The Man

He sits still on an ancient flowery armchair once the domain of his grandmother. He listens to the rain bellowing against the old window that rattles in fear. His breath is shallow, his palms are damp and ugly, his scalp is itching under his long brown hair. He remembers. Remembers what it was like to be young and brave, to have that beaten out of him by his father, to have his mother silent behind his father’s roars. Some scars never heal. Some scars bleed a whole life long. He wants to be free of this granite fear, to walk boldly into the world, knowing that he is unbroken and wild-at-heart. But there is no one who can salvage his being, who understands what it is like to be damned.

Until her. She in her flowery dress so like his grandma’s chair, so like his grandma’s sunny smile. This woman walked into his life when he was looking backward, trying to escape his past, and he stumbled into her arms and wondered where he was.

Some part of him wondered if he had died and somehow found his way to Heaven, but her whispery touch was real, her soft laugh caressed his soul, her light blue eyes settled sweetly on his sad face, and it felt like the spring sun he used to worship before the darkness came.

Why are you here, he asked her. Why shouldn’t I be here, she said. He had no answer to that. There were so many reasons why, but she didn’t hear them, didn’t see them.

Is this a cosmic joke on me, he asked God. No answer. God was as silent as ever. Not that he really believed in a God, but why take chances, so he offered up a prayer, the only one he could remember: “Our Father Who Art in Heaven . . . .“

In time, he took halting steps into the world beyond his door with her by his side, his shallow breath becoming whole. His face may be etched by the past, but he is finding that broken can be healed by a sacred touch, fear can be kicked in the butt by courage, scars can be mended by love. All it takes is someone to knock on the locked door, all it takes is the prisoner to open that door . . . and let in the sun.