Out of Captivity

I feel like, after a lifetime behind bars, someone has opened the door of my cell (and yes, it was locked by others) and let me walk free. I turn to look back, and I finally get to see my jailers without the hoods covering their faces.

It’s like that one time in childhood, during a routine game of butterball out in the street: I was the one pitching the big rubber ball and my brother was up to bat. When he swung with all his might, he connected and hit a line drive that nailed me squarely in chest.

I struggle to breathe again, and it’s as if all I can do is cry and babble over and over, “I can’t believe it was them. I can’t believe it was them. I can’t believe that they were the ones who did this to me.”