To be free is to love
Original artwork by Rachel Cohen Image by Rachel Cohen
Editor’s Note: The Forward is featuring essays, poems and short stories written for our Young Writers Contest. Today’s entry was written by Rachel Ezrielev, a 13-year-old student from Eastern Middle School in Silver Spring, MD. You can find more work from our young writers here
As they punched me, slamming me against a wall and holding me by my collar, blips of our relationship went through my head. The first time we met. Our first date. Our first kiss. When we went on a picnic together, but the ants got in our food and we had to leave everything behind. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate on the good things. I heard a crack like my ribs had been broken or a tooth knocked out, but I clenched my fists and took it. I kept my eyes shut and disassociated until I could be back in our first moment together. Maybe if I tried just a little bit harder…
Contestant: Rachel Ezrielev is a 13-year-old student at Eastern Middle School in Silver Spring, MD. Image by Courtesy of Rachel Ezrielev
We were in French together. It was November. No, October. We fell in love in October. Our social circles had no overlap. Mine were the artists, the ones who love writing and pretending to be hippies. Yours was smaller. You knew every one of them from elementary school and everyone was so tight. You knew each other’s secrets and hidden talents and families. I think you were having a loud argument, one that was definitely not in French, about the best Harry Potter movie when I looked over. You were not involved in the argument. Perhaps you had not seen the movies yet. That made it all the more fun when you slept over at my house for the first time and we watched all of them. At the end of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1, you and your sleep-deprived brain looked right at me and said “I like you” and my sleep-deprived brain looked right back and said “I like you too.” Then you reached out and touched my cheek, told me to close my eyes, and kissed me. You were so soft. I do not think we caught most of Part 2.
I was not engaged in the talk my table was having (also not in French), so I scanned the room for something to stare at. Maybe a clock or a map or a trinket. But instead, my eyes met yours. I think something clicked in my head. Like a voice whispering “That’s who you like. You like girls. You like her.” Later, I told you this, and you got this smug look on your face like you knew me better than I knew me.
“Well, I’m glad to be your awakening.”
Tonight started out amazing. We had been planning it for a while. We went to dinner at Applebee’s because I am not made of money, but it was okay because I let you order whatever you wanted. I ate the children’s meal, my grilled chicken and broccoli paling in comparison to the steak the size of your head on your plate. You did not want to order it, but I said that “you better not call me cheap. Order the steak. Don’t worry about it.” With a worried look on your face, you got your order out to the waiter.
It was when we were eating, you drinking out of my soda and me eating your fries, that you spotted them. I did not notice you looking down at first, trying to hide your face behind mine while I stumbled through a story about what had happened in English that day. I think I noticed when you stopped laughing, your eyes wide with fear. And I definitely noticed when you said, “I’m sorry, Cam. I have to go.” and left me with the check and a half-eaten piece of beef.
“Is something wrong? Do you need help?”
But you were already gone.
Everything deflated around me, like someone had made a hole in the bouncy house I was having a tea party in. I felt all of the nylon walls slowly fall on me, light at first and heavy all at once. I scanned the room, wondering what it could be that scared her away. Was it me? Did I do something wrong? I paid and left, confused and disappointed.
As soon as I stepped outside, two hands clapped over my eyes. My hands were tied behind my back. As soon as I started screaming for help and thrashing, my mouth was duct-taped shut. They called me names, they threw me on the ground, they stepped on me until something broke. But it was not enough. The punches came fast, faster than it took for me to curl up into a ball and protect my sides. They hated who I was so much that the only way for them to come to peace with it was to see me die. And I went back to our first day.
You were so beautiful. It was something about your appearance, your hair up in a bun and the first two buttons of your shirt unbuttoned while you sat on top of a desk. It scared me. It scared me because it made me want you as more than a friend. It scared me because I knew how dangerous that was and that even now, people like us were not free to love who we love. When I saw you, leaning back like you owned the place, I wanted to fight for freedom for anyone who had ever been hurt because of who they were. Whatever was standing in the way of me having you.
I made it out. And I just want to let you know that I forgive you. I forgive you for leaving me there at that dinner and making me feel like I had done something wrong. I forgive you for the pain. I forgive you for making me have to sit there in front of the police, patched up like a broken doll, and lie about why those people hit me. Why they wanted me dead. I forgive you for everything because all I want to do is love you. And that is not something I am free to do.
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