This morning I rolled up a nice Spring jacket, put it in a Hefty bag and carried it to the trash. It was splattered with blood that was not mine. I can throw it away, but I have to live with the reality of it forever. I hit someone. Yes, he said something hateful and unallowable. But it is never okay to hit another soul.
As I replay Friday, I am somewhat confounded and alarmed with the intensity of my reaction, the speed with which I responded, the rage that hadn't existed a moment before. I don't feel shame, but feel I should feel shame. Neither do I feel heroic, though Peter is treating it with more respect than is warranted.
I just need some time to sort through it. And, in the meantime, I have to wonder how the guy is? What does he look like? Is he badly hurt?
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