Feelings swarm in Eddie’s face, innumerable nameless nuances, like lights on the ocean beneath a sky of racing clouds. Eddie could have been a novelist or poet. He has emotional abundance, fluency of self. He’s shameless. “Believe me, I’m not a faithful type. I’ve slept with a hundred women. More. But it’s no use. She hits me, curses me. She says ‘I don’t want to be touched. I don’t want to be turned on.’ No matter. It begins to happen. She relaxes, lets me disgrace myself. She tells me, ‘Lick the insides of my legs while I make this phone call.’ My father slaves six days a week, year after year, just to put me through medical school. For me to do this, to lick this woman, he went to an early grave.”
↓ 16 May 2011
