Everyone looked at me. The monster, they said. The crazy one. The dangerous one.
My parents were afraid. The town was too. And when fear rules, compassion usually goes out the back door.
They committed me “for my own good” and “for the safety of others.” Ten years is a long time to live between white walls and bars.
I learned to control my breathing, to train my body until the fire became discipline.
I did push-ups, pull-ups, sit-ups—anything to keep the rage from eating me alive. My body became the only thing no one could control: strong, firm, obedient only to me.
I wasn’t unhappy there. Strangely, San Gabriel was quiet. The rules were clear. No one pretended to love me only to crush me later. Until that morning.
I knew something was wrong before I even saw her.
The air felt different. The sky was gray. When the door to the visiting room opened and Lidia came in, for a second I didn’t recognize her. She was thinner, her shoulders slumped, as if she were carrying an invisible stone.
Her blouse was buttoned all the way up despite the June heat.
Her makeup barely covered a bruise on her cheekbone. She smiled slightly, but her lips trembled.
She sat down across from me with a small basket of fruit. The oranges were bruised. Just like her.
“How are you, Nay?” she asked, her voice so fragile it seemed to be begging permission to exist.
I didn’t answer. I took her wrist. She shuddered.
“What happened to your face?”
“I fell off my bike,” she said, trying to laugh.
I looked at her more closely. Swollen fingers. Red knuckles. These weren’t the hands of someone who had fallen. These were the hands of someone who was fighting back.
“Lidia, tell me the truth.”
“I’m fine.”
I lifted her sleeve before she could stop me. And I felt something old and dormant awaken inside me.(w)
