“So was that red?” she asked, changing the subject. Red? Oh, right. The night of the motorcycle ride. She wanted to know what red felt like. I scoffed. “Maybe like orange.” “Orange?” She looked appalled. “Can it at least be purple?” I laughed under my breath, walking over to her and taking the wash cloth off of her. “Purple then.” I helped her to her feet, so we could get her clean, and she found her way under the water wetting her hair. “When can I see red?” she asked. And I planted my hand on the wall, holding her face with the other one, as I stared down at her and saw all the shit that was
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