I Need to Tell You Something

One night, a guy friend who liked me confessed that he had just recently gotten off drugs.

I need to tell you something...

...is what you said as we sat there on the bench last night. The words that followed numbed me for a moment...but then came the sadness tightly holding onto fear. I could have cried except for the antihistimines that I had been taking all week. They leave you with dry mouth and eyes.

 

 

I reminded myself to choose my words carefully, because my response might determine whether you ever told me the truth again. Breathe in, breathe out. Try not to look shocked.

 

I don't remember praying, though I probably should have.

 

You must have trusted me an awful lot to be so open. I apreciate that. I don't do this often, but I wanted you to know that you're not the only one. So, I told you about when I was a slave. About the one month it took to be sold and the year it took to gain my freedom. "And sometimes," I said, "I go back,but I never stay long."

 

When people survive something painful, they don't talk about it with just anyone. Mostly they keep it hidden, out of convenience, shame or fear. But now and then, two survivors meet each other, and they roll up their sleeves to reveal their scars. In that moment, they form a bond which hell itself could not break, because they know they were slaves to the same master. They toiled,sweat and fought for their freedom. And one glorious day,they threw down their chains and walked away-free men.