I think of her once in a while, well maybe more than that, but if and what if can be terrible things, so excuse me as I ramble on about things that couldn’t be helped, but they really could have been, and about times that were good but really bad, and decisions made in fear and insecurity that haunt him, her, and me.  My mind’s eye shows the horror flick with the ****** scenes and the terminal ending.  You know the show, rated R, for restricted, and in the end justice prevailing.  The star in her last scene saying, "He won’t hurt me," but as you watch, you know the real ending, the real truth.  You know that the knife is inescapable, cold, true, truer than she or I lived our lives, but the drunken, reckless abandon was freedom in the purest form that I have ever experienced but a false freedom, no conscience.  The only constraint was not getting caught not having that freedom taken away.