My Body is a Cage and Other Stories

and stirring brown beef and I don’t look at him.Popas I open the tomato jar - please tell me
what’s wrong with you too -tap tap tapof the woodenspoon against the pot - don’t think I’m
attention-seeking.
“I’m sorry that happened to you.”
I shrug. “Didn’t mean to info-dump. Just thought youshould know.”
“It was my grandfather. He would touch my shoulderand that’s how I knew it was about
to happen.”
“And you’ve never told anyone?” He shakes his head.“You should.”
“Did that work out for you?”
I look up at him then. It wasn’t quite snapping atme, but the way it tumbled out of his
mouth was akin to it.
His cheeks are growing pink and I let him be embarrassed.He continues, “I mean if
telling someone worked, we wouldn’t be here wouldwe?”
“I no longer have contact with any of them. They’renot in my life anymore. And I feel a
lot more free than I did when they were in my life.No, it didn’t fix everything and I wish to God
it did. But it helps.”
“Well my grandfather is dead. So I can’t cut him off.”
“You should still tell someone about it. If not yourfamily, then a therapist.”
He sighs. “I told you, doesn’t that count for something?”
“It does.” The noodles are drained and put back inthe pot. “And thank you for telling me,
but why, out of everyone, was I the first one youtold? You didn’t know me.”
He gets out the bowls. “I don’t know. I liked youreyes.”
Oh. “My eyes aren’t that great.”