The longer she talks the better she seems to feel. As I hear her life unfold, I don’t feel that I have the right to judge her. I think, “There is enough culpability and guilt to go around. Besides, I know how it feels to be a victim, like when I was teased, kicked and robbed, and then rebelled by using drugs. I think to myself, “If God can change me, He can change anyone.”
So, I decide to help her out. I buy her new clothes and pay to get her professional counseling. However, she starts suckering my male ego by calling me her “Rescuing Angel.” There are a myriad danger signs that I should recognize, but they just don’t penetrate my thick, stupid skull.
The first thing she does is tell me to kick my best friend, Jim Blowers, out of my home.
She says forcefully, “You don’t need him anymore. I can take care of the driving!”
So, I ask Jim to find a new place; that we would like to have the house to ourselves; he moves out; and I feel guilty…really guilty!
But, here again is a big red flag flapping right in front of my face, and I choose not to see it: She sits in the riverboat’s bar every night and is always tipsy by the time I finish my show.