Tuesday, July 30, 2002
Coach, I wanted to call him. Daddy. But I didn’t. I was younger then, and it was harder to say things. In the light from his bathroom he took off his clothes and I felt on the edge of a cliff. The silhouette of his shoulders, his approaching figure eclipsing the light. I looked up and jumped.
When it was over I laid the small stack of twenties on his nightstand. The corner of his mouth pulled up and he looked away. “I’d like to get together with you again, you know, normally,” he said. My mouth twisted to hide the joy. “I’d like that,” I said. He walked me to the door, past the television we had pretended to watch. Did I kiss him goodnight? I can’t remember. Though I left many messages, I never heard from him again.
