I remember when my ex-wife first hit me. A solid, close-fisted blow to the side of my head that came out of nowhere, like a misguided horseshoe at a drunken hillbilly fest, ‘cept with malicious intent. “I’m going for a quick ride with Nick, to say goodbye,” I’d said and then turned to walk down the stairs. I hadn’t seen my best friend since I joined the Army. We were gonna poke around the backroads and talk. An hour tops. Instead, her fist stopped me as my foot connected with the first step. I turned. Above me, a spiral-haired monster glared with wide eyes the color of whiskey that shook in their sockets under brows like daggers slicing sharp angles on either side of her nose, scrunched tight with nostrils flaring over lips pulled back from her grinding teeth. Her entire body tremored, and in that moment, I knew Tiana wanted to kill me. I know now that in some ways she was emotionally still a teenager. I’m grateful for her restraint that day. I may not have survived one of her more brutal assaults without this precursor to her capacity for violence.
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Painting by Darby Bartlett
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February 2020
Disclaimer:
This lifestyle/memoir blog contains mature content, some of which could trigger some people. These posts are the author’s honest recollections to the best of his ability. He acknowledges that sometimes people remember things differently. Some names, locations and other identifiers have been changed to preserve anonymity. Author is not providing medical, legal or other professional advice, and all opinions expressed here are that of the author. |