I remember where these bruises came from. It was during a dinner party on our patio (the one where I broke a glass and spilled wine on one of our guests), and I bit it walking back up the stairs to our apartment. That was embarrassing.
But then I also found these:
And this doozy:
I totally did not remember where those came from. I asked Kevin whether he had been beating me in the middle of the night. He denied it. I decided I must have walked into something and was content to think that for a couple of days until this totally embarrassing memory came back to me. The one where my sister and I were trying to catch the subway and the doors tried to eat me. NYC subway doors are not nice. They do not spring back when you get caught. They just fucking clamp you in a python grip. And this driver was being particularly aggressive and not surrendering, and literally I was stuck because I could move neither forward nor backwards because I was gripped so tightly. I won't lie, it hurt. And I won't lie, I was mortified. I was one of *those* people caught in the train door.
Insult to injury? Towards the end of my 30-second death struggle with the door, the local train came on the other track, and the driver fucking re-opened the door and let it sit open for about a minute.
When I got off at our stop, I turned around and kicked the train. I'm pretty sure I stubbed my toe. I'm an idiot.