Then they slowly widened, surprise dawning. What was she seeing? My muscles quivering inside me? Was she seeing my fear? The blood rushing to my ears? Could she see discomfort in me?I couldn't take it. I couldn't carry the burden of my guilt. It rested too heavy. I opened my mouth."You feel the same way, don't you," Mary said suddenly before I could confess. "You don't love Cassandra, you're in love with her." I..." What could I say? Not trusting myself, not knowing what words to utter, I nodded. What had she seen in me?The silence that followed was so complete I could hear my old analogue Coca-Cola wall clock ticking away. Mary studied me with intensity. I sipped coffee nervously under her intelligent blue-eyed assessment. A muscle twitched in my thigh.I felt myself melt, physically melt with relief when Mary smiled wryly and shook her head in wonder."There's really no logic in life, is there?" she asked. "Who would have thought?"Two hours later I was still sitting at the kitchen. Never moved. Never made a sound. She just lay there, staring upward with that funny little smile of hers, like she was seeing butterflies flitting around above her. And we thrust and grunted and bumped her, until our release when we would pull out and spray it across her stomach. (We never used condoms. They were too hard to get in our little town.) Then she'd clean it up and we'd simply go back to the group like nothing happened, and she'd still have that strange little smile on her face.The only time she ever talked was when someone accidentally came inside her."Oh no!" was all she'd say. "Don't do that."Her voice was actually very beautiful, soft and sullen, sweet, like a singer between songs.On weekends, we used to climb the water tower. We'd sit up there, talk, and laugh, and tell stories, passing cigarettes around and taking swigs from stolen bottles. It was dark up there, dark enough that nobody could see us, and far enough into the outskirts of town that if we saw someone.
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