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from the scene of the crime as I could get. I sat with the lights
off stewing in mixed feelings. Every time I closed my eyes im-
ages of naked bodies bumping together played like projections
on the backs of my eyelids. I had by now forgotten about my
initial surprise at seeing a black couple having sex—many more
pairs of copulating men and women had followed until my brain
was sloshing full of dirty thoughts that had nothing to do with
race. I thought of my dad. There were two of him now: the one
who laughed at Spongebob with me and the one who watched
porn, probably alone, stealthily, just as I had. It didn’t make a
difference that he was black and that I wasn’t. My insecurities
about being black enough for him pushed aside in favor of this
new, exciting discovery of a secret second dad. I thought it quite
possible that I was the only one who had made contact with
second dad; it was like finding Bigfoot tracks in a hidden forest.
I wondered if Tara had ever seen anything like I had that
day. Probably not I decided. It was only I who had snuck into
this private porn-watching world belonging to men. While I was
watching the tape I felt guilty, worried that I’d get caught, my
ears straining to pick up every sound in the hopes that I wouldn’t
be caught unawares by someone approaching. But in the base-
ment I felt accomplished, powerful. How many other girls had
pulled off such a feat? Had seen what they weren’t supposed
to see and kept looking anyway? I felt filthy and defiant. Now I
knew things. I knew.

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