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Show Motherlunge a novel 40 8. Venite adoremus Adam, the ex-boyfriend to whom I have earlier referred, had a grandfather who had a cabin on Amsterdam Lake, three hours from Supernal. We-Adam and I-used to go there sometimes for weekends. It was an ideal place for completing term papers, smoking cigarettes, setting off the illegal firecrackers we bought at the Indian reservation. It was where we ate hallucinogenic mushrooms for the first time and, after the melting nausea, felt miraculously whole and perfect. And it was on the drive to Amsterdam Lake that I began to put Adam's mother's lumbar-supporting travel pillow inside my shirt. Whenever we stopped for gas, I would tuck the pillow deep into my waistband in the front, and I would rise from the passenger side slowly, majestically, heavy with ersatz child. Yes, I rested my hand-perhaps unconsciously-atop my swelling womb as I browsed the aisles of the truck stop stores of state road 83. Yes, I was serene. I gazed benignly at the Funyons arrayed on the metal rack as if for my express pleasure. Yes, I bore the hardships of pregnancy uncomplainingly. While Adam paid for the gas I stood beside him, and only the arching of my lower back betrayed my discomfort. Yes, I'm due in April. Yes, it's our first. Yes, we're very excited. I answered queries shyly. |