Liberation From a Broken System

It’s been seven full moons since I’ve been released from the pen. Prior to my release, they told me I was the longest resident in the brick house but I am not sure if I believe it. You see, I was raised on the streets, in the back alleys of a concrete city. Life was easier when I was a young cub; people would take me in, let me sleep on their couch. But it never failed- either I messed up, got picked up by the po-po, or whoever took me in is getting pressured and I’d have to leave. Over staying your welcome isn’t polite, especially if it was pity that got you in the door…sometimes I ran away before it got to that point.

I am not really sure why I got released this time. Some lady took me in, I don’t understand much about her, we speak different languages. Nonetheless, things have been calm. She doesn’t respect my space, we argue over dinner; same old, same old, when you are a product of the system. The lady has a bitch of a daughter, we don’t always get along. The bitch thinks I am going to back down, but I am the alpha. The lady tries to break us up- she rarely raises her voice, but when she does, I know we are both in trouble.

After she yells, sometimes I try to run away. Not because she doesn’t treat me well, but because I don’t deserve all she does for me. For Christ sake, we don’t even speak the same language but in the 7 moons of knowing her- she’s treated me with more decency than some people have in their whole body. If you’ve ever looked at someone and thought “if everyone was as thoughtful and giving- the world would not know of evil”. Still, she manages to find me. No matter how fast I run or how many fences I hop or how creepy the alley- she doesn’t give up.

The lady has been acting frantic around the house today, she is cleaning and packing, I think she is going somewhere, but I am not sure. I stared at her a long time while she rambled on and on while throwing things into a big purple suitcase. I wouldn’t describe her as happy or excited-anxious is the right word. Her face is more pale than usual, the energy of the room is unsettling… it is making my anxiety rise. I want to be close to her, we have a good thing going. But I don’t want her to know I want to be close to her, so I just sit on her bed as she packs. I just sit, waiting…

She kisses all over us, she keeps repeating something but I don’t understand. It is her leaving this time, not me. But she hasn’t kicked me out. She’s left me with her bitch of a daughter. We got into it after the lady left, there was some blood. Some guy showed up. He is staying in her room. Something is wrong. This guy – he doesn’t do things the same. He is always here… watching me. I don’t like it. Where is she? I check to see if she has come back every day. Is this what it is like when I leave? Maybe I am the reason she left? Why doesn’t she just let me run away if she doesn’t want to be around me? I tried running away…but this time the guy caught me.

The guy- he spent a long time on the phone. I can hear the lady on the other end. The guy. The guy knows. The guy knows where she is…maybe he will tell me. I have to figure out how to understand this other language. The lady rambled so much, she talked all the time to me and my other counterpart, I wish I would have paid attention. I am not really sure that bitch of a daughter is really hers. I think the lady took her in too. They don’t look alike at all; the daughter is one ugly bitch. She’s ebony all over her body, but her toes are that of snow, like she was born with patches or color conditions or something. I can understand her daughter, but, like I said she’s a bitch, so we don’t talk much.

Another moon has passed and the lady still isn’t back yet. The guy and I are fed up with one another. I sleep on the far couch, away from him. I am done. I want him to go. I want the lady back or I want to go back to lock up. I am sick of him. I am sick of wondering why she left. I am sick of getting a taste of ecstasy and it being ripped from me. This is worse than the gunshot, worse than the streets, worse than the unknown. I want the known. I want her back. She made me soft.

The guy left today. We are alone.

It feels like an eternity.

Sleep overcomes me.

Am I going to die?

I cannot tell if it’s a dream, or if I hear what I think I hear. She has always walked pretty light, am I imagining her? Or is she actually home?! I cannot contain my excitement, I don’t think I have ever missed someone as much as I have missed this lady. She hasn’t abandoned me. But she is exhausted. She shoo’s us all to bed.

The lady is up early, I try to sit with her while she drinks her coffee but she shoo’s me back to sleep. She knows I have been camping on the couch while she was gone. She kisses my forehead and sends me into her room to sleep in her bed for a while longer. Her bed smells of her. I snuggle in and let the calmness wash over me.

I wake up when I hear her chatting excitedly in the living room, music playing lightly. I walk out and stretch and I see her on the phone. She is laughing and talking excitedly, taking notes in a little black book. I wait patiently while she gets off the phone, she instantly comes up to me and is trying to get me to dance. I refuse. She dances around the living room regardless. The lady is acting like she just won $20,000. Maybe she did win $20,000. Hell, if I know, even if she did tell me, it’s not like I would understand. But I am happy that she is happy, and I play along.

Moon after moon pass, and the same thing happens, for various lengths of time. Sometimes the lady is home for what feels like forever. We bicker, she rambles at me, she sings along with the radio and tries to get me to dance, we become closer and closer. The language barrier is still there, still prominent as ever, but we are learning other ways to communicate. The ebb and flow of our body language, our eyes, our mutual understanding of the heart is what grounds us. Day by day I am so grateful for what she did. She took me in, when all other options were lost, when the system had hardened me. At first, I thought she made me soft, but over time, I realize she didn’t make me soft, she just gave me love. And that was priceless.

---Lip, 6-year-old, Pitbull

---An excerpt from “Liberation from A Broken System: Giving Up for Something Better”