Page 19 of Saving Meadow

“Okay. Skip it. Can you remember what you were talking about?”

“Purses. The bartender had filled a beer glass too full, and some had spilled when he was passing it to a patron, and it got on her purse. It was expensive. She called the bartender a clumsy idiot. I was horribly embarrassed at how rude she was. I wanted to leave, but then she apologized to the man, and I felt better. So, I stayed.”

“What kind of purse was it?”

“It was a four-hundred-dollar Coach Edie Shoulder bag. She told me it was a gift from her boyfriend. I thought it looked like a waste of money.”

“You’re sitting at the bar talking about purses. What happened next?”

“She was telling me the purse was a gift. The only nice thing her boyfriend ever gave her. I was bumped from behind and spilled some of my drink on my shirt. I looked behind me, and someone had fallen. I got up and helped the drunk girl to her feet. Her friends apologized for her bumping into my stool, and I sat back down and finished my drink.”

“What else did you and the woman talk about other than purses.”

“She was flirting with the bartender, but he wasn’t paying attention to her. I couldn’t understand why she was hitting on the man when she had a boyfriend. I wasn’t feeling well. I’d only had two drinks, but I thought I was going to be sick. She helped me up and took me past the line to get into the restroom out the back door, so I could throw up. My head felt fuzzy, and if she wasn’t holding me up, I wouldn’t be able to walk.”

“Where are you?”

“In an alley. We walked out the emergency exit. The door was propped open.”

“Did you throw up?”

“No. I thought I was going to, but the fresh air felt good. I was so hot inside the bar.”

“Where is the woman now?”

“She’s yelling at me. I tried to cover my ears, but I can’t get my arms to work. My head is pounding. She won’t stop screaming at me. Over and over. My head is going to explode. It hurts.”

“Focus on her words.”

“She’s really mad. So mad. I don’t want her yelling at me.”

“Focus on only the words. Not the pain or anger. What is she saying?”

“She called me a bitch and a thief and pushed me on the ground. I landed on my hands and knees but couldn’t hold myself up. I rolled onto my back, and she was standing over me.”

“Tell me what she’s saying.”

“I don’t know. Her lips are moving, but she is fuzzy. I can see her but I can’t. I know she’s talking.”

“Okay, skip it. Relax into the moment. What are you doing?”

“I’m begging. Please don’t do this. She kneeled beside me and said, you think because you’re so pretty you can have whatever you want. Take and take. Steal what doesn’t belong to you.”

“Good. What do you see?”

“She has a big kitchen knife. She raised it back to her shoulder. I told her I didn’t steal anything. I begged her not to hurt me.”

“What hand was holding the knife?”

“Right hand.”

“Look at her hand. Focus on her fingers and tell me exactly what you see.”

“I don’t know. It’s too hazy, and I can’t see clearly.”

“Does she have light skin or dark skin?”

“Light.”