The Group

There we all sat, in a lopsided circle of mismatched chairs. Eleven chairs, ten other people with their other problems, ready to display their war wounds like vendors spreading their wares at a bazaar. I would say the world had gone mad but it had not. It was starkly sane, blue-gray paint peeling off the walls, the heater whining, and the general rustle and shift of a room of strangers unseasonably hot and uncomfortably close. As each woman spoke, I felt like a jury member sitting in judgment, ready to gather a stone from the ground to toss. I feel like I need a shower, I feel mundane and exhausted.