Last updated 3/31/2015 at 7:57pm
"I know what it is like to lose your tongue, husband," I whisper into Joe's left ear. I remember that ride from Oklahoma to North Carolina, my too-long legs curled into the metal wall of the bus. I rocked myself against the stained plastic seat and pretended that my church dress and red hat were for something other than being banished from home. Mile after mile, my tongue cleaved to the roof of my mouth, but inside, where it mattered, I was screaming.
"You are screaming on the inside," I tell my silent husband over dinner. I reach over and pat his hand. "You do not think that I would k...