“Gjerji raises his hand. In English he says, "I like to tell in the words of a great American philosopher what freedom is.""Say it in your language to your peers," I urge.Gyerji makes his statement. The class grows silent and thoughtful; there is much nodding. Twain perhaps? Emerson? Diana sidles up and whispers in my ear. "He says to them that freedom is a word when nothing is anymore able to be losed."Janis Joplin, de-syntaxed.”

“Mine," she whispered in his ear. "All mine. Say it, Tommy.""Kira, I...""Say it. Please, Tommy.""Yours, Kira. All yours" he whispered...”

“Do you still love me, Janie?'Janie stares at him, incredulous. 'Yes, of course! I don't say it lightly.''Say it lightly in my ear,' he demands.She smiles, rests her soft cheek on his scratchy one, and whispers it. 'I love you, Cabe.”

“I hold my finger up to his lips. He flicks his eyes down to look at it."You're absolved," I tell him.He brings his eyes back up to mine. There's no fucking way he knows what that word means. That's a word I dream someone will say to me.So I put it in his language. "You're free.”

“He does not know what freedom is. Freedom is a word, less than a word, a noise, one of the multitude of noises I make when I open my mouth.”

“This is your home.” He reached up his other hand and gripped my face, pressing down hard against my cheeks. I nodded. “Say it!” “I won’t run,” I whispered as I watched an angry tear trickling from his eye. I leaned forward and licked it away.”