Memoir Flash

“Bend over. Spread wide.”  The guard instructed.

The cell wasn’t large.  I had just been checked in.  I hadn’t yet been given an orange jump suit.  I wasn’t surprised by the order from the guard. He was doing his job.  I did think of the court room.  Faces were upturned with hurt and anger and some reached out with their voice.  I was shackled and walked.

It felt as though I were at church.  The pews were abandoning me.

But it wasn’t a church. It was a courthouse. The jurry had read the verdict and I was guilty.  I was shackled and I walked the row and I said I was sorry to a few and especially to her. She had always been there for me.

“Bend over.  Spread wide.”

I bent over. I spread.  I wasn’t wearing clothing.  I was blank.  I stood and faced the guard. If everything were equal, he knew.

I thought back to when I was leaving the court room.  The two guards held onto my arms, lightly, and we three moved to the elevator. I was wearing a suit. My shoes were shining.  The elevator doors closed.

“Where you telling the truth?” the guard asked? He’d let go of my arm.

“Yes.”

His colleague let go of my other arm.

“We knew it.  It’s over now. That was bullshit.”

I read his face.  He was honest.

“You are telling the truth and he doesn’t have a witness and you have a witness and the jury let it go.”

“I know a member of the jury.” I said.

“It’s too late now. You’re shackled.  Why didn’t you speak up?”

“I thought the truth would be enough.”

The elevator doors opened and they gripped my violent arms. Men and Women spread.  Chains dragged and mouths dropped and I watched and I wondered and I saw much.  This filthy fly.

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6 thoughts on “Memoir Flash

  1. I don’t mean to pry but is this something that happened to you? (You don’t have to answer because I AM rudely prying.)

    I only ask because some of what you’ve written implies violence in your past. If you were the victim I’m sorry. If you were the perpetrator I’m sorry too. If you were both I’m sorry.

    I know I’m not making sense but if you were the one who inflicted the violence… well, I’ve always wanted to know what that perspective was like. (Not the aftermath emotions, the emotions at the time the violence was happening.)

    I only ever received violence and I often wonder what was going through my mother and stepfather minds at the time. Not that you are ANYTHING like them of course so please, please don’t be offended. It’s just a viewpoint I’d appreciate knowing even on the shallowest and simplest of levels. (Not to lay blame, just to comprehend.)

    Oh, this is a terrible thing to ask, I know. I’m so sorry. It’s just that I’d really like to be able to understand, even just a tiny bit. (I will never understand my parents but sometimes I think if I can understand the process of physical violence even a smidgeon then it all might make a little more sense to me.) Forgive me please for being so horribly presumptuous.

    If you have no answers for me, or you just don’t want to answer it’s perfectly ok, I understand that I’m being insensitive and invasive of your soul.

    I’m glad that you’ve found a new and happier life either way. I’m glad that you’re able to write about your feelings and I’m glad that your loving and wonderful wife encourages and supports you in this. 🙂

    Like

    • I appreciate your question. I have a scar on my right arm. Over the years I’ve observed many people looking at it. No one asks how I got it. I’d rather they ask. I will try and answer your question as accurately as possible. Yes, it was. Yes, I inflicted pain. I was violent. I punished abusers, authority figures whom abused their authority; I fought for friends and others whom couldn’t fight. I protected as much as I possibly could. I fought because I easily saw impurity within people and it disgusted me. None of this makes me right. I found it’s not about right or wrong. I found also that I fought too much and too quickly. Why I did this is the portion of the question I’m unable to express. It is written in my current book. This is what Megan has asked me to do. To write what I know. God help the person who tries to harm her. I feel there’s a line on the ground that symbolizes good from evil. I’m on the side of good, barely. I hope this answers your question and thank you for asking it.

      Liked by 1 person

      • I would fight, and inflict pain, for those things too. Thankfully, no one has dared to deeply hurt someone I love because I know without a doubt I’d hurt them back.

        As for my hurt, it makes my husband crazy to know that he can’t inflict pain to the people who hurt me because families are so complicated. Hurting my abusers would only hurt my brother and sister and I just can’t allow that. My hubby feels like a chained and rabid dog sometimes and I feel so sorry for him.

        It’s a lot of hurt to go around. 😦

        Thank you for being so understanding of my less than tactful questions.

        Liked by 1 person

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