But with Mama, shame sometimes looks an awful lot like self-pity, and I’m tired of seeing it. I wave her off when she tries to explain. She already made her excuses, and I haven’t decided yet if I believe her. If she’s lying, I can’t bear it, and if she’s telling the truth, then my temper tantrum looks foolish. I remind her that visiting hours are short and my story is long. It’s difficult to get Mama to focus on anyone other than herself, but she makes an effort to stay still and listen. I appreciate it. “I told you not to thank me yet,” I say. “For the violin.” “You must have been in a lot of pain.” She’s making excuses for me, as always, but she’s not wrong. “I was in a lot of trouble,” I say. “I needed you, and when I heard you . . .” “I know.” My voice cracks. “I was so mad at you.” “I know.” The chain of the handcuffs scrapes the table as Mama stretches her hands toward me and I pull mine away. “But I am sorry about the violin,”
What do You think about Rebel, Bully, Geek, Pariah (2016)?
