When we were in preschool, she slammed the bathroom door in my face, giving me a black eye. When my mother asked her why she did it, she said, “I didn’t know she was back there.” By grade school, she denied it ever happened, took credit for my artwork in class, and called me a bitch on the monkey bars.
Now she’s divorced and putting herself through auto-mechanic school to support her one-year old daughter, and has a bull-style nose ring.
On my daily walk, I pass her grandmother’s house where she and her younger brother, and eventually her second brother when he was born, lived through middle and high school. The same grandmother who tried to make up for her daughter by raising them herself. She moved out the first chance she got; her brothers are probably in high school and middle school now. I don’t recall the last time they walked past my house.
on the chain-link fence