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Frankiesometimes felt like he was starting to think like a woman, too. He wasn'tsure about that part. After all, he could measure his waist and hips witha tape measure, but how do you measure your thoughts? Frankie's breasts hadn't changed much and he could still hide all thechanges under his shirt. Sure, he had beautiful nipples and well, he wasfleshy up top but nothing that would fill a bra cup. He was still lessthan an A cup. Well, it wasn't important because he wasn't going to beshowing his chest off for a while. He still had a lot of teaching to doand everyone at the college still thought of him as a man. If anything, itwas fine because the semester was only half over and stealth was the nameof the game.He put the Starbucks cup on Mary's desk. He didn't know where she was.Probably using the copier, he thought. He was hoping to see her. He wantedto talk to her about her brother. Frankie couldn't stop thinking aboutBruce. Ever since their date, he had been in Frankie's thoughts. In the distance over the sloping lawn and field of headstones I could see tall buildings of Los Angeles and a haze of smog hovering over the city like a dirty cloud.Alexis' hand slipped into mine her fingers intertwining with mine. I squeezed it. We left, starting a long, silent, and emotional walk back to the rented Ford. I was twenty-four, Alexis twenty. We were alone in the world.The house felt empty, dead, lifeless. Without the sparkle of Mom's personality or the bigger-than-life bluster of Dad's presence, the house seemed frail, dark, and lonely. Alexis moved mindlessly, searching through cupboards and the fridge for the makings of a dinner despite our lack of appetite, almost as if it was a duty of the living to cook and feed.I drank. Three scotches. Dad's fifteen year old Scotch. Memories haunted me. The future had evaporated in a flash of loss, my parents passing robbing me of security and comfort, stealing my dreams, my happiness. I missed a mother's care, her soft smile,.
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