When I Was You

by Minka Kent

“You’re lucky you didn’t die.” Didn’t I, though? I could easily draw a line, and on the other side of that line would be the woman I was before the attack. That woman, that version of me exists no more. Is that not the very definition of death?

It never fails to amaze me all the things people do when they think no one’s watching, the things they think they can get away with. Such entitlement, such infuriating audacity.

Bad people don’t sit around thinking about all the ways that make them bad.

a victim deserves the truth. It’s our God-given right. We are the entitled ones.

Now I know with absolute certainty that people are selfish. They lie. Cheat. Steal. Hurt. Manipulate. Keep secrets. Wear proverbial masks. Even kill. Some of us can’t help but be self-serving, letting our egos and ids drive the car as we sit powerless in the passenger seat.

for a second I can’t breathe, as if the air is trapped in my paralyzed lungs.

That seems to be a theme in my life . . . people leaving without explanation.

My grandfather always said, “Money talks, wealth whispers,” and it’s a motto I’ve always tried to live by.

No one’s interested in the truth. Most of us just think we are.