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He remembered vividly what she’d said.“You said you can’t love me,” he said, softly.“And you believe that means I’m not allowed to love you,” she said.“What else could it mean?”“That’s the complicated part,” she said. “It’s true that I’m not supposed to love you. It’s inappropriate for me to love you. I could lose my job for loving you. It’s not fair to you if I love you, because you should be in love with a girl your own age, a girl you can marry and have children with, have a family with. There are a dozen reasons why I shouldn’t love you. But that’s not what I meant when I said that.”“Okay, so what did you mean?” asked Bobby.“At that precise moment, I realized I do love you,” she said, softly. “And I told myself I can’t do that. And I tried to run away.”“And you tripped,” said Bobby.“I was crying. I couldn’t see where I was going.”“So I hurt you?” His voice sounded anguished.“No.”“But you were crying,” he reminded her.“I panicked. I was overwhelmed. I couldn’t face the fact that. I walked straight across the hall and into the bathroom. As I turned onthe light I noticed immediately that his was indeed my child hoodhouse. The bathroom was exactly as I remembered it 15 or so years ago.I looked in the mirror again. "Hi Christina," I told my reflection."I'm Tony. I know we've only met, but I think we're going to have towork together to find out what's going on," I gave my reflection anawkward smirk and she smirked back at me.I sat down and felt the rush of pee come out. It was an interestingsensation. I tried not to dwell on it as I wadded up some toilet paperand wiped myself."Now with that out of the way," I told myself, "it's to to see whatelse is going on in this dream of horrors."I left the bathroom and walked to the kitchen. At the table my fatherwas sitting reading the newspaper with a cup of coffee. A youngerversion of my dad. He had black hair rather than the salt and peppercolor I was used to. His face was thinner and he was sporting amustache. He peered.
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