haven’t witnessed a murder in a long time, but muscle memory and self-preservation are a powerful combination. They want to drag me down to the floor and under the kitchen table. To pull my knees up to my chest and take my brain away to my happy place. It’s a house in the suburbs with a white picket fence and a manicured lawn. Where Sundays are for board games and no one goes to bed angry, and no matter how many times the radio plays Mom and Dad’s wedding song, they always stop what they’re doing, push the living room furniture to the walls, and dance.
