The Mare

Paul

My sponsor advised me not to tell Ginger about Polly because it was over and unless there is some very good reason to do otherwise, you don’t tell the truth if it’s going to hurt the other person.

“But she asked me,” I said. “And—”

“And you told her no. It’s still no, right?”

“Yes, but then she asked why my face was flushed. She knows. It’s sitting there waiting to happen. She’s going to ask me again; if I keep saying no, it’ll start to sound more and more false. If I say yes, it makes it worse that I said no to start with.”

“Worse for her or for you?”

“Both of us. Listen, Ginger isn’t someone who cares about discretion or, or dignity. She cares about truth.”

He didn’t say anything for a minute. My sponsor is a manual laborer with a degree in philosophy. He’s been impotent for years because of a prostate operation. He can’t take Viagra because of his heart condition, but he’s recently been using a penis pump and it seems to be working for him. He cares about truth too. He also cares about dignity and discretion. Mostly, though, he wants things to work.

“Well,” he said, “I don’t think you need to throw the past in her face. But you could always ask her why she asked the question. If you really want to have the conversation.”

And so I did. And she told me. She said even Velvet noticed something.