Through coral reefs, where vibrant fish swim,
He sails to lands, his spirit always free.
He imagined being that sailor, leading his ship towards wonderful, new places, away from the darkness of his past, somewhere he could start afresh and be only himself.
Her velvety hand over his spread calm through him. She had elegant, slender fingers with a delicate touch.
His dark thoughts drifted away with the song, sailing on a sea of enchantment. Freedom was the most intoxicating of feelings, and the fear of losing it was equally powerful.
When she finished, he couldn’t help but smile, his breathing less troubled.
“Thank you,” he signed. “I’ll bring this memory with me forever.”
She smiled back and withdrew her hand as Captain Jackson and Dobkins returned with the lemonade cups.
“Better?” The captain handed him the cup.
“Yes.” He sipped the sweet drink, watching a group of children romping about on the grass.
They were playing with a hoop and a stick. Such a simple game, but the children laughed, delighted.
Vivienne glanced at him. “Do you like the lemonade?”
He put the cup down to free his hands. “Delicious. I’ve never tasted it before. Another happy memory.”
Her smile dropped, and her eyes turned surprisingly shiny.
“What is it?” He worried he’d said something wrong.
Her hand was half an inch from his on the bench. She stretched out a finger to touch his thumb. The touch was barely there. A feather floating down on his skin would be stronger. But the reaction it triggered inside him was as devastating as a storm.
“I can’t remember the first time I’ve drunk lemonade. I was probably two years old. It pains me…” She swallowed.
Reluctantly, he moved his hand from her to sign. “I’m here thanks to you. Do not feel sorry for me. I’m free now.”
Another bout of laughter from the crowd distracted him. The two actors were bowing to their audience, the walking stick on the ground.
A chill slithered down his neck as the scene of the beating flashed through his mind.
Yes, he was free, physically, but he was carrying his cage with him.
