The buildings blurred, overlapping the shacks she’d torn down for the expensive development. “I am in control of my life. I am rich and successful. I don’t owe anything to anybody—except a few mortgages. No one tells me what to do. I don’t have to remember my god-awful childhood. It’s in the past. It’s over. I’m not that scared child anymore.” She repeated her personal litany over and over as the blocks grew longer and her mind kept drifting to the past when the smell of beer on a hot night ruled her life. Her mind drifted back to where she’d started twenty years ago, back when life was one long pain in the ass . . . “I’m theven now, you are thuppothed to take care of me!” Phelma Jo yelled at her mother through her oversized and gaping front teeth. “You’re thuppothed to make sure there’th food in the houthe and cook it. Not me!” At least that was what the latest foster mother told her before Mom had sobered up and taken her away from the family that had fed and clothed her for six months.
