She woke me up, at least a little, the night she bitch slapped me.
“What promise are you going to make to me? What can you tell me you’re doing? You need to do something tomorrow. I want action. I want to know what you’re doing.”
She was tough. She was downright mean. She needed to be.
The night was dark and the air was cool and there we were, on the steps together.
And she hugged me as I cried.
“It’s harder than you think.”
“No, it’s not. You’ve lost your mind.”
“You’ve lost your self respect. It’s on the ground somewhere. Lean over. Pick it up off the steps.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Get control of your life. You’ve lost all control. You’re a smart woman. You are not being smart right now.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”