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Show 335 "What happened?" I am beginning, but she is cutting me off. "I don't believe for a minute that you don't remember," she is saying, "and I think you know exactly what you did." She is spitting her words into my face. She has dropped my breakfast tray onto the table with a loud crash of crockery and I am thankful that I saw it coming and did not startle. There would have been no Versed to quiet those spasms. "Are they OK?" I am asking but she is not answering me anymore and her rage has once again taken her out ofthe room. Even the silence of her absence accuses me. I do not know who was hurt or even if anyone was actually hurt. How could I have done such a thing? Am I really the kind of person who would actually hit someone? Has the Versed brought out the real me and everything I hope to be is really the illusion? I am transferring from the bed to the guest chair by my bed and scooting it over to my wheelchair, transferring into it at last. I need to see some light. Wheeling over to the window, I gaze down at the driveway below, the frees lining it, and the green grass and the flowers lining it. This window does not face the Eastern sun and the yard below is still in shadow but I am willing my soul out of this room and under those cool trees, willing myself to smell the flowers, to feel the prickling ofthe freshly mown lawn against my bare feet. |