“Please, I really need you, Eileen. Be a friend,” I began to cave. She pulled a cigarette out for me, lit it with trembling hands. “You’re the only one I trust,” she said. That was all it took to reel me back in. She

The shame of arousal, the arousal of shame.

That’s what fascinates me. There is history and pride, but very little imagination here.”

I wasn’t radical at all. I was simply unhappy.

Would I miss them once I was gone? Of course I wouldn’t, and I didn’t miss them, though I wondered, staring at the backs of their heads in the chapel that day, if I’d remember any of their faces, if I’d be sorry if any of them died. Would I have helped them if I could have? Would I have sacrificed anything for their benefit? The answer was a

I walked carefully, not wanting to slip and fall and break the wine or look foolish. I was nervous. It had been a long time since I’d gone any place I wanted to be.

I liked to think of my brain like that, tangled up in my skull. The idea that my brains could be untangled, straightened out, and thus refashioned into a state of peace and sanity was a comforting fantasy. I often felt there was something wired weird in my brain, a problem so complicated only a lobotomy could solve it—I’d need a whole new mind or a

ladies’ room sink without having to open my mouth to speak. I didn’t want anyone to think I was susceptible to bad breath, or that there were any organic processes occurring inside my body at all.

But I was careful shutting the door, of course. I didn’t really want to die.