Punched in the Gut
We argued about the garlic in the guacamole. He stormed outside. I stood at the bathroom mirror focusing my shaking hand on my mascara when I heard the front door open and his footsteps on the stairs. He opened the bathroom door, punched me in the stomach, and calmly said, “Now you can tell your friends I’m abusive.” I was young but I was strong, confident, and independent. How was I reduced to justifying the purchase of a two dollar tube of lipstick and defending why I wanted to see a movie with a girlfriend? How did I stay with
