You looked at me askance when I asked you the question. What had happened to you, why was all that was vital about you, your smile, your vivacity now sered beyond recognition.
What had happened in those intervening years, for when I asked you, there was nothing but a grimace, your face twisted in pain, as if distracted from reality? I could see you trying to gather your thoughts, and at one point I thought your stammering’s were a fained attempt to intimate your current situation.
Seeking asylum in this god-forsaken land had been no elixir for you. Your life had not taken on the promise of riches you anticipated but rather the rift between you and me had only grown to the point where I had lost contact with you and feared for your safety. After weeks of worry and constant phone calls I receive what I describe as a feather of surrender from you. A plea to come and help, do something to end the torment you now found yourself in.
Your western clothes have been taken from you, even your mothers hand knitted scarf, I know a most treasured possession, that you have carried from country to country has been confiscated and is now lost.
What a forlorn creature you have become, reduced to living within this oppressive cellular world, cut off from everything we once thought our privilege to own.
I am so sorry it has come to this for you.
I felt sad in walking away, the aroma from the juniper bushes providing a welcome relief from the stench of your current predicament.