On Davis Row

by N.R. Walker

“Not everyone who does bad things are bad people.”

“I hate him so much.” “I know you do. And it’s justified, CJ. Just because you’re related to someone doesn’t mean you have to like them.”

“If he did this to you,” the cop with the notepad said, indicating to my face, “why didn’t you report him? He would’ve been picked up and put away.” “And what?” I asked rhetorically. “Make him so mad that the next time he sees me, he belts the ever-loving shit outta me? Or kills me? You’ve never lived with a violent alcoholic, have you?” The cop didn’t answer. I didn’t expect him to. I glared at him. “Don’t blame the victim for just tryin’ to survive.”

“I don’t know how to feel,” I admitted quietly. “You don’t have to. It’ll change. From every hour to every day, how you feel will be different. Anger, disappointment, betrayal, loss, relief. There’s no right or wrong way to grieve, Clinton.”