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look at the wound."
         "You're not touching me again." Then he jumped to his feet and ran out the door.
         I thought about going after him. For about a second. Then I figured I better just clean everything up as best I could and figure out what to do. Okay, I had three choices.
         One. I could call for help and explain what happened. "This crazy person went berserk, and I had to threaten to tie off his penis to get him off of my arm."
         Two. I could clean up the whole mess, go home and explain everything in the morning.
         Three. I could walk out, change my name, have a sex change operation, and go into hiding for the rest of my life.
         I chose what was behind door number two, spent two hours cleaning up, and went home for the night.
    I had hoped to go to the gym for a workout, but all in all, a pretty impressive first day on the job.

Chapter 2
         Home.
         After I quit teaching I decided I needed a major change in my life.  I moved to New Jersey. I love that state. The best thing about Jersey, though, is that it's not Pennsylvania. And the best thing about anyplace on this earth, including Devil's Island and Afghanistan, is that it's not Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
         I took whatever savings I was able to accumulate over the years and moved to a little seaside community called Longport. I got the cheapest rental I could find and started looking for a job.
         People in Longport don't take shit from anyone, they don't give up, and they don't kiss ass. That's why I fit in so well.
         Longport is divided between the rich town folks who spend the summer, and the retired – or soon to be retired – folks who live there fulltime. The full-timers are outnumbered by about 10 to 1 in the summer but they rule, and they like their town to be the same as it was 40 years ago.  They like neat looking streets, with room between the houses. They like it quiet, and they like the personal small-town feeling.  They don't want to fight for parking spots during the summer, when the hordes of tourists arrive, and they certainly don't want the tourists to have any say in the way things work in Longport.
         I found a small two-bedroom rental house closer to the bay than the ocean. One bedroom and a bath were downstairs, the second bedroom and bath upstairs in what was originally the attic. I slept downstairs and used the second floor room for watching television, ironing, and sewing. The entire downstairs had tile on the floor, with area rugs in the bedroom and living room. Upstairs was all carpeted.
         Luckily, it was dark by the time I drove down my street and parked. I sat in the car for a moment, thinking.  Before getting into the car at the hospital, I laid about an inch of newspaper on the seat. I keep newspaper in the car for emergencies, such as when I can't wipe a package off before putting it on the seat. 
         Too late now, I realized I needed those plastic seat cushions. I could keep them in the back, and then put them on the seat whenever I was dirty. That way, the seat would stay clean all the time. I could get extra cushions for the passenger seat and the rear so all of the seats would stay clean. So I grabbed a piece of paper and pen from the glove compartment and wrote myself a reminder to drive to Wal-Mart later that week to buy seat cushions.
         My uniform was covered in blood, my support stockings ripped and giving me no support at all, and my hair a mess. I didn't want anyone on the street to see me like that.  When I pulled in my driveway, I looked in the rearview mirror, the side mirrors, and turned my head so I could see up and down the block. No movement or lights outside, no sign of life at all. It was safe.
         I opened the car door and quietly raised the garage door. I started collecting the bloody papers from the car, when I saw a flash of light coming down the street. A police car. Shit.
         I had