She couldn’t reconcile what I looked like on the outside with who I was on the inside--same story different narrator. I guess I looked like I was supposed to smack her around a bit, draw blood, and turn over tables. She thought my fists would do the talking, not words that came delicately from my fingers. When I kissed her she never quite believed I wasn’t about to punch her in the gut and she told me so as she pushed me away. I called her and the number she gave me had been disconnected. A few years later I heard she had gone to the hospital after her lawyer husband had knocked her teeth out after a night of smoking meth…