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The night will be cool so I’ve put on a nice pair of black jeans and a turtleneck with a long gold chain that hangs across my breasts. I didn’t want to go overboard. I didn’t want to do too much. I chide the furrow in my brow. It seems deeper in this light. I try to rub it out. I close my eyes and press both thumbs across the ridge of my brow then open them. Nothing. Still the furrow. The rock is still in my belly, but it’s surrounded by butterflies. I spent the day at an off-site my bank required I attend at a hotel banquet center with about two hundred other bank employees. It is was an eight hour day of being lectured on diversity and its importance for a productive workplace and corporate success. I learned that I’m not supposed to judge people based on their sex, age, race, religion, sexual-orientation or any combination of the aforementioned. It’s all good stuff that most of us learned as kids and if you didn’t learn it as a kid, I can’t see how eight hours in a hotel banquet. She’d made copies. Meddlesome bitch. Again, she badgered me into eating her breakfast. And she’d talk. God, how that woman could talk! I got tired just listening. All the neighborhood gossip, town gossip, political gossip, school gossip – she was plugged in everywhere and knew it all. Who was doing what, or whom. Griping about people who still had Thanksgiving decorations up, or had Christmas blowups in their front yard. Church fiascos and neighborhood vendettas, she would sit there, drink her tea (or bourbon and coke if the sun had set) and fill me in. I didn’t care. It had been two weeks since the accident. I’d lost more than 10 pounds, and really just wanted to crawl in a hole and die. But Cathy wouldn’t let me. She made it her personal mission to cheer me up, get me to respond, bring me back to life. Then one day she let me have it with both barrels. She walked up to me and slapped me across the face. Hard. ‘Damn it Alex! Snap out of it! Life is hard. And it isn’t fair, but as.
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