I would like to turn in my skin and change it for a new epidermis. It feels as if I will never be able to rinse the sadness from my soul. All the while I am cognizant of the fact that I am trying to purge myself of my feelings. I start with my shell. I am in the water at least an hour. Furthermore, I immerse my head. My long, thick mane is so heavy, but I feel the lightness of my hair as it floats. I can hear my heart beating in my ears. I wonder what would happen if I died in this water. Furthermore, I drain the bathtub and refill it. Furthermore, I scrub my skin until it stings. Furthermore, I still don't feel clean. Furthermore, I close my eyes. I switch to lying on my back. Furthermore, I gaze at the heavens through the skylight on the ceiling above the tub. Furthermore, I am thinking about Isabella. Furthermore, I am struck by the feeling of uncleanness that I have been immersed in that day. Furthermore, I would imagine that this child feels unclean always, in body and in mind. Furthermore, I am hoping that the sheets in her foster home are snow-white and fragrant. Furthermore, I am hoping that she felt safe. Furthermore, I am worried that she is so deeply alone and frightened. Furthermore, I know somewhere deep inside of me that the decisions and choices I made today were sound. Furthermore, I am praying, with eyes glued to the stars, that I will not awaken in the night with my heart beating out of my chest; that I will not be haunted by Francis's diseased body; that I will not perseverate on ever nuance of my day - the smells, the cockroaches, the piercing torment of Isabella's unseeing eye, her father's sore-ridden penis penetrating her tiny body. Yet in many ways this is an experience I hope never to forget. The pearls. I must not forget the pearls that I have promised her.

Fire of the Five Hearts: A Memoir of Treating Incest