It's easy to walk away from someone when they're angry.
"Just let him blow off steam."
"She doesn't mean what she's saying."
"Ignore him. He'll get over it."
But remember when that table flew, not of its own accord, and broken glass was everywhere--a mosaic of white dishes and bok choy and sesame bread and aching hearts? Remember when the door slammed and the engine started and the empty black pavement felt darker than the night sky? Or when fear moved in and decided to stay, even though I begged for it go away? I remember, and I can't ignore it, because I won't get over it.
I picked up the broken glass, bewildered and afraid. I whispered prayers into that night, hoping God would hear. How do I read between the lines of anger and sadness, anger and fear. How do I know it's 'just steam' and 'anger talk' when I've seen anger speak and it rocks me to my core? Tomorrow may be a new day but old habits die hard and scabbed wounds are still fresh and fragile. You brush it under a rug but what happens when the rug can't contain all of the hurt and madness and pain. It's not enough to pretend it never happened. It did. What now? Oh Lord, what now?
