Freedom

     The moonlight illuminated her hands- making them an ashy gray beneath the shadow of the overhanging willow trees and pines. She dipped her hands into the icy cool creek and her blood flowed down stream away from her.  Her hands ached and tears fell down her wind burnt cheeks, stinging as they made trails down her jaw line and eventually onto her collarbone. The blood began to pool in her palms as soon as they left the water's rapid cleansing.  She intertwined her fingers and held her breath as if doing so would alleviate the pain. It was a clear winter night and the moon shown on her like a translucent beacon from heaven.

    Heaven was no more real to her than the freedom awaiting her on the other side of the creek. She would have to experience the latter to believe in the former. The blood on her hands moved down her bare arms as she pulled her hair back away from her face.  An owl beckoned her from its tree. She couldn't see it, but she imagined the owl to have bright yellow eyes and feathers the same deep dark brown as her skin. She tightened her stomach as she held her breath and waited for the owl to stop sounding like an alarm and echoing off of the mountains. She imagined the owl trying to draw attention to her so that she would be found. They would find her and drag her by the hair back to where she came from. The owl resigned from being vocal for just a moment and the winter air was filled with only her breathing and the soft bubbling of the creek. 

    Her body shook violently both from the pain of her hands and the cold night.  She didn't know where her next meal would come from or how badly she was hurt. Every muscle in her body ached. She could still see them standing over her with their closed fists and belt straps. By the time she had realized what was about to happen it had been too late. They surrounded her and one by one had their way with her.  It wasn't until after the last man had walked away that she was able to curl into a ball like a little baby.

    She had been a baby once. She had a mama once that held her when she cried and caught her tears with her long skinny finger tips.  It seemed like it was so long ago-the normal life.  She dreamt of Africa often although she couldn't remember much about it. She had been five-years-old the first time that a white man exchanged money with another to take her home with him. He had fist measured how tall she was, looked at her teeth and looked closely at her hands before he paid the cash for her and lead her to his horse with a makeshift twine leash around her neck. She had been purchased like an animal and taken to his home to be treated as one. 

    Those same hands that had been inspected so closely twenty years before were now broken- she was sure of it. She was but a few steps from freedom; from leaving brokenness behind. The fear within her rose to her throat as she hugged herself tightly and she shook. Her coffin was being closed one nail at a time with every second that she waited to cross over the creek. She heard them searching for her as their voices pierced clearly through the crisp air. The dogs barked out for her- even the white man's dogs liked the sight of her blood. One second. One nail. Two nails. Three. Four.

   She would never get a proper burial or even the luxury of death itself. The white man would keep her alive just to own her.  He would sit over his weekly poker games and brag about his prized possession- a human life to control and own. She would bring in the scotch and set it on the poker table for the white man and his friends. On her way back to the kitchen, she would hold her breath as she walked through the cigar smoke and silently pray for her heart to stop. If her life ended by the hand of God it was better than having it taken at the will of the white man. The dogs grew closer. Five nails in the coffin she would never have the luxury of resting in. Six.

    The sun had now begun to peak above the willow and the pines. She stood there frozen-the winter air itself had wrapped around her and pleaded with her to go back to the white man's warm house. Her dirty wool blanket waited for her and although it wasn't much, it was guaranteed to be there. What was on the other side of the creek? Freedom was there for her to take, but what did it look like? Would it always protect her and hide her from the white man? Was she guaranteed a life worth living? The soft pink of sun rays touched her dark skin and she looked up to see the willow draped in sunlight.

   The owl had hushed his song long ago and the blood on her hands had dried- like Jesus' on the crucifix that had been rubbed smooth from years of dwelling in her apron pocket. The water rushed over her bare feet as she walked quickly over the piercing creek bed. With the willow and pines to her back and the echo of the dogs hushing over the sound of the rushing creek- she ran into freedom. She belonged to no man.