I’m silent. Hatred is filling every pore of my being. Cynthia is shaking like a leaf, crying silently. I shut the album sharply and hugged her close to me. Me: How old were you?
Her (whispering): 13.
I could barely conceal my anger. I wanted to track down that asshole and kick his butt so hard he’d never be able to sit down again. All that kept me from jumping into my truck right now and heading off to find him was Cynthia.She needed me right now.
But I wasn’t sure what to say, but I couldn’t stand the silence of her tears. Me: I love you Cynthia, and I swear that I will never ever hurt you. If I ever do anything to upset you, you have permission to tell everyone that I stuck peanuts up my nose when I was little. Frequently.
She looked up at me with a queer expression and burst out laughing. Her: You’re ridiculous.
Me: And that I can’t even make a salad.
Her: And you hate Romeo and Juliet.
Me: Would that affect people’s opinion of me?
Her: Most girls would think you were crazy.
Me: oh ok, that too.