..trying to process this wild information...and the emotions play across his face:Doubt...desire...doubt...need...doubt...then...decision.You come aro...nd the corner and cross the floor...your face flushed (I wonder if you masturbated while you were gone)...When you reach the table, Frank leaps up and tends to your chair. As he helps you slide back up to the table, his hands linger on your shoulders and stroke your hair. The message of those touches comes through loud and clear to you...and your. The truth was different.It was a memorial that caused another.Who am I?The funeral was for an acquaintance, a minor ghost from the past. She attended Notre Dame with me but never rode in my Desoto. She looked me up after she moved to the Pacific Northwest. Despite her Notre Dame diploma, her funeral was a secular service that lacked the propriety spiritual ambiance for the mystery of death found in a Catholic religious service, at least for me.Reposed in her open coffin, lifelike, black. More

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