My dad never touched me, but the constant possibility of a backhand was enough to shut me down.
“Arco corn dogs,” he says. “She can’t pass one up.”
She pulls a joint from somewhere in her dress. “But I have something that will help,” she says.
“I don’t mean to call your boyfriend a dick,” she says, “but who does that?”
His words sink me into the seat as if he’d put all of his weight behind them, knocking me back without lifting a finger.
I hit him again, as hard as I can, and he lets go of me and the wheel.
Megan, if you’ve got a site or links or a bio you’d like us to share…
Please send it by way of Dennis at the Cult.