No going back

Freedom is never voluntarily given by
the oppressor; it must be demanded
by the oppressed. 
~ Martin Luther King, Jr.

I walked with the rest of them, down the path, away from the river. It was over. I had whiled away the morning waiting for the Queen of England. I hadn’t meant to. I wouldn’t call myself a royalist and I am definitely not British. I just happened to stumble across the festivities.

I can hear you laugh.  Yes, there were road closures. Yes, I had seen it advertised. It wasn’t as if I was living in a black hole. I had chosen to ignore it all. It was what I did best.

That Sunday morning when Tomasz drove his fist into my stomach, I ran. Out on to the street. I took the tube as far Central as it would take me. I managed to get out at Blackfriars and then unexpectedly I was caught up in this mass of people – all gathered to see the Queen. I tried to hide from myself in the crowd and watched the boats pass by. I saw couples holding hands and happy families celebrating together. I wanted a family too except I had none; an orphan child with an abusive lover.

I should have been angry. I should have been upset. But I wasn’t. Somehow here I was, caught in the celebration enjoying it for what it was. I realised then that it was the first time I had smiled in ages. The smile made me feel something inside - deep within. It was then that I decided I wanted to be free - I wasn’t going back.