As the years passed, there were other, less intense, moments like that. People I didn’t know wanted to fight me or threatened to beat me up. If a cartoonist were to draw pictures of these encounters, the expression on my face would be a combination of fear and utter confusion. The thought bubble would say, “Who are you?” I understand now in a way that I did not then, that the “you” in that question was a person who felt a sense of deep loss. I was seen, wrongly, as the catalyst for that loss.
