Читать книгу Permission - Saskia Vogel - Страница 6

Last night I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a drive. I only meant to take a loop around the peninsula, driving up and down the hills, seeing the city to the north, the port to the west, and the Pacific Ocean reaching for the dark horizon. It was just past midnight, so I tuned in to a rock station that had a late-night call-in show about sex and relationships. It had been on the air as long as I could remember, since before I’d thought of doing anything more than holding hands. It was the kind of show that made driving bearable. Once you’ve learned the words to every song on the radio, nothing breaks the boredom of sitting behind the wheel like conversation. Nervous callers made themselves vulnerable to a psychologist who’d heard it all before. He did his best to help, assuring people that they were not alone in fear, confusion, or desire. Whatever it was they wanted, they were allowed, he said, so long as it was safe, sane, and consensual. There was one thing he’d ask that made me bristle. Whenever a girl called in with a problem, he’d start off by asking, ‘Where’s Dad?’ Where’s Dad? As if that were the key to it all.