I found him in a dingy room, dirty water running along the back in a gutter or open sewer. He had been there a long time and was weak, stifled, but safe. The door was heavy, of iron or steel so he had felt trapped, perhaps held prisoner. Now that I had opened the door and said to him he was free to leave, he was reluctant, despite behind held so long, saying he kind of liked it there, it was safe, known. The door had, in fact, been unlocked all along but he hadn’t tried it. As time seemed short, I told him I was leaving the door open to at least let some air in, and left the option for him to close it, lock it, or to leave it open – his choice. I said that he could leave whenever he felt like it, whenever he was ready, do as he wished. That was the end of our meeting. I felt he had left it open and a change was to come. He was a younger me.