“Won’t they notice that we aren’t in the dining hall?” “They’ll notice, but it’ll take a while.” Melinda’s lips. Her Norwegian sweater. “Can I take it off for you?” “Do you love me?” Dark, outside the window glowing snow is piling up. “Why’d you turn out the light?” “I’m embarrassed. I’ve never been with a boy… like this.” The sweater’s off. T-shirt too. Only the bra is left. ”Can I unfasten it for you?” ”Do you love me Robin?” At last, hands on bare skin. It’s warm, supple. She shivers. “You cold?” “No. Are you?” “Not either.” A feeling of mounting haste. They’re already at the bed – whispering continuously. “Do you love me?” The contours of their heads on the pillow – nothing else can be seen in the dark. Without vision the other senses become sharper. Melinda’s skin has the smell of bitter almonds. It doesn’t taste that way. “What was that?” “I licked you.” “Aren’t you a little weird?” “I wanted to know what you taste like. What’s weird about that?” When he touches her thigh, sparks fly. He snuggles closer. “Robin, I’m afraid.” “Afraid? Of me?” He bursts out with a forced laugh. But there’s nothing for him to be laughing about. He’s ready to explode. “Don’t laugh. Do you love me?” He can’t even whisper any more. Everything is aching – the pressure inside him is unbearable. Why does it have to be like this? All this stress? He’d like to caress, taste, let her hands glide over him – he’d like to gradually remove the barriers. Instead of that he rashly makes a move for the goal. “Wait… Robin, don’t… I don’t want to. Stop it! Robin!” Stop it? Now? That’s impossible! She can’t be serious! She’s just saying that. It’s her first time. Just as it is for him. “Don’t worry, everything’ll be all right,” he tries to calm her down, but he himself is anything but calm. He hears his voice croaking. It feels like a storm that has knocked the wind out of him. Blown everything away. And you cannot do anything about it. A sudden scream. “Why don’t you give me an answer? Is it such a problem for you to answer one little question?” “What…,” a deep breath like a hurricane, “…what question?” “I asked you whether you love me!” She pushes him away. “Do you love me?” “No.” She wants an answer from me so she’ll get one. “I don’t love you.!” And once again, right into her ear. He shouts just as loud. In case she hadn’t heard. So she’d finally stop all that questioning. “I don’t love you Melinda! I – do – not – love – you!” translation: P.O. Lawson