Shania was reading in an easy chair as I scanned the channels for something to pique my interest. “Do you remember the brown liquid?” Shania asked...me. I clicked off the remote. “The bourbon?” I replied. “Yeah, I remember.” “Should I tell you what I was really thinking that day?” “You can tell me anything, my love. It won’t make a whit of difference in how I love you.” “Well,” she said, “that day when the elevator was broken, I saw you at your door. I thought, ‘There’s that nice guy. Wonder if. It was hard – I can’t say it wasn’t. I’d been with Jean for a long time and our lives were intertwined by so many years and events. I thought I was dealing with it pretty good until I got the final copy of the divorce decree. I left it unopened on the small kitchen table in my tiny studio for several days. Finally I got around to opening it. That was when things got hazy for me. Everything after that I got from my psychiatrist but the things he told me had more the texture of half-remembered. More

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