Before and After Him

Ages: 29-40

"Get on your knees."
Dr. Cann is a nice man.
Everyone says it.
He helps people, he helped Emmett.
I don't get on my knees.
He pushes me on my knees.

Evan starts to cry.
I start to cry and I don't know why.
Maybe, I do know why.
I'm grateful for the tears because they blur the picture of Dr.Cann's penis.
He tastes foul.
I try to spit out his penis.
Dr. Cann doesn't like that.
Dr.Cann grabs my face and pushes my head so I choke.
I taste something salty that makes me sick.
He tells me to swallow, I don't.
And when I don't he slaps me across the face.
I'm grateful for this kind of pain because at least it makes sense.

Evan's cries are the worst.
He screams and wails.
He cries the whole time.
I want to ask him why?
There's no point.
If anything, based on my own experience Dr.Cann likes the screaming.
He likes the fight.

It ends.
It always does.
Evan comes out of the room with his pants not zipped up.
He's still crying like he always is.
But every time after, he looks a little more dead.

"If it isn't Liv Keats", I don't know why I'm here.
Maybe I do.
He stares at me, waiting for me to cry.
The truth is I don't have any tears left in me.
"How's Fargo? Winnipeg?"
"Peachy", I say knowing I haven't been back in five years and haven't been back in Winnipeg since his trial.

He smiles like he knows I'm lying which can't be true since he's been in jail for almost a decade.

It's weird being here; seeing a ghost from your past.
Seeing a boy you knew once upon a time.
A boy who held so much power over you.

I stare at him, he's skinny.
Than again, he always has been.
Hair that's black and inky that looks like scattered feathers.
I remember him having nicer hair.
I guess that's what police custody- jail does to you.
"I knew you would come", he says interrupting my thoughts.
"Why is that?"
I didn't know I would come.
"To gloat in closure", I don't know how to tell Evan how wrong he is.
"No."
He laughs, a mean laugh that makes me think of the kind boy I once knew.
The ten year old boy who loved his mother.
The ten year old boy who kissed me with such care when we needed comfort from the other.

"I brought you in."
He did.
If it wasn't for him I never would of been molested by his father.
"You're wrong, you know", I say bored, even though I'm anything but.
"I don't blame you", I really don't.
For a fraction of a second I see grief.
It's gone.
I know it could of been me.
I could of killed that gay man.
It wasn't about who the victim was.
All it was about was that everything dr.Cann took, left us with scattered emotions.
Emotions that are overwhelmed by anger.
Anger red enough to kill.

I don't know what I wanted to get out of visiting Evan.
The obvious answer is closure but really I just re-opened an old can of worms.

Distance is an illusion, that feeds the lie that everything is okay.
The farther I am from Fargo and even Winnipeg the more stable I feel.
Paris France seemed about as far as one could go, that's probably why I picked it.
I didn't even think, I just hoped on a plane and left after using the last of the money I had.
It was the best decision I've ever made.
Now it's over, I can go back home to Pierre and Emily in France and everything will once again be whole.

One year ago
I'm not much of a waitress.
I mess up orders and I'm not exactly a friendly face.
Worst of all, I don't speak any French except for salut, bonjour and of course, est-ce je puis aller aux toilettes.
Which translated to; hi, hello and can I go to the washroom?
All of which I learned from my brief time in a Canadian school growing up.