I reflect badly when I’m in a funk. I’m still in shock, but I’m also pissed off at being accused of so many things. The new information about Rainbow’s adoption has sent me reeling and my brain is busy slotting it into our mutual history, looking for clues to it in how she acts, adjusting the Rainbow of the last four months to fit the Rainbow I know now. She’s a different person now. But even the fact of what her parents are doesn’t change how lovely she has been to me, or this blamelessness and innocence and the childlike quality she radiates, instinctually, as a person, or how I feel about her. I power-march for six blocks before I’m out of breath and have to slow down. I come to a stop at a building I recognize that meant something last year, though I can’t remember what. A Cherokee Jeep crawls past me and the woman in it looks at my face before accelerating away. Not really a compliment when people do that. Was someone killed in the house last year?
