The one that said, “Fuck you, Black Man… I don’t give a fuck about you or anything you do”. A stab of pain sliced through my heart… I missed...her so much, but if she could pretend like it didn’t happen, so could I. I tried to go back to reading my paper… but I just kept staring at the words, not really seeing them wishing I could fix it all. ~~~Her~~~“OH MY GOD!!! Did he really just say that to me???” my brain screamed. I stood there, shocked and disoriented for what seemed like an eternity. As. She's sitting on the edge of the bed, rolling her hose down her legs and I can smell her, smell her perfume. I find myself mentally fumbling around in lines from Shakespeare about age and beauty. She says something and I have to ask her to repeat it."You seem to be a little behind. Are you going to get undressed or stand there and make me do it? Either could be a lot of fun..."Where her undressing has been a graceful dance, performed by a trained artist of the medium, mine is a spastic. More

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