.”“I won’t. Because it didn’t remind me of anything. Nothing at all. Even though I was confused and hurt and unable to struggle free on my own... not once did I associate any of it with my past. Not while it was happening, and not afterwards, either. So listen, you lovable oaf: while you’re not the only one who’s helped me heal, you’re pretty obviously the final piece of my puzzle. I’ll never be completely free of my past, but you cut the last thread connecting it with my sexual present, and I. She used to have an old-fashioned apron made like a patchwork quilt. It was another of those enigmatic gifts from Aunt Patty. Sandra had loved it and had worn it to death. Our Dad had taken one look and said, “My God! You’re covered with patches.” The name stuck. For as long as the apron lasted so did the name. I had called her that long after the apron was gone but it had been several years now since I last called her Patches. It just made her cry more. I sought her lips with mine and kissed. More

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