Journalism Monologue

Thank you. I know that must have been difficult for you to agree to. We can settle the details of the meeting later-- that you will at all surprised me. I know you enjoy your solitude... Or at least, you find solace in it.

To answer your question, your only question, I'm not sure how long I waited for Johnny. No clock was keeping the time and to me it felt like hours, but every minute seemed to drag. I really didn't think he would come, even if he didn't know that Joyce was away and I had given him their secret signal. And then I thought of what you said about the possibility that another of Joyce's boyfriends could show up at the window and if they did... Would I still let them in? A stranger? Who knows how many times Joyce has invited someone in while I was sleeping, and who knows how many men it could've been.

Still... I tossed and turned, nude in Joyce's bed, listening to that album play and wondering what my sister felt like when she was waiting for a visitor. Did she always feel this thrill, did her blood bubble beneath her skin? I felt hot,
Journalism doesn't really allow for such detail and nuance, and what I felt seems to escape words. Reporting the facts alone doesn't do it justice. His lips were warm and somehow... knowledgable of me, and I didn't care that his expertise was probably due to the dozens of girls he had seduced before. No, I had no illusions that he was mine alone but it didn't matter. I think I understood Free Love then, and sharing, and how it made so much more sense to just give in to whoever was willing and just enjoy that experience without attaching an eternity of matrimony to it. Darning his socks and cooking a wholesome dinner for him were the farthest things from my mind. He held me there and even though I had never kissed a man before, I knew just what to do; he was so patient with me, it made me wonder if he knew it was me and not Joyce and he just didn't