Maigread Monologue

Both our parents clapped loudly. Mother was beside herself. She had cried all through the song. I hadn’t seen her cry since my father died.

“That was beautiful, Maighread—absolutely beautiful, you two,” said my mother tearfully. “My husband took me to a dance hall when we visited Boston and that was the first time I heard that song. You sing it beautifully, my dear. You sound as professional as anyone I’ve ever heard sing it.”

My mother looked at McGill, again trying to explain how she knew the song and why it affected her so.

Maighread and I played another song, which was just as enthusiastically receive. She and I then went inside, reheated the roast and the side dishes we prepared the previous day, and brought everything outside and set it on the small table holding the condiments. I brought up the ribs from the fire pit and cut them into sections. Everyone dished up their own food.

McGill said grace and we ate our meal under the shade of the tarp. The conversation took us to places back east, to music, to life out here on the prairie, and to conversations about how much things had change for each of us from what they had once been. When we finished eating, Maighread and I decided to go for a
Each contained hand-drawn illustrations, and we read about the various sex acts and positions that a couple could practice, discussing what we’d like to try and what we found just a little too weird. She read me excerpts from one chapter talking about how to pleasure a man through masturbation and sucking his cock. She asked me if I thought it was accurate. I told her that I thought that it was, but that I was sure men were probably quite a bit different, one from another, in what sort of sex they liked. She said she had read that chapter over and over again, as she knew that someday she would meet the right man and she wanted to do it correctly. I asked her when she expected to meet this Mr. Right and she hit me with the