. Worrisome things had happened to me—and I might very well have done even more heinous acts, if my foggy memories served me correctly—but I still didn’t want to stop drinking.
    As pathetic as it sounded, alcohol had become a constant for me, especially in the last few years at the nightclub. Things were changing, girls who had always been there for the business and me were leaving, and the bottle was always there. It was always there, always available, always willing to comfort me. If I had a bad day, I forgot about my