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of the carnage below. Several other women dressed in white sat in rows around her as if in a small movie theater. They had been lightly applauding at the image of the bloodied carcass of an elk, but all stopped to stare at Adrianne.
    “Come on, Adrianne, it wasn’t that bad,” Helen said with popcorn in her mouth. “You better calm down. Mother is watching.” And indeed she was. A stern older woman several seats back — her jaws set so tight that they protruded through her cheeks — was staring down.
    “She hasn’t been feeling well,” Helen said to the others. The ladies nodded and returned to their murmuring.
    “Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea for me to come out today,” Adrianne said as she wiped her moistened eyes. She put her hands in the inner pockets of her stola. A little man descended the stairs and presented a tray of Champagne glasses. She refused. Another server offered her a tray of finger sandwiches. She waved him away, and he stepped back without hesitation.
    “I want to go home,” Adrianne said.
    “But it’s just started. At least wait until halftime. …”
    “No, I think I should go home now.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Yes.” Adrianne held back a sniffle.
    “Okay, well, let’s go home then.”
    “No, you stay and enjoy the rest of this. Thomas will see me home.”
     
    Thomas escorted her out of the stadium. He was a muscular man and would protect Adrianne with his life. He would never attempt to touch her, though. He was of the kind that loved other men.
    Thomas commandeered a cab. A man in a business suit wanted it (and deserved it because he had actually been there first). He was about to argue with Thomas when Adrianne appeared. Her white robes hemmed in delicate purple flowed in the afternoon breeze like a sail. Business Suit backed away as Thomas held open the door for her.
    The yellow cab smelled of stale cigarettes and sweat. Adrianne pressed the button to open the window. Thomas gave the cabbie directions, and they were off. During the ride she concentrated on the speeding road, her mind adrift in her sorrow. Thomas touched her hand. She turned to face him, and a drop escaped her eye. She folded into his chest. He held her there. No words. Just sorrow.
    “I take it you didn’t like the games.”
    Adrianne laughed through her sniffles.
    “No, I didn’t,” she said.
    “People expect you to like it.”
    “I know … I can do only what I can do … I think Mother is mad at me.”
    “You probably have some explaining to do tonight.”
    “Great.”
    Adrianne sat up. She pulled back her veil and took off her vitta, the headband that bound her hair together, and released her dreadlocks. She shook them loose, then finger-styled them to drape over her shoulders. The cab driver shot a dirty look at her through his rear-view mirror. Women of Adrianne’s generation were demanding more freedom in the way they presented themselves, and some were openly showing their hair. Not everyone was comfortable with that. She leered at him through the mirror, daring him to challenge her. He returned his attention to the road. Adrianne sat back and closed her eyes.
    Antoine .
    She believed they had a connection that spread over space and time. No matter the distance, she thought that somehow, they would always find each other. Then, just like that, the dream was over. There was a barrier they could not cross, a place he could go where she could not follow. He was gone.
    The cab pulled up to the entrance of the Cloisters and Thomas helped her out.

4.
    From the time she was a little girl, Adrianne wore white. White veils, white dresses, white panties and then white bras. Whiteness was purity. Whiteness was good. Whiteness was strength. It was her shield and armor. Her brown skin covered always in white. It granted her access to all places unhindered. Even when she didn’t realize it, there was always someone moving out of her way, opening a door, giving up a seat. This privilege — this