CRITICA

I didn’t even mention his name. All I said was we had to get rid of him. It was 1am. I was on the phone with my friend.

The next morning at 5, there’s  pounding on my door. I open it, two men are standing there. One grabs me, pulls a balaclava over my head. They drag me out the door, shove me in the back seat. Drive a long distance, until I hear planes. The driver parks, leaves the car. The other man stays next to me in the back seat.

I turn toward him, try to ask – where are you taking me? He hits me in the face, tells me to shut up. We sit there a timeless time, in a silence that smells bad. The driver comes back, opens the back door, pulls me out. Drags my body over concrete. I try to fight. He keeps yanking me and hitting me, telling me how very much worse it will soon get. So I should enjoy this now.

He shoves me up some stairs, pushes me into a seat, straps me in. A small plane, the noise is deafening. Many hours in flight. We land, different men grab me off the plane, drive me somewhere. Feels like desert. I’m not sure. I’m only sure I’m not in Our Country. I think I’m in a jail somewhere. The balaclava in torn off. It’s dark now. I hear voices far away. Nowhere close.

I didn’t even mention his name. All I said was we had to get rid of him. I miss you all. I miss my country where I could say something to a friend on the phone at 1 in the morning, and not get abducted. I didn’t even mean we had to kill him. I meant the election. Get rid of him the way we used to believe we could if we voted.

I miss my country. I missed my country before they came to get me. I miss being a proud  American. Proud of how my country was built. What we stood for. What I thought we stood for.

I may never see you again. If that is true, I won’t be able to forgive myself. You still have a chance. Be careful. Do that for me. Your anger and your words are powerful, precious. Use them both well.