Free

The knock came earlier than I expected. I could hear my coffee pot gurgle as the last of the coffee brewed into its carafe. The two of them stood out on my doorstep dressed in mostly black. The slight peak of their badges became apparent to me as I opened the door. As I let them in I noticed the unmarked vehicle in front of my house. I had expected them last week.

The last time they had showed at my doorstep was in 1997. I was living in San Francisco then with my first love. It was my birthday and we were late to meet my parents for dinner. It was to be the first time he met my family. I naively told the men in black I had to go, that people were waiting for me. To which they let me know I was detained. The last time I had heard the word detention was in high school and similarly, I had no rights. I had to stay. I remember excusing myself to call the restaurant. My parents were waiting. This was before cell phones when you had to rely on the kindness of a stranger on the other end of the phone. I spoke slowly to my father telling him I would not be able to make the meal. I asked him not to come: I had no rights to an attorney. I had no rights at all. The taller man in black stood over me as I explained to my father who the men in black were and what they wanted. I was instructed to hang up.

I remember sitting on my bed since I lived in a studio as small as a closet. I reached for my partner’s hand as the questions began. Hours went by. I grew hungry and tired yet my answers remained the same. I couldn’t help them. The questions turned into accusations and I still couldn’t help them. Then came the threats; loss of home and freedom. I was numb. They grew tired. I remember their last words as they left, that I would be watched and that my world was no longer my own.

The next day on the news they caught the man in the dress in a Denny’s in San Diego. It was barely daylight as he stole a restaurants’ sense of security. He did not survive the arrest. I noticed the unmarked car go away, only to return now, 12 years later. My answers remained the same, I couldn’t help them. This time was different though. There is no one to hold my hand. There is no one waiting for me and there is no delusion of rights. I began to wonder if I were to be taken in, who would know I was gone and how long would I be gone for? They paced through my home as I sat on my couch. They asked me about my painting by a man who had achieved freedom after 40 years. The one with the darker eyes reached out to pet my cat. I did not reveal her name as she lay like a puddle on the couch.

After several hours of questions came an offer to drive me to work, I was late. I declined. I closed the door behind them as they made their way to the black car out front. This time I wasn’t numb. I waited at the window watching the car slowly pull away. I knew that this would be the last time I would see the men in mostly black. I also knew that for the first time in 20 years, I was truly free.