There she sits, in front of the mirror, staring, waiting. Her hair wet and uncombed. I pick up the brush and I begin to comb through her hair, gently,...until I get the wet tangles straightened. Stroke after stroke, her eyes are closed, a mild swoon in her manner. Such attention, no man has paid to her before. Soon her hair begins to dry. How long have I been brushing? It seems like a moment but perhaps an hour has passed. No matter, we are both lost in the act of intimacy. I set the brush aside. The only things he ever really made her do are go to therapy, go to school, and call him to let him know where she was going to be and when she would be home. All of those things; though she didn’t know it at the time; were things she really needed. Yes, Brian had been very good to her and very much more patient than most people. Still not like a father though. She wasn’t sure why or when, but at some point, she had fallen in love with him. If having the emotional attachment to Brian wasn’t bad. More

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