Free to be Me

FREE TO BE ME


I had a dream about living life to the fullest. It was a dream in which a man could ever want in life; I was the president of the UBL, shortened for Universal Boxing League, an international sport which the world's greatest fighters compete with their adversaries for a price: money. I was successful and at the same time held the world's most controversial entrepreneur in sports and politics, but despite the hype about my wrongful doings and judgement, I was a role model to not only fighters whom I've chosen to be part of the UBL tournament, but to prospective entrepreneurs who someday will have their own organizations that would win fame around the globe.

Aside from that, I was a multi-millionaire, though I yearned to bear the title of a billionaire, and lived in a lavished mansion that stretches 50 km wide and 40 km long. Inside the mansion consisted of wall paintings, antiques, and other expensive decor that would evoke a sense utter amazement the first time you step foot into the lobby of the mansion. I had a small family; a beautiful wife and two daughters. As the dream went on things got better and better, and my life continues to be filled with chances and lucks that I would remind myself every now and then of how fortunate I was. Unfortunately, before getting to the better part in my dream, I was startled and awaken by the echoing sound coming from a guard, who called out my name unsuccessfully for several times before deciding to raise his pitch.

Trying to open my eyes wide enough to regain precise visual acuity, the guard standing behind the steel cage delved into his back pocket and reached out a combination of keys that were all clamped together by a big key chain.

"Wake up, Smith," said the guard, as I pondered how my life would be like next if the dream wasn't disrupted by the guard. "Your time is up."

As I stood up while trying to gain my posture, I said, "I was dreaming about something of utmost importance."

"You mean a fantasy that doesn't exist in the real world, especially to you?" He said as he unlocked the door.

"Thanks to you, now I don't have anything good to dream about," I said.

"Well, you served your time longer than anyone here," said the guard, whom I've never asked for his name while we were supposedly friends for nearly eight years--the eight years that I was sentenced to serve at Guantanamo Bay.

"Sometimes I wonder what kind of fantasy a son-of-a-bitch like you would dream about," said the guard, as he let a smile on his face while I tried to grin but was still under the state of lethargy.

"You know," I said, "every man has to dream about something, either it be something important or...huh-"

"Something sexual to meet your needs?" He interjected.

"Yeah, sort of..." I said, still trying to grasp where he was getting at.

I exchange my prison uniform to something casual, and combed my hair and shaved before leaving what I used to think of as my home, but only a small cell not even close to have an occupancy of more than one person. Of all the cells in the facility, I was the only person to live inside a cell alone, for whatever the reason. Sometimes I would escape the thought of me being the fortunate one, but my mind wouldn't give up. As I gathered my belongings and a collection of old editions of comic books--I have this keen interest in comic book ever since I was 12 years old--the guard whom I don't know his name asked that I follow him.

As I walked down the hall where on either sides were cells, inmates whom I've known during my time here called on to me and wished me luck.

"It seems you are popular," said the guard.

"You never told me your name," I said, waiting for a reply. There was a moment of silence between us, as the distance that separates us was so far that it was impossible to catch up with him.

After moments went by he said, "I can't reveal my name while I'm on duty. It's part of the law here."

"You mean the 'System?'" I asked.

"Not really," he began. "Prison guards are told not to reveal anything to inmates that could offer even the slightest hint of your identity, such as your background, residence of living, money, etcetera. This so-called 'rule' was not part of the 'System' back in the old days, as you would call it. Until recently, there had been an incident here at the level you were assigned. A guard was sort of in a close relationship with an inmate, you know..."

"You're saying the guard was a homosexual?" I asked with surprise.

"Not a homosexual. He just had a common ground with the inmate, sort of like establishing a strong connection. You see what I mean?" After coming to a dead end with a steel-made door standing before us, the guard turned around to face me.

"Like you and I have right now," he said with a smile.

"Oh, I see what you mean." I said.

"I consider you a good friend," the guard continued, "but that doesn't mean what you did prior to your conviction of armed robbery was ethical."

The guard opened the door that led us into another room. The room was a single unit in the facility where you were directly exempt from detainment after completing your time. The room looked the same way as it was the first time I came. The guard asked that I wait and went toward a desk with a young woman behind. I tried to eavesdrop their conversation but then realized it won't do any good to me. I surveyed my surrounding as more guards were having their moment of break, some eating their lunch while other male guards trying to flirt with female guards.
At that moment I became intrigued by the number of female guards working here at Guatanamo bay. The first time I came here there were rarely female guards. But now? From then on I began to speculate the possible reasons for female guards working in prisons--not that I'm saying women were not meant to hold such man-only position. My first guess was that the economy must have fallen to a state of crisis, that many people are willing to do whatever work as long as they are able to provide shelter and sustenance for their loved ones and themselves, not to mention women opt to be full-time prostitutes. While I lingered on the same spot, I rested my gaze on the guard, who momentarily turned around and walked toward me.

"All of your papers have been signed," he said with conviction and pride. "You're a free man."

"Yeah, well, where do I start from here on out after I become part of mainstream society, or would you rather prefer that I say 'law-abiding citizen?'" I said. For a time now I wasn't so sure what I wanted to do with my life. Working at a comic book store seemed pretty lame to me the first time it came to mind. Sometimes I felt I had no purpose in life. Sometimes I'd choose constraint over freedom because there's nothing for me that could render me as an asset to society. Say, for example, many young men have chosen the path to serve their country by letting themselves be at gunpoint, or fighting at war that won't guarantee their survival, and the next you know, a group of officials would knock on the door of somebody's home and inform the family that their beloved son, the son who failed to find purpose in life and all of a sudden decided to die of random causes, such as choosing to fight in wars that were caused for no apparent, had recently died from war because his brain got blown off by a sniper.

This the-way-life-works wasn't new to me not because I have enough experience to say whatever I deem correct, but because of logics and reasonings. So for that I wasn't quite sure whether I have a purpose in life.
As I exposed myself to the sunny day of sunshine as sunlight shone onto me, I took a lungful of breathe and exhaled slowly with ease.
Distance away stood a female figure behind the entrance gate. The radiating sunlight interrupted my field of vision, making it hard for me to make out who was the woman, if anyone I knew in particular.

"I wanted to surprise you when you get the chance to leave," said the guard behind me. I turned and faced him.

"Nicole, your girlfriend, decided to pick you up after your release. Isn't she considerate?"

"You call my ex-girlfriend to pick me up?" I said, not expecting such an invitation.

"If she was your ex," the guard said, "she wouldn't bear the idea of coming for you."

I lifted my personal belongings, all stuffed in one luggage, and wore my old yankee hat.

"I know you haven't decided what you want to do next," said the guard, "but you'll find something you love. It takes time to start over."

I shook his hand and said, "Thank you!"

Thereafter we parted our ways. But before we each went to our separate ways, the guard hailed my name. I hastily turned around.

"My name is Nolan, by the way, and it was a pleasure meeting you," he said.

I smiled back as to thank him, and walked toward Nicole. I decided to start fresh and assimilate myself to conventionalism, something I wasn't very good at, which put me here in the first place. But this time I was different, things were different, and I knew that anything is possible regardless of the circumstances. Even If it seemed impossible to have a life like the one I had in my dream, I was still determined to work hard to have a life similar to it. As I approached Nicole more and more closely, I felt like a new man with a somewhat vague purpose, yet this other poignant sentiment made me wonder what my life would be like without my dear friend Nolan.