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May 22, 2003
In the kitchen I found my mother whispering into the phone, cradling it to her ear with her left hand while simultaneously cradling her still-bleeding face with her right. I wanted to feel sorry for her, I really did, but I wondering why she chose to set off my father in the first place. Didn’t she realize as I did that the stress of supporting a family, especially a family with a son like me, was immense? I watched her hang up and clean herself in the kitchen sink. I grabbed a roll and spread on it the now-soft butter.