Daddy D does not cry.  Daddy D does not shrink.  Daddy D fears not.  Or don’t I?  This is so strange, so out of the norm that maybe, just maybe I can be a little scared for once.  As I walk down the street, the angst is too much to bear.  There go the tree branches and leaves yank right to the ground.  Why does no one understand?  This pavement seems like such a long road until I get back to normal again.  Step, step, step.  The staccato of my footsteps in these flat sandals, hot summer day in D.C., is one of the only ways that I am able to ground myself.  My head whips left and right as the voices cause my brain to throb.  I will myself to not pay any attention to the noise, that hurtful, scary noise.  My miniskirt swishes in the light breeze while simultaneously sticking to the sweat at the back of my thighs, this sensation heightened when I stand up from my seat on the bus or train.  Walk, walk, walk.  I do not know which way is out.  I want out.  Out of this misery, this doom and gloom.  

Daddy D does not shrink but I fold into myself as a means of protection.  All that was extroverted is now introverted.  I cannot let on that I am not okay.  Self-preservation is a real true thing, and it must be protected at all costs.  I look at me in that slender Ikea mirror, with its wavy frame distorting my proportions adding to the abstractness of my mind.  Okay let’s calm down.  I lay there on that mattress that does not belong to me, its cool tufted texture lulling me, soothing me.  My mind reels with thoughts of family, and him, and them, and God.  Is there a God because this cannot be what he meant by He always knows and is always on time.  On time for what? To watch me lose my marbles?  I lie on my back and watch the ceiling fan spin for ages, trying to gain control of my mind.  The daylight turns to golden hour and golden hour turns to sheer dusk.  Through the top of that little space of window that is visible behind my headboard I see flashes from police cars and believe that I hear the offensive sirens.  I did it, but it isn’t that bad, God, it was a mistake.  Now, I’m tormented.  The phone rings.  I answer It. As dusk turns to darkness, he arrives just on time.  If only for a moment, I will let this passion and torment reconcile with each other to have a moment of reprieve.  As clothes come off, so does the cloak of fear that has been scratching at my throat and making my brain throb.  The light from my window shimmers over my naked white skin and over his beautiful dark skin, the sheen of sweat seemingly illuminating my thoughts and fears and culminating in this moment.