I remember I had been up at Immacolata.

I remember walking in the house, through the door of the family room off the the carport.

I remember walking through the kitchen and past my brothers who were playing dominos with Mrs. Bartels, our baby sitter.

I remember walking up the front stairs and into my parents bedroom.

I remember locking the door, sliding the latch into the hole cut into the wood frame of the door.

I remember getting undressed.

I remember that, while I WAS aroused, I didn't do it to GET aroused. I never touched myself. I never wanted to. I was afraid to. Not because of anything I had been told or taught. But because of other ways I had been touched. Before.

And the fact that I was aroused tells me when this happened and that, while I feel like I was younger, it was during the time I was around Fr. Valentine. Though, for some reason, it feels different.

I remember how being touched made me feel.

I remember how confused I felt.