He sits down just as I kick the chair, sending it backward and him sprawling to the floor. He rolls over, glaring at me with indignation. “Unchivalrous,” is all he says, but there’s something in his face that wasn’t there before.
Fear.
For five months I have tried to use every bit of restraint I learned over a lifetime of keeping my head down. I have tried to behave as though I had only dribs and drabs of power, an important servant’s power, and still keep in my head that I was in charge. A balancing act that makes me think of Val Moren’s lesson in juggling.
I have allowed the Harman situation to get out of hand.
I place my foot on his chest, pressing down a little to remind him that if I kicked hard, it could shatter bone.
“I am done with being polite. We’re not going to play word ga
