didnât yet exist.
Galenâs T-shirt and shorts were damp. He hadnât had a towel at the creek. His skin rough with goose bumps, shivering.
His grandmother, unable to remember anything, was definitely on pause. Someone taking a break from the game. Then there was the big question of what the game was even about. Why were we all trying to learn lessons? Galen knew it was so weâd finally be without attachment, but why did attachment ever have to exist in the first place?
Twenty minutes was a very long time. He stood and took off his damp shirt and shorts, grabbed a dry towel and rubbed himself with it, tried to get some heat through friction. The ceiling sagging in here, long planks hanging low in the center, a single bare bulb for light. This room an addition, not the original cabin, so apparently the old-timers didnât need baths. Maybe they just washed in the creek. They had all been tougher in the past. Though of course the past didnât really exist. History another illusion. It meant only what we made of it now.
Galen checked the tap a few times, and finally it was hot enough to run the bath. He sat in the tub while it filled, the most delicious heat. It was possible, of course, that he was the only real person here, the only one with a spirit or soul. It could be that each soul lived in a mirror-land with no one else around.
Galen dozed in the tub, sleepy from the heat, but then Jennifer was banging at the door. Iâm next, she said. Hurry up. I want a bath before dinner.
So Galen rose and dried, careful on his thighs, which were hot and red again, and walked out in a towel.
I can see your ribs, Jennifer said. Even in your back. Thatâs gross.
This is only a shell, Galen said. It doesnât matter.
Weâll see, Jennifer said. She had her hair up and was already wrapped in a towel.
Galen went upstairs and wondered what that meant. His aunt and mother and grandmother all on the porch still. They hadnât started dinner yet, so it would be a while. He slipped under the covers and grabbed the Hustler from his duffel. He had to be careful not to come, in case she was planning a visit.
In the Hustler , the man was dressed as a musketeer, with a long feather in his hat. He was taking a break from his duties, and he had met several women who were short on clothing. The photo shoot was like a bad school play, but it didnât matter. Galen felt turned on anyway.
He was listening for anyone coming up the stairs, and finally that stressed him out too much, so he put the magazine away and waited.
Samsara, attachment to the world. Sexual desire was the worst of it. A need he could feel in his spine, all the way up his back and neck, connecting to his mouth. It was crazy, absolutely crazy, and it made time crawl. Only a eunuch could feel peace. Neutered. That was the fastest path to enlightenment.
He didnât really believe Jennifer would visit, but she did. She came up the steps and he turned on the bedside lamp. She was holding a deck of cards, wearing a skirt and T-shirt. I told them weâre playing cards before dinner, she said.
She sat on his motherâs bed and dealt pinochle hands on the bedside table. Her skirt was short, and Galen couldnât help trying to peek. He was embarrassed.
Itâs okay, she said, spreading her knees. You can look.
She wasnât wearing anything underneath.
We have a few rules, she said. One is that you can only do what I say. The other is that you canât make any sound. And of course you canât tell anyone.
Yes, he said.
She smiled. Look at you. Youâre so desperate. Twenty-two, and youâve never had any pussy.
Have you had sex?
Of course, she said. Everyone has. Except you. Now lie back, and scoot down a bit.
He pulled the covers aside.
No, she said. Keep the covers on. And if anyone comes up the stairs, sit up quick and grab your pinochle hand.
Okay, he said. But what are we doing?
She climbed onto the
Galenâs T-shirt and shorts were damp. He hadnât had a towel at the creek. His skin rough with goose bumps, shivering.
His grandmother, unable to remember anything, was definitely on pause. Someone taking a break from the game. Then there was the big question of what the game was even about. Why were we all trying to learn lessons? Galen knew it was so weâd finally be without attachment, but why did attachment ever have to exist in the first place?
Twenty minutes was a very long time. He stood and took off his damp shirt and shorts, grabbed a dry towel and rubbed himself with it, tried to get some heat through friction. The ceiling sagging in here, long planks hanging low in the center, a single bare bulb for light. This room an addition, not the original cabin, so apparently the old-timers didnât need baths. Maybe they just washed in the creek. They had all been tougher in the past. Though of course the past didnât really exist. History another illusion. It meant only what we made of it now.
Galen checked the tap a few times, and finally it was hot enough to run the bath. He sat in the tub while it filled, the most delicious heat. It was possible, of course, that he was the only real person here, the only one with a spirit or soul. It could be that each soul lived in a mirror-land with no one else around.
Galen dozed in the tub, sleepy from the heat, but then Jennifer was banging at the door. Iâm next, she said. Hurry up. I want a bath before dinner.
So Galen rose and dried, careful on his thighs, which were hot and red again, and walked out in a towel.
I can see your ribs, Jennifer said. Even in your back. Thatâs gross.
This is only a shell, Galen said. It doesnât matter.
Weâll see, Jennifer said. She had her hair up and was already wrapped in a towel.
Galen went upstairs and wondered what that meant. His aunt and mother and grandmother all on the porch still. They hadnât started dinner yet, so it would be a while. He slipped under the covers and grabbed the Hustler from his duffel. He had to be careful not to come, in case she was planning a visit.
In the Hustler , the man was dressed as a musketeer, with a long feather in his hat. He was taking a break from his duties, and he had met several women who were short on clothing. The photo shoot was like a bad school play, but it didnât matter. Galen felt turned on anyway.
He was listening for anyone coming up the stairs, and finally that stressed him out too much, so he put the magazine away and waited.
Samsara, attachment to the world. Sexual desire was the worst of it. A need he could feel in his spine, all the way up his back and neck, connecting to his mouth. It was crazy, absolutely crazy, and it made time crawl. Only a eunuch could feel peace. Neutered. That was the fastest path to enlightenment.
He didnât really believe Jennifer would visit, but she did. She came up the steps and he turned on the bedside lamp. She was holding a deck of cards, wearing a skirt and T-shirt. I told them weâre playing cards before dinner, she said.
She sat on his motherâs bed and dealt pinochle hands on the bedside table. Her skirt was short, and Galen couldnât help trying to peek. He was embarrassed.
Itâs okay, she said, spreading her knees. You can look.
She wasnât wearing anything underneath.
We have a few rules, she said. One is that you can only do what I say. The other is that you canât make any sound. And of course you canât tell anyone.
Yes, he said.
She smiled. Look at you. Youâre so desperate. Twenty-two, and youâve never had any pussy.
Have you had sex?
Of course, she said. Everyone has. Except you. Now lie back, and scoot down a bit.
He pulled the covers aside.
No, she said. Keep the covers on. And if anyone comes up the stairs, sit up quick and grab your pinochle hand.
Okay, he said. But what are we doing?
She climbed onto the
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