My father spun me around and slapped me hard in the face.
I put my hand to my cheek. It hurt, but worse than that was the hurt I felt inside because my father struck me. He had never done it before in my life. I yelled, “YOU FUCKING BASTARD!” and raced out the door, out of the building, and down Maple Street. After about ten blocks I slowed to a walk. I was stunned by what had happened. Tears flooded my eyes and poured down my face. I have no idea how far I walked before I became aware of a car moving beside me. I continued walking, not looking at the car. I heard my mother say quietly, “Christian, please get in the car.” I stopped, trying to think what to do. Finally I gave up, opened the rear door, and got in the car.