and then my mother would handle
it. And this was the middle of the
afternoon. He was completely
sober, which made what happened
next all the more terrifying.
“Why did you forge your
mother’s signature?” he said.
I started making up some
excuse. “Oh, I, uh, forgot to bring
the form home—”
“Don’t lie to me. Why did you
forge your mom’s signature?”
I started stammering out more
bullshit, oblivious to what was
coming, and then out of nowhere it
came.
The first blow hit me in the