Living Proof

All my life I have been known to forgive, and quite easily. That’s not to be mistaken for letting people walk all over me, but putting myself in their shoes knowing how horrible I felt for either making someone feel bad or offending somebody by my words or actions. I never understood it if someone held a grudge against me, or for anyone. I’d always tell them to forgive and forget. I used to be able to do that so freely. I used to be able to let things go and completely forget about the offense. I’d like to think I still forgive freely, however there’s quite a difference in my way of thinking, my way of healing, my way of letting that person know that it’s not okay to do ‘that’ to me, or say ‘this’ to me. It’s not that I demand respect or think I’m all high and mighty, I just want to feel respected as a person, as a friend, as in any relationship I may have with someone. Whenever I was in the wrong, I’d quickly apologize, begging for forgiveness, and usually, it was given to me. If...

Tonight I’m hiding out. It’s a bizarre story, however, all too familiar when I think back to my childhood. This afternoon, I went out upstate to enjoy the beautiful weather and go out to a café and have lunch. I stopped by antique stores and just sat down to people watch. There was a cool breeze and I really didn’t think anything could go wrong. Everyone was out and about, in flip flops and wearing their casual clothes. Couples were hand-in-hand and other people were walking their little dogs enjoying the end of the August weather. I arrived home around 5pm. My parents live underneath my apartment. I have to go through the house in order to get to my place- which was never a problem…until today. “Why da fug’ did ya leave the damn doors open?” My father says, in this 'already been sitting there stewing' type of tone. “Huh?” I said, walking in with Madelene and trying to make my way up to my apartment. “Some guy came in here looking for someone else! You’z gotta leave...