The book is called “Fish” and it is the true story of a seventeen year-old boy sent to prison for robbing a Foto-Mat store with a toy gun. There are many levels to the why of it all, but the writing is good and the results are troubling and confusing. I’m about half-way through the book at this moment.
Last night I read until I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. As a result, my dreams were infused with the boy’s story of repeated rape in prison… except I was– irrationally– the boy at times. I was struggling, struggling, struggling to survive, but wasn’t sure if, given the circumstances, it was worth it. In my dream-state fog I’d shrink away when my husband encircled me in his arms during the normal nighttime dance in bed. I kept thinking I was being attacked. The horror of being powerless terrified me, yet I couldn’t run. There was no place to go.
When the sun came peeking through the windows this morning my husband planted good-bye-I’m-leaving-for-work kisses on my lips. It took me a moment to get my bearings before I could kiss him back and mean it. Realizing I have the life I do–one filled with love and opportunities—softened the jagged nightmares and had me counting my blessings with fervor. It was still early, but it was the best part of my day.