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She grieved for herself, for the memories of the prior evening, for the soreness in her body and mind. She grieved for the lack of meaning in her life as well as for the other losses of the past years. And finally she grieved for the man she loved, for whom their losses had been devastating. Finally she cried over the alcohol which was changing him into someone she didn’t know. Gradually her sobs turned to softer cries and finally spent in body and soul her breathing slowed and she fell asleep. Chapter 2 The dream was always the same. His hands are tied in front of him with rough rope. They’ve been tied that way a while as he can feel the raw chafed skin there. There is the taste of blood in his mouth and his head is pounding in time to the steps he’s being forced to make. He’s been beaten. The night is cold and damp. He can see his breath in small white clouds rising up to the heavens. He hurts. His body is sore. He catches the scent of wood smoke and his heart fills with fear. No. Sixteen years old, in the back seat of Jock?s car, her tube top around her waist, her shorts around her ankles, Jock cursing and laughing quietly, trying to get the ridiculously small condom to unroll over the plum-sized head. ?You?re going to split me open with that thing!? Cindy had said, only half kidding.Cindy had often wondered if Scott even knew what he had, and what it was for. Home-schooling her son on a small farm in the Midwest in the 1970?s, male friends were rare enough, never mind girls. But there was no standing in the way of adolescence, of biology, it turned out, and big stains began to appear on his sheets from time to time. And the one morning she?d gone in to change his sheets, right after he?d gotten up to go do his chores, thinking she?d dropped a pillowcase, but instead pulling one of Scott?s t-shirts out from under the bed. The hot, slick, viscous wetness it had left on her palm. The distinctive, bleach-like smell. No doubt that her son was a man now. She.
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