Adam Tavel
AT THE WOMEN’S SHELTER A stenciled Mickey Mouse adorned the wall. He bent to hug a wheelchaired girl whose shirt read I’m Okay With Me. Green peppermints in handblown candy dishes sat throughout on tables, countertops. A zoo in plush nestled on my comforter—two frogs peeked from the pouch of mother kangaroo. They smelled heavenly, like those breezy springs fabric softener bottles advertised on rainbow shelves my family’s cart pushed past. The counselor smiled and said kids called her Nan. I kicked her arms away and stayed inside the shadow of my steamed-up Batman mask beneath my cot because I was a bruise.
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