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bath, and I catch myself taking a peek. Do the other women do this too, try and sneak a

peek?

And why do I soak naked in these tubs? Because it’s allowed? Because everyone else is
doing it? Because of the saying “When in Rome, do like the Romans…”? Do I do it just

for the experience? Or do I do it simply out of rebellion, knowing Mama and Papa would
not approve, but they are not here, so why not try it?

The sun is slowly rising, burning off night, and also a morning fog that moves in and out,

a whisper, and morning lightens.

9.

I’d spot her in the dining hall, or walking with her husband on the way to the next seminar.

I see her on the deck where folks gathered after hours, and others seemed to talk to her
with such ease.

Yet even as the days wane, I am still too chicken-shit to talk to Pam Houston.

10.

“What’s your sign?” ask Maysam and Fullamusu, almost simultaneously. I don’t know
how to answer. My dumb-struck face must give me away. We are seated on the deck of

the Lodge Dinning Hall, post-dinner, all seven of us, the fellows. We were talking about
what it’s been like so far, our experience being here. The talk is casual, nearly all the wine

in the bottle gone. Two of the fellow’s ask me my “sign”; I don’t know how to answer.

“What month were you born in?” Fullamusu clarifies. “October,” I reply, still unsure as

to the nature of her question.

“Oh, you’re an air sign! I love air signs!” exclaims Maysam at my answer, his hands and
eyes animated with more excitement than I can understand. I’m still clue-less but smile.

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