“Is that all?” I ask. Her eyes already tell me there is more.
“No. No it’s not.” She looks down at the ground while I gaze up to the sky, thankful to see some blue through the skylight. I wish I could feel the breeze on my cheek, this booth is stuffy.
“Father, I have a friend.” She hesitates, but doesn’t need any prompting to begin again. “A woman from the South that tells me tales about her life there. I must confess these are wicked tales. She’s known many men in many ways, and loves the act of purification for the pain itself. I wonder if I am that kind of woman?”
“She tells you of her s****l relations?”
“Yes.”
“And what do you do when she does this?”
She blushes. I already know what she’s going to say, not because I’ve heard it before but because in my mind’s eye, I see
