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She questioned the abruptness in which she left. She wanted no part of her husband. Her bruises still hurt where he had beaten her. She hurt between her legs. It all happened too quickly, and she searched for reasons to return humbly to the apartment and ask forgiveness. It wasn’t pride which stopped her. An uncertainty kept her in the hotel room. She was near certain her husband would beat her again.She had five thousand dollars and a small infant. She rushed downstairs and found a local bodega. She purchased baby food and milk and diapers. Not only did she need a job, she also needed an apartment. Most of all, she wanted independence from her husband. But she had no one.Although the baby was with her, she noticed how alone she was. And within the void of loneliness and uncertainty the mind wanders, not forwards far enough, but backwards, as she asked herself: ‘where did it all go wrong?’She remembered her father and how he always sheltered her and her small brothers. Then she.  The hotel had a restaurant on a balcony at the far end of the atrium, just a couple of levels above the ground floor. I asked for a table next to the railing so I could look over and people-watch while I ate. It was a fascinating sight. As more people checked in, the crowd grew. At least a third of them already wore some kind of costume. It seemed that a lot of those who came to these things did so 'in character' for the whole time and that I could look forward to spending a couple of days rubbing elbows with some true fanatics.As soon as I realized this, the irony hit me and I almost choked on a French-fry. Here were so many people who were intensely interested in being aliens, elves, wizards, fairies, vampires, comic superheros, warlocks, robots, characters from movies and TV, and many, many others that I had no idea at all who or even what they were supposed to be; and here I was, the real thing, trying to pass for 'normal' in the middle of all this. I think I felt better.
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