The other day when B was over and we were lying around in bed, naked as jaybirds, he asked me what happened to my leg. He wanted to know how I got this tremendously large bruise. I said that I didn�t know. He questioned me a bit more, how could I not know how I got that bruise, look at it�. I told him I often found bruises on my body and didn�t know where they came from, which was true. But not true about that bruise in particular. I knew exactly where it came from, how could I forget? I vividly remember sitting on the floor. I was in the process of removing my clothing and throwing it across the room. It didn�t have the impact I craved. I took off my shoe and began beating it against my leg. It was a pathetic attempt to relieve some of the anger that was consuming me.
In case you were wondering, it didn�t work. I was still angry when I was done.
