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It is a thought I would rather repress, not relive. He is always, in her recollections, lying in bed, waiting for her, a presence, a grief, an ache. But in fact, he had never once waited for her in bed, being occupied during the late hours, in his favorite chair, always reading the bible. She must, she thinks, get that part right… he had never awaited her. But what was his name? What was his name? Her husband’s name? A suppressed pain. Fear. There is something careless about this kind of forgetting, something unpardonable, a great guilt. Her husband, her master. His face has the quality of a blurred photograph, yet she remembers his rough hands. His rough, calloused hands on her soft breast. She shudders. Feeling foolish she starts through the alphabet, trying to associate a name with each letter: Albert, Benjamin, Charles, Donald… It feels as if every last cell of her brain was driven into illness. Her lack of memory fills her with silent dread. Not my mind, Dear god not my mind!. I know he likes me cause Greg’s always staring at my breasts just like all the other guys on campus. Sept 1 Greg showed up right after Erin left for her Lit class, so I asked him to come in the room and help me move the TV. To get him in the mood I asked him to turn his back while I changed clothes realizing if he did that he could still watch me in the mirror. Out of the corner of my eye I could see he was watching so I stripped to my underwear and casually put on my shorts and shirt. I’m not going to let him see me naked but I don’t mind letting him see me in my underwear. I just pretend that I’m in my swim suit. But even so, I did have a beer before I invited him in, just to calm me down. Thank god I have the fake I.D. and can get all the alcohol I need. When he turned back around I could see the outline of his erection in his jeans. I made no effort to hide the fact that I saw it. I just smiled at him. After we moved the TV I told him I wanted to reward him for helping me but.
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