Who Taught You That

Then she reached out, seized my chin, and dug her nails into my jaw to force my face up.

“Your mother should have taught you these rules a long time ago.”

That one struck something.

My own mother had fled an abusive husband when I was small, giving up everything to keep us safe. The person who taught me never to kneel to anyone was Mr. Kenneth — the grizzled trainer who found me crying on a concrete staircase decades ago and took me into his neighborhood dojo.

I slapped her hand away from my face, straightened up, and looked down at her.

“Address me properly. And don’t touch me again.”