Selena stepped out of her car, only to hear what she had been dreading.
“Hey!” a stranger yelled. “What the hell? You so disabled you need to park there?”
Selena sighed, then turned. A small, young-ish woman with blond hair stood staring at her, annoyance on her face.
“Well, I mean…” Selena began.
“That spot is for the disabled. You look pretty fucking able to me. Get out of there, go park in regular spot like the rest of us. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Selena considered this. Mention the fibromyalgia? The daily fatigue she battled with, the bone-deep pain searing her as she stood there? Reach in to the car to get her handicap sticker to show the woman, but that, on a normal day, she kept hidden, given the difficulties it brought her in getting a job, finding friends, every day life?
Selena looked at the woman, kept silent. She turned, and walked away to the continued hurled insults, the thumps of shoes kicking her car. She held back tears, years of experience helping with that.