The fragrance of soybean meal now spreads through the room, that stinging sweet which permeates the air each time I make love.
I understand what I should have long ago. There were things "C" did, movements so familiar to me when she made love: why shouldn't she rehearse them, one by one, with another man? She might be lying there right now with her eyes full of terror, awaiting yet another high tide.... Only today it was a foreign truck that rolled over her body. Why should it make any difference to her? I felt my lips tighten as my thoughts became vicious. Soon I forgave her, however, although I lacked any right to grant for forgiveness, and it made no difference whether I did or not. The loving memory of "C" is slowly disappearing from my mind, a disturbing and harsh image takes it's place... The thespian consumes me.
