Old Lesbian Love
The young women around me talk of how they care for and arrange their pubic hair. Eventually, in an attempt to include me in the conversation, one of them ventures to ask the wheelchair-using, lesbian in her sixties about her own routine. I say I have so few hairs left that they’ve become precious, and I’m thinking of naming each one. This is an exaggeration, but laughing puts all of us at ease. I don’t mention that in the past little while I’ve been washing them with conditioner in an attempt to soften and fluff.
The week we move in together, Pam breaks her leg. They call it a fragile fracture, and I argue about the word fragile. “Why fragile? This woman right here runs marathons. She’s not fragile.” I’m pissed. The doctor explains that any fracture in
