March 26, 2005:
She ripped on purpose the quilt my great-grandmother made for me by hand. Looked me in the eye as if to say, "Cross me, this is what happens to you." Then tore the hand-stitched trim clear off one of its sides.
Knowing what I know now I should have left her immediately. On the spot. But I hadn't yet unlearned the great mistake of my life: the belief that people outgrow their childhood problems. In truth no-one outgrows a thing, we only become more like ourselves as we age. Understanding that earlier would have prevented a world of damage, much of it at the hands of that same destructive, hurtful, mean girl.