Slaying Women

When she awakened, Bernie and I took a shower together. I liked to soap the sponge up real good and cream the ivory suds all over her remarkable skin. The contrast always made my heart beat faster. Bernadette was sitting now on the edge of our bed obsessively drying her thick woolly hair with a towel. I knew she needed a drink, so I went into the kitchen again, this time returning with lemon-water. “Thank you” – then to heap on gratitude, she inquired about my father.