I hear a scuffle and run towards it, but I don't want to fight and I am running as if I'm hoping it will stop before I get there. Nothing in me wants to intervene other than the people for whom I care. Those people are in there.
But I'm scared.
I turn the knob but she's turning it on the other side and I back up and then follow her until I don't see her anymore. Then I drive away.
It's the one bad thing I did today. I drove away. The girl who is CPI trained to deal with hostility did not walk into a fight. I did understand that it was handled by people more courageous than me. People who are much better at the what.
But a question still haunts me.
Why did a boy attack his sister?
He doesn't get to say. I won't ask him, but I'll listen to her any day of the week.
Someone needs attention so they come to my porch.
The fight is brought to my home.
And I don't want to fight 'cause I don't like to fight but I will and my voice and hands will become shaky and I'll feel out of control and I'll say, "This is not how adults talk."
She doesn't care what I say. I just need to shut up.
So I do.
I don't even say bye and I'm not one to hardly ever neglect common courtesies.
Sweet, little George played the mandolin and there was a revival. And she sat between us and we made whut? eyes and lovely. Just. It was lovely. The whole thing.
Today I am grateful for family outside of family and for a renewed understanding that nobody wins a fight. I am grateful for a guitar lesson that came as a gift and to listen to some kids tell me about history.
Tonight we'll go with some Woodstomp.