May We Be Forgiven

deal—on the menu, right after orange sections and fortune cookies. Without warning, she dive-bombs me on the sofa with heavy wet kisses, her mouth open and oddly gifted: I can’t help but respond. She’s thrusting her tongue into me and then pulls back for a moment, lifts her shirt over her head—and essentially gifts me with herself. Her breasts are bigger, fuller than I would have expected—she wears a bra that is dark blue and lacy, which sets off her pale skin. Rather deftly she’s down on me, wrestling my stiffening situation from its hiding place, but when I reach for the button of her jeans—she shakes her head no. I obey. The rest is frenetic, urgent, with a lot of grappling and sliding off the leather cushions and onto the floor. And then I come and it’s over. I am left, spilled, my dick shrinking back in my lap like messy melted ice cream, and she is up, putting her shirt back on like this is just the way it goes. She walks into the kitchen, collects her frozen stuff from the freezer, and pops back into the living room, where I’m still on the floor. “See ya,” she says, like it’s all so easy.
    “Do you want to give me your phone number?”
    “I know where you live,” she says.
    When she’s gone, I clean myself up, straighten the sofa cushions, and try not to think about how really strange it all was. I don’t even know her name.

    T he next morning, via certified mail, I am informed that I am officially divorced. The mailman rings the bell, Tessie barks, I sign for the letter, and, voilà, I have the divorce in hand. It wasn’t as hard as I thought it might be.
    I remember as a kid overhearing conversations about marriages that had failed and how the wife had to prove the husband had been cheating, had to “catch him in the act,” and other cases where one or the other of the couple would have to go live in another state for at least a year or two until things could be resolved.
    Now it literally comes in the mail, along with discount coupons for pizza and a thank-you note from Ashley, written on her “official” stationery, embossed “A.S.S.”
    Ashley Sarah Silver.
    Why didn’t anyone think this might someday look odd when they named her—ASS?
    “Thank you for the trip to Williamsburg, it was really fun, I learned a lot. Thank you for the dress, the shoes, the quill pens, the powdered ink, the writing paper, the sealing wax and seal, the book about Pocahontas, and anything else I forgot to write here. Your friend—Ashley Silver. P. S. I know you’re not really my ‘friend’ but I didn’t know what else to write—it seemed queer to write ‘Love.’ …”

    A lso in the mail is a letter from The Lodge.
    Dear Family Member,

At a recent meeting The Board of Directors voted to approve the proposal to transition THE LODGE INC. from an inpatient mental health center to an executive conferencing and seminar site. This vote represents a change in direction for the organization from therapeutic environment to motivational and organizational meeting facility.

As you know, The Lodge Inc. has served its patients, their families, and our surrounding community for almost fifty years. This change in focus represents a significant shift in the direction of mental health and associated health care services, not just at this facility but across the country, as the therapeutic model moves from inpatient to more outpatient, community-based services.

We will work closely with all of our patients and their families to facilitate a smooth transition either back to the home community or to an appropriate facility for your family member. We hope to complete the transition process by the end of August and we will be in touch with you on an individual basis as to how best to proceed. We realize that receiving a letter such as this can prompt a spectrum of emotions and questions and would like you to feel free to call the director of our medical staff or our communications office with any questions you might have.

As this news was somewhat unexpected, we apologize for the mass mailing—but wanted to be in touch with you before the news breaks in the media.

Our deepest thanks for allowing us into your hearts, homes, and minds.

Sincerely,
John Trevertani CEO,
The Lodge Inc.

    I call.
    “We tried to reach you about ten days ago,” Rosenblatt says—clearly he’s the designated ‘responder’—“but someone else answered the phone and said you’d gone colonial, and then said he needed