She did not laugh at me, or make barbed and wounding attacks on me likemost girls did. I liked her direct and matter-of-fact way of dealingwith things...that other people had always considered to be queer,unusual, or wrong.When I was safely shut inside my own mental cocoon, I summoned up thememory of Matron, and compared it, step by step, with the memory ofDorothy; finding that there were many interesting comparisons. Matronwas tall; she had been standing at the side of my bed; and my main. The day after I got home, Mom sat me down in the kitchen. Dad was at work and wouldn’t be home for a couple of hours. ‘Erica, we need to talk. I only found out about you from Evan’s mother. He isn’t coming home for Christmas, and told her something had happened. He wouldn’t say what, just that something had happened between you, and if we wanted to find out, to ask you. What happened?’ I broke down, and between sobs, related the whole story, assigning blame where it clearly belonged, right on. More

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