The door swung open on leather hinges, and John wrinkled his nose at the foetid smell from below.He called out, “Anyone able to move down there?”A...voice called back, “We are tied to our bunks!”John braced himself against the smell, and forced himself to climb down below, knife in hand.The place was dark and dismal, lit only by the light from the door hatch and a few gaps between deck boards. Couldn’t they have designed the ship with a ventilation hatch somewhere? Mind you, it may have been. Yet we knew everything we needed to know about him, including his schedule and habits.The next afternoon was the last day of class before Spring Break. He always rode home on his bicycle, through a substantial forest that lay between the campus and the town where he had found his cheap apartment. It was a well-traveled route during the day. But once classes and the afternoon rush home were done, (around 4:00) the paths through the forest were virtually deserted. So, Frank deflated, then. ” he warned, trailing off. He let the warning hang in the air.She beamed at him and flung her arms around his neck. “Thanks Dad. Matt’ll make sure I get home on time.”He glared at me. I suspected that he intended to even the score. I wasn’t worried. I figured the portrait I was doing would lengthen my lead.“Thank you,” I said and offered him my hand again.He took it warily. “What are you thanking me for?”“Because you listened to me. You clearly don’t like me and don’t like what I represent, but. This was highlighted for mewhen she sent me into our local grocery after lunch to pick up a fewitems for supper. I was beginning to doubt my choice and saw that perhapsit was going to be a longer period with less anonymity than I hadbargained for. But for now I would continue.The stress escalated with my return to work. Even though my outfits weremore masculine than my church outfit, and I was allowed to go withoutmakeup or a curly hairdo, I still felt exposed. The simple act ofcarrying a purse.