My vision blurs as I stare down the length of the ravine.

Someone’s speaking to me, but their words are muted, it’s as if I’ve been shoved underneath the sea, left to drown. Something has stained my face, my hand reaches up to rub it off. I’m expecting the feeling of salt, of dried tears.

But, when I pull my fingers away, crimson stains them. I feel my brow furrow as I study my hand. I don’t rem...

I know what you’ve come to ask me, and to be quite honest, I’m not sure I have an answer for you. Many people have spoken to me about it over the years, and my answer varies with the time.

Sometimes my response is, “Because I felt like it,” or “She started it.”

Most of the time my response is simply nothing at all.

But, since you’re going to be the last person to ask, I’ll try to lay it out for...