She babbled again, speaking in some language not familiar to me. I observed her closely, touching her arms to feel the twisted and torn muscle within,...sliding my hand down to the woman's shoulders and breasts that still hung heavily before her. As I played with her nipples, I saw the priest writing furiously at the table. I inquired what he was writing, as the young witch appeared to be babbling incoherently from pain. The priest informed me that she was naming the names of other women in the. ”She looked at me, with a slightly smaller smile, then shrugged and said, “Yeah, me, too. Come on over.”I picked up my food and moved over to her table, and we started chatting. It was as warm and natural as if we’d be friends since we were kids. We both laughed, we both told each other things we probably would never have told a stranger, and we both told each other how awful this was.Her story was similar, but different, from mine. She was going home for the holidays from Cornell, and her. More

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