89.
This time I am an infant. I was in my crib, peering through the thin white bars. I saw my mother sitting on the bed, near me, but also behind a frail curtain. I do not comprehend much, except that it is warm and that mother is not far away, and also I am sleepy. I shook my fists and decided to sleep. Before I could, the door swung open and a large man, with brutish muscle and thick hair. He was not my father. I did not recognize him. I wanted to cry but instead I gurgled sleepily.
The stranger approached my mother and embraced her, then his back was turned to me and all I could hear was a sensual grunt or two, then a brief muttering, and then enveloping silence. I fell asleep to that sound, feeling betrayed and angry, and only later when my father hut my mother's cheek and she wept miserably did I know why.
