There was one man.

There was a house surrounded by water, bayou, swamp.  The house was on the smallest dry land.

There were many other women.

We had all come to the house.

There was a sense of frantic competition.

The man came home driving down the road and into the drive in a small, shiny, red and white, roundish, toy-like dump truck.

I got in it and drove it.  I could drive it but I drove it a little cuckoo.

This made him laugh.  This made  him like me.  I didn’t mean to do that but I wanted him to like me.

We laughed in the garage.

He laid down on the floor and I held him.  When I thought it was enough, that I had been bold enough and started to get up, he pulled me back and asked me to hold him tighter.  We spooned, we turned and faced each other, we smiled.

I wanted his love.  I wanted him to love me like he was food and water and I loved it that he chose me to love.

When we went inside, all the other women wanted his attention.

We went upstairs; we went downstairs.

There was one other woman fiercer than all the rest and she began to draw him away from me.

Longingly, I decided to sail the tiny red and white sail boat to the tiny island just across the way.

I hoped that he would see me from the window upstairs and come with me on the little boat so that we could be on the island together alone in love.