STRIKE 3?
L.M. Reynolds


Courage

The knots in her stomach turned into nervous shaking as Liz Samuels' car crept up the lane that lead to the prison on top of the hill. Her hands took a tighter hold onto the steering wheel as the road abruptly narrowed to a single-car width on the sharp turn. Slowing the car to a crawl, she hoped that she would not slide into the mounds of heavy snow on either side of the lane, like someone had done earlier.

Getting closer, the building blocked the bright sunlight allowing the high fencing, crested with spiraling barbed wire to become clearer. Her stomach tensed even more and she swallowed hard to get rid of the lump that had formed in her throat. Liz had driven past this place many times on her travels down Route 26, but never imagined that she could bring herself to visit a place like this, let alone know anyone, other than Carl Samuels, her second and most certainly her last husband, that needed to be incarcerated in such a place; but the curiosity was more than she could suppress.

Her stomach had done flip-flops at the 20th reunion when Chuck Keller, her teenage secret love, had asked her to dance. She relived those same sensations at the 25th reunion as she scanned the room for him the instant she set foot inside the banquet hall. She recalled how she had practiced for days the explanation she would give, should he ask for one. That was, if he would even speak to her. She remembered scrutinizing each new arrival and how she was relieved, yet disappointed, when she heard that Chuck was not coming. Brian Hamilton had a letter from Chuck and was allowing anyone that wanted to, to read it. She remembered the reluctance she had to write down the address; that was, until she recalled the wonderful feelings she had when his arms held her, and his lips touched hers. A rush of warmth overcame her and a feeling of compassion had welled up inside her when she read the last lines of his letter, "Even with all these people around 24 hours a day - it gets lonely. Some company and letters from friends would certainly help the days go faster."

She wondered if Chuck would even recognize her; after all, it had been almost five years since they had seen each other and he seemed to have been in a state of stupor most of the time during their short relationship. She did feel confident that he would find her more attractive. She had been one hundred forty-eight pounds and wearing size fourteen when he last saw her, not to mention that awful bobbed hair cut that she had allowed her daughter, Lynne, talk her into. Now, since losing another eighteen pounds from her five-foot-three frame, she was down to a perfect size ten. Her dishwater-blonde hair was below her shoulders and she kept it in a spiral perm, nothing like the short, Tony spit-curl perm her mother would give her each year at the start of school. Today she wore it pulled back so that it would look professional and allow Chuck to see how long it was. "People do change for the better," she told herself out loud, trying to build her confidence.

The parking lot was almost full and it took a few minutes to find a parking spot, but she was grateful because it gave her time to get her thoughts together. As she turned the ignition off, she could feel a surge in her nerves down to the tips of her fingers, making her every word quiver. "What if a riot breaks out and I'm caught up in it and everyone finds out I was here? Oh-My-God, what if Carl finds out!" Her stomach churned and she felt a bitter fluid seep into her throat. The inside of her car had suddenly taken on a chill. Sweat beads formed around her neck as she sat in the stone-quiet car, for what seemed like forever, and recalled her feelings of disbelief when Chuck asked her to dance then asked her out on a date. She vividly remembered the roller-coaster of emotions she experienced during their six months of dating.

Finally, she took her hands off the steering wheel and grabbed the handle to open the door. The snow had been piled six feet high and it left her just enough room between the car and the snow bank to get the door open and squeeze out.

Liz drudged through the parking lot, each leg having to be told to take a step and the purse hanging over her shoulder feeling as though someone had slipped a brick into it. As she started up the wide, long, concrete staircase that lead to the front entrance, she paused for a few seconds and looked up at the huge block building that dwarfed her already petite stature. The cold wind biting at her cheeks made her shiver and continue to move up the steps.

When she saw that there were no markings on the outside of the two doors on the face of the building, panic immediately stopped her. "Oh God. Which one?" The knots in her stomach tightened. Liz reluctantly stepped up onto the landing, hands cupped together, holding them tight against her stomach trying to ease the cramps. In a matter