She was “zooted,“ she wanted her way, she wanted out.
“Let go of the fucking keys, get out of the fucking car you cunt!” she screamed.
The scene was painfully familiar, “give me the fucking keys!” he cried, seven years earlier, and I did and he drove away, and I never saw him, my son, her brother, alive, again.
Her version would include my beating.
I sat in the drivers seat, hovered over the steering wheel, and with her long dark hair and tears… Continue