My Body is a Cage and Other Stories

“I’m so sorry, Irene.”
“Yeah.”
Both of their lures bob in the breeze, rocked byminiscule wave after miniscule wave.
“So she’s gone then?”
He nods.
“What happened?”
“It just got worse and worse. You know how it was.I could never do anything right.”
“No, something had to have happened. You were codependent.Did you divorce her or
did she divorce you?”
“Both, I reckon. She cheated on me, first of all.With the choir director. I almost could
have forgiven that, but we heard you’d gotten marriedand she said some things that she
shouldn’t have.”
“About me?”
“Yes. And I just couldn’t take it anymore.”
“It must have been really bad. You used to let hersay awful things about me, to my face.”
“I don’t remember that, but I believe you. I’m notproud of who I was.”
“You don’t remember it because it didn’t affect you.So what if she calls me a dyke? As
long as she’s not screaming at you, everything waspeachy-keen.”
He winces at the word dyke. “I should have protectedyou.”
“You should have.”
It’s quiet for a bit. She tries not to feel guiltyfor snapping at him.
“I left the church,” he says.
“Nana told me. She didn’t understand why, though,so she never told me.”