It starts with loud voices which soon become yelling. A door slams. I stay still in my bed, paralyzed with fear. I hear my name among the fighting. Later, maybe seconds, maybe hours, it stops, my door opens, the crack of light from the hall shines in. It is my mother. She takes me from bed. We get in the car, and go to her friend’s house. There, I am left alone, in an unfamiliar room full of shelves lined with the friends’ collection of porcelain clowns. I hear my mother in the living room, talking to her friend about the fight down to the last detail. It was about me. It was always about me. The moon shines through the window of the strange room as I lay on a mattress, wishing this would stop.
General