When I felt Cookie’s knees I turned to face her.
“What’s the deal with the clock-face girl?”
“What’s the deal with the piccolo man?”
The piccolo man was not even my friend. Teacher, maybe. Guru, King, mother, maybe. But not a friend. How could I explain. I said nothing and watched her face. She gently ran four of her fingers from my forehead to my chin.
She spoke again.
“I never said you were my only one,” and, “I thought you didn’t believe in commitments.”
Ideologically speaking.
