Women With Handcuffs by Sacchi Green

Author:Sacchi Green
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cleis Press
Published: 2014-03-14T04:00:00+00:00

Do you want to know about my life since that night, Officer Birch? Well, you don’t get to. Not now, maybe never. You can make up something if you’d like. Make me a good girl, make me a responsible adult. Make me a slut. I really don’t care.

Twelve years. You finally came and found me. How did you track me down? If you called my parents, I’m sure they hung up on you. I guess the how doesn’t really matter. You got my email address, and you sent a one-line message with an attachment.

The message said, “Do you still feel this way?”

The attachment was a scanned picture of the letter from graduation night. Some of the ink was smudged, and the paper had deep creases, as if it had been folded and unfolded many times.

I should’ve lied. I should’ve said how happy I was. I could have made up a wonderful wife and six or seven children, a family of love and a marriage of lust.

I should’ve lied, but I didn’t. I just typed, “Yes,” and hit REPLY.

You sent me an address in our hometown, a date and a time.

I don’t like to wear dresses, Officer Birch, but I dug out a low-cut red one for you. I found some heels. I got a haircut. And I made the long drive home all done up. I didn’t stop to see my parents; there’s no reason to go to a place where I’m not welcome. I just headed through town and out into the country. I had a map spread out on the front seat and managed to find the correct gravel road after a couple of wrong turns.

When I was close to the address, I heard the siren and saw the police car trailing me. I pulled over, got out and leaned against the door. When I saw you walking toward me, I was amazed at how good you looked. I was happy that the stress of being a cop hadn’t aged you prematurely.

I didn’t know what greeting would be appropriate. A hug didn’t seem quite right. A handshake, maybe, would be better. When you reached me, you grabbed me and bent me over the hood of my car. You had me in handcuffs before I had a chance to say anything. Being cuffed with my hands behind me was not comfortable, and the metal dug in my skin when you dragged me to your car, my heels digging two jagged lines in the dirt and rocks.

You threw me in the backseat. It was difficult to see you through the wire mesh that divided the cops and the criminals.

“What took you so fucking long?” I said. “Twelve years? You made me wait twelve years before finding me?”

It looked like your shoulders slumped.

“I know,” you said. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Do you know what my life has been like, how lonely I’ve been? I’ve been dying for someone to come and take me away.”

“It hasn’t been easy for me either,” you said, and I heard you sigh.

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