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.
