It felt like a full stop at the end of an epitaph. He said it wasn’t right, what we do, and that we must stop. Everything was perfect.Īnd then, on my twentieth birthday, the unthinkable happened. I doubt if any other child had so much love. I was twelve that first time, and a happy child, happier than any other child I knew. We began to do it more often, and each time I enjoyed it more.
I went to him the third time it happened, it was raining and the thunders scared me. He told me it was our secret, our special thing, and no one should know about it.
