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All weekend I thought about it, wondering – no fearing – that the opportunity would arise at some point during Saturday or Sunday. But it didn’t... we were always together, I was never alone in the house. As Sunday drew to a close the fear grew in me though, because I knew then that Monday would be the first real opportunity, when my will would be tested, and most probably fail. Should I not simply just plan for the seemingly inevitable? I deliberately went to bed early on Sunday night, to the. I should comfort her. I wanted to be the one she looked up to, the only one. As I watched her sob, intermittently, I was desperate.I was desperate, in that I wanted to make her crying go away. I wanted her to know I made her crying disappear. I wanted to be her hero.Looking at her crying was beginning to make me feel so small. I wanted last evening to be the most eventful day in her life, my life. As it turned out, she was sitting here now because of me. I mess up and I mess up good, I was. “And did she succumb to your manly charms?” Linda said, half regretting being so off-hand.“I’m afraid not,” he said, almost glumly.“Better find a different location,” Linda said, and put a laugh in her voice as she added, “Because you ain’t going to get much success today.” There was a pause as she wondered how spiteful she might have sounded.So, sitting down on the moss that, strangely, sloped towards the high pink hedge, and feeling she needed to give some recompense, she told him, “But, I. I felt my face explode even though I thoughtI was red before. I looked at the bedcovers with great attention. I thoughtI might cry. Eventually I nodded. She looked at me, her eyes boring into me,though she smiled, a smiled which made me feel so naïve and young. "Are you wet now?" The silence grew and grew again. Finally I nodded. "What makes you wet?" Did she know? Was this innocent? My breathwas problematic. I nodded my head dumbly. The silence grew. I wanted to go.I wanted to stay. I was.
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