At My Purple Heart Ceremony, My Stepmother Swung a Folding Chair Into My Arm—Then My Father Looked Down Instead of Protecting Me
The scrape of a metal chair on television made my heart jump.
A restaurant server stacking folding chairs behind me sent adrenaline through my entire body.
I hated that.
I had survived explosions.
Incoming fire.
Medevac flights.
Yet a sound from a community center could make my palms sweat.
Trauma is impolite that way.