In her imagination, they converse.“I have not come prepared,” he rasps “you must help me to improvise.”“I will,” she sounds through barely...moving lips.“I need to magic up some equipment,” he rasps once more, “what’s in that box over there?”The young woman says hoarsely, “Carpet remnants, I was going to throw them out tomorrow.”The man makes his way over to the box on the floor. He opens it and rummages roughly through the contents.“Ah, this is promising,” he says, turning to the young woman. Me, and wanted me for his wife. Asked me for my hand in marriage. Proposed to me. Put a ring on my finger. Me, a fat, freckled, pale, middle-class Catholic girl with cousins in South Boston, Philly, and the Bronx! Do you know what that does to me, to know that You loved ... still love me, think me worthy of You? Forgive me for ever doubting or daring to scold or set terms with you or whatever ... it was wrong of me!” Des actually wept as I thrust in and out of her again.“Shhhh ... You didn’t. More

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