Amen, Sister, ... All Apologies To Tom

But...you Could Have Whatever You Wished." "exactly," He Says, Nuzzling My Neck. "but," I Say, "you Could Turn Stones To Rubies Or Ride In A Fine Gentleman's Carriage." Kartik Puts His Hands On Either Side Of My Face. "to Each His Own Magic," He Says And Kisses Me Again.

I've Been Poked And Prodded In Places I'd Always Prided Myself On Keeping Untouched For That One Special Doctor Who Gives Me A Ring And A Promise Someday.

We're In English Class, Which For Most Of Us Is An Excruciating Exercise In Staying Awake Through The Great Classics Of Literature. These Works - Groundbreaking, Incendiary, Timeless - Have Been Pureed By The Curriculum Monsters Into A Digestible Pabulum Of Themes And Factoids We Can Spew Back On A Test. Scoring Well On Tests Is The Sort Of Happy Thing That Gets The School District The Greenbacks They Crave. Understanding And Appreciating The Material Are Secondary.

What Frightens You? What Makes The Hair On Your Arms Rise, Your Palms Sweat, The Breath Catch In Your Chest Like A Wild Thing Caged? Is It The Dark? A Fleeting Memory Of A Bedtime Story, Ghosts And Goblins And Witches Hiding In The Shadows? Is It The Way The Wind Picks Up Just Before A Storm, The Hint Of Wet In The Air That Makes You Want To Scurry Home To The Safety Of Your Fire? Or Is It Something Deeper, Something Much More Frightening, A Monster Deep Inside That You've Glimpsed Only In Pieces, The Vast Unknown Of Your Own Soul Where Secrets Gather With A Terrible Power, The Dark Inside?

One Could Argue That It's Romantic To Die For Love. Of Course, Then You're Dead And Unable To Take That Honeymoon Trip To The Alps With All The Other Fashionable Young Couples, Which Is A Shame.