In 1969, when he is eight, his parents tell him he is free: free to be. free to love. free from the chains of the establishment. He can do whatever he wants, and at eight, he wants to ride his bike all day and not come home till after dark.
He doesn't know that when he turns twelve he'll ditch his bike, or that he'll watch a cat die at his own hands and feel a stirring between his legs.
Nor does he know that when he is twenty, he'll see a girl with auburn hair, the color of the tabby, with nails nearly as sharp and at first, he'll put his hands on her breasts to pinch and squeeze and at last, around her neck.
He doesn't know the stirring in his groin will bulge and pound and demand he do it again.
He is eight. He is free. There are no chains and it's still daylight.
Copyright © by Desdmona
