Pay Back
Uniformed guards led my brother and I into a cage surrounded by razor wire and locked us inside. In front of us was the Long Beach harbor, teaming with ships weighted down with giant metal containers. Tugboats escorted barges through a labyrinth of canals and waterways. The interesting view was marred by several layers of chain length fence. Above us in the cage was row after row of razor wire. Streams of blue sky fought to break through to the concrete ground below. Feathers dotted with blood from the birds that had the misfortune of flying too close to the fence stuck into place on the sharp teeth of the jagged wire. If you ever forget for a moment where you are the Bureau of Prison guards will remind you. Leaning away from the dirty concrete wall you are forced to stand flush against is not allowed. Reprimands are sharp and you are warned not to forget the stringent rules and threatened with removal if you don’t do as you are told. Finally, we are paraded past a guard who checks the stamp our hands were marked with when we first entered the cold, sterile building. My brother and I are ordered to report to the guard overseeing your visit. He tells you where to sit and how, when you can use the restroom and how. As the litany of rules are barked nine prisoners are escorted into the room and made to sit in a bank of chairs next to the head guard’s desk. Among them is my brother Rick. His face and body are bloated. His shaved head is misshapen. His once sparkling eyes have sunk into his skull and dark, dark circles make up the bulk of the fading feature. Scars from the beating he took years ago when he first went into prison line the right side of his head and face. He was raped by seven violent inmates. They rendered him unconscious by hitting him in the head with socks filled with soap and batteries. He’ll wear the horror of that moment for life. My brother Scott didn’t recognize Rick when saw him. It was only after Rick looked at him and smiled that Scott was become aware that this battered man was his brother. They hugged each other. The embrace was moving, bittersweet. We cried. As my brothers settled into their seats across from another and began to talk my mind wondered to the cowards who made this moment possible. They trio lied about my brother. They made false allegations and somewhere in the recesses of the cold, black mire that used to be a heart, they know they did. They sniff around my website constantly hoping to find if anyone knows for sure what they’ve done. They send death threats and laugh amongst themselves believing they will never be found out. Proof has come to light and their days are numbered. The same corrupt system that condemned my family to this hell will find them guilty of their crimes. I should have stood up to the bullies from the beginning. I had a healthy respect for the law until then. I believed in the justice system. When my family and I were threatened by the prosecuting attorney I caved in. When they lied and accused me of “tampering with evidence” and threatened my brother’s life if I didn’t do what they said, I was scared. I made Rick take a plea. I should have stood up and made them prove it. I should have stood up. I had a hand in the misery and I will atone for it. This has been a daily struggle for more than seven years. The struggles are amplified when I see Rick face to face. The accusers have missed that scene and have had no trouble going forward. The natural instinct when you see a loved one hurt is to hurt back. Pagan leaders in Old Testament days were very much aware of this drive. If someone during that period of time killed your loved one you killed their entire family. Knowing it would not end there the chief priests and scribes decided to enforce limits on the payback. The idea of “an eye for an eye” was born. The only way I can get through this nightmare is to see these people through the Cross and hold to what Jesus preached. Jesus forgave sinners and I am the biggest sinner of all. The struggle continues.
