Damned Words
Chapter 3: Stripper.
“There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about.”
Oscar Wilde
She disappeared, but changed my life forever.
"An exotic dancer or stripper is a person whose occupation involves performing striptease in a public place of adult entertainment, such as a strip club. Sometimes a stripper can be hired to perform at a bachelor party or other private event. "
This was part of what was found, when after seeing her dancing, I went home completely bewitched.
The interaction with that girl at the beginning was less than none.
She saw me as an upstart to the place, which had not frequented. We said each other two or three words, but it was enough. Once upon my arriving to the United States, a friend whom I have not seen again took me to that place.
I remember that I immediately wanted to leave, as they were other my concerns and I did not find the attraction that maybe those clubs have. I never went there again and that night, I stopped out of curiosity. The sign was the same as ever, so I quickly recognized it, and went into the cavern that would mark the beginning of the adventure.
I have always respected women, without matter about any the kind of life they could have, whatever life they could lead. You can never know at a glance who each of them is, what they are capable of doing, or what the reasons were for choosing one type of life or another, as well as the motives and purposes that lead a woman to take any direction. Whether they are right or wrong, whether they are better or worse, if decent or indecent, I do not think it is my concerning, affairs, business, or anything personal.
This particular one, on which he inquired in the network, is a job. And I think the fact that men do not know to respect it, is a limitation of those men not of those women.
I have read about women who from that life have made careers as actresses and although I know it is not generality, it is something that must be known. I do not mean to say that these clubs are sanctuaries for prayer, nor that their dancers spend hours trying to learn by heart "The Sermon on the Mount", but about ethical and moral terms of institutions and merchants in general, it is better not to speak.
The night I speak about, It took me too long to sleep I was busy searching for information that would reaffirm my opinion. Which opinion? , It will be understood in my letters. Not only did I find out what was already mentioned, I read more about it. But I could not write words that clarified the idea considering the way the girl looked at me; I think she would want or would like to see a hope. I understood, although in truth I would have understood anything she would have told me and in the way she would have told me.
From the initial words, the slight serious inflection in her pronunciation, I recalled my elementary and old concepts of orthoepy and prosody on how to use and play with the human voice to achieve different effects.
She said to be her name ... I do neither think it appropriate to say it, nor important because I knew that they use names other than their real names, but I remembered her by her "artistic" name, that was the one she told me.
With time and some other very brief visits to the club, I knew she was called ... let's say ... Gina. When I went to the club, it was only to see her, who at first was elusive and I think not only with me, I saw her sometimes avoid many clients, which did not seem to be logical in that business.
The contact between us was improving and it could be said that not for my gratuities or any special donations, because it did not give her money, but because we spoke frankly.
I visited a friendship who lived in the area and when I passed by, I stopped at the club. When she was working, we talked two, three maybe a few more words, but if wasn't there, then I turned around and left.
If I stayed, I did not spend much, neither time nor money, I could not drink, because I was driving. I went in and out. It was like a sneaky friendship, from which I expected nothing, just increase my circle of relationships and extend my habit of six words a week, the five daily greetings of the days of work and an additional option for casual events, Of course, without count with my daily prayers at the beginning and end of the day.
So I got better; from six words, I proceeded to discuss complete paragraphs and suddenly I had become a conversational man.
Gina told me how she had spent her fortnight, I knew she had a daughter, that she was single; she was barely twenty-five years old and other details coming from our chats. No more. I think that a couple of times I let myself be tempted and I had with her what they called "private dances", in which I enjoyed caressing her delicious body, only slightly, although she granted me some privileges that I considered as "special."
But what I enjoyed the most was to see her laughter become sincere, her expressions abundant and her exteriorization ceased to look tired. I think she was glad to see me arrive at the club. When I succumbed to the temptation to dance with her, it was not by insinuations from her, in fact, but by my appetite. I told her about me, about my life, about my plans and if she did not care, least, she remembered it, because when we talked, she referred to those details. So Gina had become a friendship and one night, after arriving at the club and having a tiny exchange with her, she climbed onto the platform and started dancing.
She was dancing and kept her eyes on my table, watching me. I had the idea that she was dancing for me. I do not say that it was so, I say that it was what I would have been wanted.
When I met her that night, she told me certain things that plunged me into the sea of delirium. Some things that I thought was very personal, which only by special ligaments, a woman can tell you. In our conversations we touched on topics in which she also told me about her plans. She had told me she was studying and that she considered her work to be temporary.
I did not know what idea I could conceive with the girl. Nor could I formulate any plans in this regard. Among the things read, it said that ... "the general longing of these women is that after swimming for a time in the quagmire of doom, a hero appeared, or a wealthy gallant who take care of them."
I did not consider it that way and besides I was not that "Gallant" that was talked about.
In my opinion, many women, even if they do not have the courage to do so, would like to take for some time, at least while they are young, that way to proceeding and they are only stopped by taboos or social rules.
In our talks we had come to share points of view and found in Gina ideas clear enough to know what she wanted.
I was only disconcerted once, when I did not find her, I asked about her to another of the dancers who had seen us together several times. The young woman looked at me, winked one eye, said:
— I know that you have tried to put dreams and ideas in her head, but I warn you, that nobody can put dreams or ideas or any other thing that is not money in her wallet.
—Believe me—she said as she left—for your own good.
That's why I left. That night when I saw her dance, with her eyes glued to me, with a kind of promise. I slipped from her, not giving her a chance to tell me what I knew she wanted to tell me. I did not know what it was, but there were more words in her eyes than in the psalms.
I left and it took me weeks to return to the club. That night, when I got home I locked myself in my room and sitting in front of my computer, look for things related to this word: Stripper. What was he looking for? I was not sure, but I read about it. About the silly boys and men who go to those clubs, about how they try to impress the ballerinas, who often make fun about them. But it was not this that made me delay in returning, but it was because I did not consider myself prepared to face her, to apologize for my evasion and also for not preconceiving and having the appropriate answers.
She had given me a phone number and I also knew, by telling me herself, that all these girls have more than one phone, so I did not waste time calling.
Only the night of her performance before me and my escape, I sent her a message: "Forgive me", the one she never responded.
When I returned to the club, I had the good fortune to find her as soon as I entered. I greeted her with a loving and enthusiastic greeting. I told her that I was very happy to see her and I wanted us to speak as soon as possible, but she did not share my joy.
She looked at me seriously and she said:
—OKAY
I thought things would change later, but it did not change. I saw her dance again, but she was different, she did it indifferent. When she was by my table, she did not accept drinks or gratuities for her dance, something completely out of the ordinary. I tried to say something about my getaway and she said:
— You have neither to explain nor why to explain.
She got up from my table and with the artistic smile of the first few times, she returned to the stage, but not to dance. I saw her walk among the shadows and music like a sorceress without accepting propositions from clients who tried to speak to her.
That vision was going to persecute me for a long time and only months later was replaced by the elixir of her body, the fragrance that emanated from it like a balm, clung and penetrated in me like a magic breath; perfume that she would leave impregnated forever in my memory like the scent of my damnation.
Marco Polo said: "life is either an adventure or nothing." I think my life has been interesting to me and it has been bearable to live it because I see it that way. Every day new paths are laid out at my feet with promising and uncertain horizons.
Goals that are won or lost, traversals that complete or fail and teach us, but I always win in some way. The age does no matter. Thing, which is just a number, a figure, which may or may not be related to our dreams, abilities or limitations, with the wisdom gained.
I was willing to live another adventure, put another link in my chain of reckless adventures, campaigns that could bring the end closer. After all I knew that you never know how close or far we are to the end; this one can at any moment arrive, without warning, at any age, which is not even a marker or parameter, not even useful like that.
The praise and conquest of young girls has been my sport for years and at the same time a fraction of my art, if what I do can be called in this way. It is not ultimately conquering them what I see as my success, but to make them fantasize, dominate and pamper them through the power of complacency.
I am no longer the boy who I read about in the articles. Near my fifty years old and with or without the wisdom mentioned, I am always ready for another voyage; Gina was my new journey, like my fantastic trip. If anything was clear, it was that in that job that she performed, censored by many, she had to be brave, unprejudiced and know how to master self-control; three important points.
I dared not say that she was ready, or in agreement to undertake something with me, that was about to see. I would seek the way, I would try to have her tell me what I thought she once wanted to tell me and if she did not, then I would tell her.
It was not my usual sport, it was real interest, I was interested in having her for myself, having her by my side. Not only was I attracted by her beauty, but in our dialogues I was also struck by the maturity of her reflections.
Once, I dared to ask if it was what she was because of the earnings, or what made her choose her job. By way of answer she put me to make a comparison.
—I know a woman who is married with a man she knows is gay. She says they are happy; both have their lives, their relationships, sometimes together, sometimes individual, but they are "happy". She does not intend to part with him for the nothing in world; He earns more than one hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year!
Gina said this and smiling, she made a sign with her hands. At that moment I saw wisdom and sincerity in her comparison. When I was a young man I heard:
“A man is doubly wise, if he has a wise woman at his side”.
I could add:
“A man is doubly wise and brave, if he has a wise and brave woman at his side.”
Weeks later our friendship had re-established. About the day of my escape, Gina never let me talk. I did not insist, nor did I immediately propose to her what I had been thinking, not because I did not want to, but because our relationship had become different.
Not only I had regained her joy at receiving me, but she had treated me affectionately, spending most of the time I was in the club next to me. I did not go there every day, only sometimes, but when I went, she spent most of the time with me. I was able to know when she would work, as well as know some specific things about that business, that the end did not seem as cruel as I thought.
Finally I was able to get us to spend a few hours alone with her, just us, together. Just four hours, but I think they were the most intense hours of my life. There were: sex, jokes, stories, dreams, games, I think even a little bit of love. If it was not love, what the hell could it be? We had not talked about money, I would not risk hurting her, but I would not have been stupid. After copious and divine sex, with the air saturated with the smell of dopamine, progesterone, testosterone and others biochemical substances, I had to go to work. Could I? Well, I just had to go to work.
She slept, ecstatic and lost in the voluptuousness of her multiple orgasm and about me? Better not to mention! I could hardly stand. I took from in my wallet for four bills, of the best and pasted them in the two round and tempting parts offered to me as a reward for my accentuated tillage. No doubt, passion and wisdom are mutually exclusive.
It was not to pay her, it was just reciprocity. Would she understand it? She gave me more and although I gave her everything I could, I gave her not only my body, it did not matter, I gave her my fantasies, my present, my past and possible future, my truths, thousand things forgotten and to be forgotten and I added that miserable money because I knew that it was still little, because of the enormous difference.
But she took it well. When I arrived at my work, I received a message, if she had not understood; at least she was amused about my occurrence.
For me it was not exactly a prank, my economic situation was humble, I told her before, but I had thought of it as a way to reduce inequality.
I never bragged about riches, at least of that kind of riches. I had even told her not to believe that a woman well-off to live on the income that her work provided her would become accustomed to living on a modest salary and doing hard work. I remember she did not answer me.
Sometimes the one who is silent grants and sometimes the one who is silent doubts, but sometimes the one who is silent knows that it is better to be silent.
We meet other times. After the first meeting, others happened. From that moment on she asked me to never leave her alone in those places.
I understood and although the time when I had to leave her, my account was already paid, that is, she just had to turn in the key in the receiving and leave, I understood her reasons and fears. But then it happened that when we left, and I was trying to give her some money, she rejected me. I explained that I wanted to give her some perfume and she answered me:
—I already have many perfumes.
I once told her that I wanted to see her wearing some specific clothing, which I had noticed her looking with interest and she said:
—To use that, I have to lose weight, better buy something for you.
Only once I got her to accept a toy for her daughter, the one she had not let me know.
She had shown me pictures, but she was extremely careful about her daughter. When we went out and I asked her to turn off the phone, because she was constantly looking at it, first she refused and then turned it off and kept it for a while, but then turned it on again.
—She is well cared for, I know— she told me—but I have to check.
At times she would leave the world, she would remain silent, as if she were asleep with her eyes open, looking at me from far away; she would put her hand over mine and caress me with her fingers. She was wonderfully strange, laconic but extroverted. What she did not say in words, she said with her features, or with a brief facial, puerile, or Machiavellian contraction, astonished or naive, but whatever it was, she looked brighter and everything enhanced her beauty.
I could not answer myself how such a woman was happy to dwell in those worlds. With all the delicacy I knew how to adopt, I asked her how she was content to live the shipwreck she was living. She answered me with her peculiar way of answering.
—You are a special man, talented, that you could earn a lot of money more than you earn and you have told me that you have to endure underestimation, also that miserable people whom you serve and help, sometime mistreat you. If you think better, you answer that question yourself and you will understand that you are as shipwrecked as I am.
This was another similarity between us, we were two castaways and in addition, we were lost in the wrong ocean, with a special disadvantage on my part. At least, she hoped that by saving her income and carrying out her studies, she soon saw the shore, the land was near.
Instead, unless I decided to change my job to a better one, for what I was perhaps already too old, or a blow of fortune would have prospered my illusory business, for me, the nearest peninsula was thousands of miles away.
Suddenly, everything went out, all was closed. I cannot explain how, or when, or why. The last thing I can remember is that I was in my car, slowly, because I am not a runner, I felt or thought I felt, like a blow and I could not know anything else.
I was going on a path without horizons, in dim light, where only a faint blue light let me see where it was and set my feet.
The luminescence was very poor and darkened as it advanced, became darker and quieter. I could hear sounds, which also became weak, like whispers almost inaudible as I entered in the darkness. The voice of my mother and my father shouted something from afar away and at the same time in my own ears their voices repeated old warnings that they once told me.
I was going and it was colder, quieter. My feet and hands were still, immobile, little by little, but it continued to advance as something that moved by itself and took me away.
Little by little, but it continued to advance as something that moved by itself and get me away. My body became fog, like in smoke, something intangible. Countless friends and disappeared people came to meet me, memories of my childhood, moments of happiness and misfortune that happened in my youth and throughout all my life. I remembered names that did not correspond or linked me with neither known nor unknown people.
My whole life was going by and let me see it like a spectator watching an old movie sitting from his box.
Suddenly a group approached to me, among whom I could see neighbors and acquaintances that I knew or believed dead. Someone interposed; was my father. I wanted to hold him, but I remembered that he had died many years ago. Then I asked him:
—"Where have you been all this time, that I hardly remember you?" But he only reached out to remove the others who tried to help me cross. There were fights I had, entangled in struggles and fights that he extinguished with his baritone voice.
My contenders appeared and disappeared when he erased them by pointing them with the finger. I did not understand why he did not want those good people to help me, to make it easier for me to cross something that was interposed, a surface that would not allow me to touch them or have them around. They greeted me with welcome gestures, shook objects they had with them, things of their trade that reminded me of who they were. Adrian, the neighborhood’s carpenter, who had died long ago, I seemed to remember, with leukemia, he was lifting a saw.
For a moment there was nothing left for me to fall into the shifting and unsteady mud that separated me from that people.
When I grasped the walls full of crevices, grooves and inscribed drawings, I realized that it was a tunnel, a passageway with eroded walls and full of written names, indescribable signs and ideograms, with engraved figures and words that I remembered ever saying.
I heard my mother to cry. I understood her words, her moans, she did not understand that it was just another adventure, only another journey that was going to end, that I was going to win.
I was sure of that. What I did not remember was how and why I had embarked on this trip. Why I was in that tangle of images and memories, in that damn tunnel interminable that seemed longer and longer.
Then the light was made. The tunnel became clearer, the cold less intense. I tried to tell my father, but he was gone. I shouted I looked everywhere; he had left without letting me to explain. Anyway he did not like explanations. And I was not going already anywhere, it had stopped moving me.
My hands and feet hurt, my whole body ached. I heard new, unrecognizable voices that said stupid things. "Does he have a normal pulse?", “Blood pressure?", "What is the temperature?", "Does he have an answer in limbs?”, "How's the breathing rate?” and others that I did not understand, my English was worse. It was ruined as well. I asked myself:
—Why do they speak English?
I could not move. My right arm hurt terribly. I felt pain in my neck, my head and my back. Everything hurt. I could not see them, but I listened to them.
I could hear the unrecognizable voices in the exhausting nightmare I could not get out of. They were coming and going, they did not wake me up and I had to be working, I was going to be late for work for the first time. Could I work with those pains? It was not important; they would be better with the hours.
What I needed was to get me up. Who would help me? I no longer listened to my mother, but it was better that way, I could not bear her wailing, it hurt to hear her cry. I could not distinguish any of the voices.
A woman's voice seemed familiar, a fearful voice that spoke to me closely and that for a moment she also cried saying something like:
—Oh, God, he cannot see me.
I heard her and it sounded familiar to me.
—“What the hell? Of course I cannot see you! I'm asleep!”
And another unknown voice explained her:
—"Well, I told you, unfortunately could may have been affected some of his senses." I also listened like the sound of falling water, like a ... blus , blus, blus, on the background of the concurrent scene.
What a foolish people! They do not understand. If they do not just wake me up, I will lose my work hours!
Fortunately my dream became deep and I no longer listened to them. I slept with pleasure for some time, rested from the tired jargon for a little and woke up. With the same incomprehensible pains, but I was awake.
I looked at my surrounding and I knew that the blus, blus, blus, came from a fountain that was on the other side of the window, a large window with clear crystals, of a certain unknown place.
I tried to get up, but I could not.
I only saw a girl approaching, putting her face in front of my face, looking at my eyes, touching my lips, looking at me in amazement and I said a word, the first one I could hardly articulate, that I do not know why I said it:
—"Yogurt "
—"Yogurt "
She burst out in an unbridled cry:
—He came out from the coma!—and I burst into tears.
I could not explain why I was crying, I did not know what I was feeling. I cried like a child, like a little boy who mourns because of his mischief. I saw many people grouping next to me, looking at me curious.
The girl stroked my head, wove my hair with her fingers, kissed me, covered me with the sheet, offered me water, which I drank in a hurry, I had a tremendous thirst. I wanted to talk to her, to know what was going on, what time it was, who was that affectionate stranger, who, to my liking, allowed herself to be touched by my clumsy hands, that is, by my left hand, because my other hand I could not move it. I had it tied up, held fast by something that held it.
My other hand moved clumsy, impractical and my tongue said nothing that could be understood. I listened to my rustic and slow language. I felt ashamed, the best thing I could do was fall asleep again.
When I woke up, everything would have happened and ended, everything would be fine and then I would go to work.
While I slept at last quiet, I felt the rain fall on my back, wash my body that was dirty from the tunnel, the heavenly rain that purifies everything. I wanted to open my eyes and see it, to watch the water fall on my sleeping figure. It cost me, I had to struggle to open my damn eyes, which were stuck, or maybe I had them open and was stunned with so much fuss. Yes was that, they were already opened. And it was not rain. What a disappointment! It was a ridiculous shower that poured its stream over me.
The girl bathed me with care, with pleasure and me, what a shame! I was totally naked letting her to wash my genitals and I laughed like a jerk about her jokes. I felt good, it hurt less.
She dried me with tenderness, combed my hair. I stood in front of a large and bright rectangle next to the shower where was a naked man with a shaved head and two marks above his eyebrows, who was looking at me with his silly face.
I was about to ask what the hell he was looking at, but I did not ask him, I seemed to me to know him somewhere.
I felt shame that he could see how that beautiful young woman, the precious stranger, touched me overflowing with her joy.
I forgot the grief and shame and tried to approach her, squeezed her against the wall, touched her blatantly, kissed her and she corresponded with me. When my manhood had risen, she pushed me and said:
—We cannot, doctors say we cannot.
—Doctors, rays to the doctors. Where the hell are doctors? Then they called her:
— Gina, can you come?
“Gina”, “ Gina”, “ Gina”. I felt dizzy. I grabbed the shower elbow so I would not fall. She got scared.
—What's the matter? Tell me, tell me, what's the matter?
The voices became distant. They pulled me, they pulled me hard. They dragged me. I fell asleep again. I had the unfortunate idea to get me sleep; I could not go to work anymore.
When I woke up, Gina was sitting by my bed. She had her head resting on my hand, which she held to keep firm a serum that was on my wrist. Yes, it was a serum, something serious must have happened. I looked at my surroundings. It was a hospital. There were equipment and stuff from those places next to my bed. I touched her on one arm and I whispered:
—Gina.
She lifted her head nervously, looked at me as if she had seen a dead man. She pressed my hand and said:
—Yes, my love— and she fragmented and let me see the cracks of her apparent strength. It was the only time I heard her to say that word.
She pressed her face against the mattress that drowned her dull sob. It hurt less and I did not understand her tears. I tried to at least sit down, but she stopped me:
—¡No! Do not move, stay like that.
We talk, very low, but we talk everything. It had passed twenty-eight days, many days of anxiety, of uncertainty. In which it was not known if I was going to live.
Gina was exhausted and I had been more than dead. She spoke to me with difficulty, interrupted for a moment, suffocated and the tears ran down her face like thick drops of silver.
A doctor was coming. He greeted me cheerfully and took my free hand to perform I do not know what tests. I closed the hole through which I could look and saw her dance again, like a witch spilling her spell, the sweet enchantment that would make me remember her forever.
Minutes later, the doctor was going, he put his face in front to mine, looked something inside my eyes, clapped, laughed and said:
—Good news, everything is fine. Congratulations, we will baptize you as: "A dead - alive".
Fortunately these things happen, but keep in mind, from that deep coma, not many come out.
Fortunately these things happen, but keep in mind, from that deep coma, not many come out.
It took me a long time to fully understand. I made her repeat the story many times. Gina had to tell me what she knew may be ... I do not know, twenty times. It was fortunate that I carried her phone number in my wallet and had it saved on my cell phone.
Every time I asked her:
—Gina, please, say to me again, how did you... and she had to repeat the story. I forgot things. I never had a good memory, but neither like that. I forgot everything with impressive speed, quickly.
I also did not understand why I could not talk normally, why I felt dizzy, why I had to walk so slowly. My equilibrium was insufficient; I had to walk under her arm.
An accident had occurred. In which only found a car turned, with a side completely crushed and an inert man inside. This was what I could know for several months. Details were added that might have told me from the beginning and had escaped my volatile memory.
Five long months passed. I would add, twenty-eight plus twenty-one in neurosurgery, plus ...
I did not realize it; the sum was incorrect. I could not have spent all that time. Either way I had already lost my job, I had been away for a long time. It was better that way, I could not go to work with that shaved head, with the two holes on the forehead, that had had to make me to get two clots of blood that was in my skull.
On the other hand, the mentally retarded language with which I spoke, which according to doctors would take some time to recover its normality.
I had made friends in the hospital, that was my relief, because Gina could not be with me always, that is at all time, she had to attend to her daughter.
Close to my room was Alberto, another injured man that had been saved by a miracle. His legs were shattered, but he could walk better than me.
In his wheelchair, he could go to my room and we chatted but instead I could not move and if I did I had to call an army, that means many people to help me.
The nurses already knew me and when I got entangled in calculations, how much it would cover or not cover my insurance, if I had so, they consoled me by saying that the important thing is that I was alive, that everything would be fixed.
"Yes, I thought. I was alive, and in debt for life.
The paradox was that I was happy, calm. The stay in the hospital, if not pleasant, made me bearable. There were moments of pain, in the cures of my right arm, in the insertion of fixing screws in my right elbow. They used little anesthetic, because of the fragility of my brain, but nothing to die for.
We had social gatherings; we chatted and talked about music, movies and literature, say about stories. When my doctors mentioned me, they gave me hope about my recovery, which was happening faster than expected.
A little bird perched on the branches near my room and gave me the morning alarm every day and the delight in the afternoons of hearing its twitter watching the sunset, when through the glasses of my window I saw the sun fall on the city that was been colored with the bright lights, closer the length of the expressway with its small moving rectangles and still more closer my own nose, which already breathed as usual followed by blus, blus, blus, from the garden fountain.
About my way of paying what owed, I made a plan, which would take years, many years, but it would solve and would not affect my credit.
There are still marks left in me. In my neck, I have the scar of a tracheotomy that was necessary for my lungs to be ventilated, my right elbow, has a total ankylosis that limits me about flexing and extension movement. I may have some delay in the speed of my ideas and I do not know if other traces, which are just that, traces, allusions, grooves and strokes of another episode.
My adventurous temper does not bend. Follow the daily germination of other tempting contingencies. With each new day, I see different adventures unfold, new opportunities to succeed, to exercise the spirit.
My language is almost normal. Perhaps my pretensions have diminished in scope. I never aspired to be nominated for the presidency of any country and if I wanted to go to the cosmos it was when I was a child right now ... maybe a little bit late, with almost fifty ... I will not be enrolled in the school of cosmonauts!
The biggest label is perpetuated.
Gina disappeared. I searched her in the way I could not explain, as God only knows. I wanted to give her mi infinite thanks, but I did not get a trace that would lead me to her.
I am a humble man, all humble as possible without undermining my respect and that makes it easy for me to understand.
Gina was too big, too great for me.
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