ROUND 2 (of WHEN THE ONE-TWO PUNCH KNOCKS YOU OUT OF THE ROUND)

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And in those moments, I lay there knowing defeat, it felt achingly alone and surreally solitary and crushingly quiet and night-time numb.  Feeling miraculously ceased which  barred the pain and dammed the tears so I could walk the aisles of the grocery store praying for no eye-contact, no niceties of  "How are you doing?" Driving home, my phone recorded the moments I didn't respond to my husband's calls, wonderer of  where I was.  Answers would not come for fear the well would
not cease.

And wasn't  that  exactly the deeper question bantering around in my head? "Where was I in this?"...
"Where was I going with this?"...  "What was this sadness?" ... "What  about this moment did I believe to be true?"... "What bruises would I continue to press, allowing the pain to regurgitate again and again?"... "Why did this feel different than other moments of criticism?"

The painkillers no longer worked, the numb wore off letting the pain etch around my body like a broken washer allowing drips to become full kitchen sink streams.  The nerves were reconnecting at their synapses in electrical currents.  I wanted to scream like a blinded and defeated Rocky calling for Adrian. He knew, just desperately trusted, she would be near, hear his pleading pain, come hold his begging spirit, take him  home to bind his pain and ease his sorrow.  All this, even when he could  not see her.

Around the kitchen counter with four sets of eyes watching and wondering and hearing and knowing and telling and being okay, my heart shed tears. I trusted for okay, desperately needing their trust  even when they could not know all of my inside.  And their eyes told me they didn't really know, but that didn't matter. There they stood arms encircled.  And that day bred a decision.

With a choked up throat, I feared being held hostage to my response  to that parent's charge:   "You better bet I will go home and think about the kind of teacher I am."  Introspective by nature, I prayed against the readied critic. And I left the arena unclear as to my career but sure the ransom would be paid.