One night, a few weeks back before we lost our virginity, we fooled around on a blanket. He was drunk. The moon was three fourths full. Even though it was summer, it was not warm outside. I was drunk too. The light from the moon was different than electric lights or any of the different kinds of sunlight. It was brighter and colder. We were both under the illusion that we were seeing each other clearly, with nothing diffused or distorted. The shadows on his face were sharp and hard against the light on his face. He ran his hands all over me. I felt beautiful.

The next day I paced around the living room. In the heat of the afternoon, the smells hung around like vapors. Old laundry. The open refrigerator. My hair. My body felt like a blunt instrument.