Motherfucker, I whispered. I was referring to life itself. Always surprising you, always with the curveballs. Room 321 was the cave and I was its guard. I had made a goddamn womb and I had oneness in it every week. With myself, with God, with my friends and sometimes lovers. And I didn’t own it. Because you don’t. Own anything, not even your own womb, your own body. It all goes. But every Wednesday I could get back in there, with or without lust, and be—what was the word? Free.
