“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” my stepmother would say sternly. It felt as if her eyes were cutting through me like laser beams, like in a superhero movie or a cartoon. I’d fight my reflexes, reflexes that’d keep moving my head to the side and my eyes toward the ground. I’d force my chin up and squint my eyes until they were no more than slits. I no longer heard the words that came out of her mouth. They moved past me like smoke circles that slowly but surely transformed into wisps whose original shape you could no longer discern. Until I was startled by the next reprimand: “Don’t give
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