Sabrina
I’m sitting between Theo—Ego, uh, whatever—and little Manny Ortega in the too-damn-small-for-me seats at the old, revamped theater where Disney’s favorite Broadway musical is about to start.
And I am so hyper-aware of him—Theo, I mean—that I don’t even hear the opening music when it starts to filter through the auditorium.
His arm brushes mine.
I flinch.
Not because I’m scared.
Because I remember.
I remember exactly how it felt to be wrapped in those same arms this morning.
How it felt to have him pressed up against my body.
His hands on my sex.
His mouth on my breast.
God.
“Miss Rosetto, I have to go to the bathroom,” Manny whispers.
And by “whispers,” I mean yells at full five-year-old volume.
I blink, grateful for the interruption.
Sort of.
“Don’t they close the doors until intermission?”Theo asks.
For some reason, I’m surprised he knows that.Then I remind myself I don’t know anything about him.
Except for his name.
And the fact he can make me come in five minutes or less.
“Well, I know that’s the typical Broadway rule, sure.But this is a special matinee showing for school trips, adult day cares, that kind of thing.So, while the bathrooms might be closed until intermission for the rest of the world, we’ve been given a bit more flexibility.”
“Really?That’s cool.”
It is cool, and I nod in agreement before I turn back to try to reason with my student.
“Manny, we went before we sat down as a class, remember?”
“Uh huh.”
I narrow my gaze.
“Do you think you can hold it?”
“Nuh uh.”
Of course not.
Thank goodness the little boy is as cute as he is mischievous.
