I was doing it again, going off on a five-minute tangent to avoid what still felt like a mind fuck. Breathe in. Breathe out.
“Welcome to my home, Jefferson.”
It certainly is different than that old Tennessee house.
“Okay. So, I assume you can hear me.”
Yes.
“And…and see me?”
I can.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I struggled with the bedspread, trying to cover my love handles and private parts, then got up and put on a fresh pair of boxer briefs before finally settling on the floor with the diary in my lap.
Your nakedness did not offend me.
“Good to know. I’m bashful, I guess. Plus, hearing and seeing is one thing. If you can feel through the diary, laying it on top of my exposed co—di—pe—in my lap would have felt inappropriate. I should put on a shirt.”
Your body looks healthy.
“Healthy? Um…thank you?”
What more of a compliment would someone desire? It’s very appealing to not look sickly and too thin.