It looked more like a teenaged girl’s room. There were things strewn all over everywhere. On the desk, a computer with a drawing program was turned ...n. A laptop with another graphics program running was on the bed, forgotten. The radio was on, and clothing and socks and shoes and panties and bras, and notebooks, and random sheets and scraps of paper were everywhere. I wondered how she ever found anything in the mess, but then it hit me. This randomness was like her, it hinted at all kinds of. "Now that I think about it, it was more than the others. They were ashamed to talk about my loss and talked about everything but that. You talked about nothing but my loss, yet did it so that I wasn't upset." "Yes," replied Norma. "I was trying to find out how you felt about losing your manhood. I was living vicariously through your grief. When you moved here, I was relieved to know that I had an excuse not to get into things any deeper than I already had. But I couldn't let it alone. I. More

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