I knew you were there but then I forgot

"I knew you were there but then I forgot. I knew earlier. Opel Hampson, I thought. It's her and she's there. But then I somehow forgot."
"Maybe you'd better get back over here. Or maybe if I uncovered myself."
"I used to be such a normal boy."
"That was before my time. That was long before I ever set eyes on your celebrated body."
"Were you ever a normal girl?"
"When I was an itty-bitty Baptist my daddy took me to a revival meeting and I made a decision for what's-his-name. That's about as normal a thing as I ever did."
"Were you saved?"
"I was drowned."
"You mean the well-known immersion ritual." "Immersion's a nice word," she said. "They grabbed me by the neck and threw me in. But that's not when I made the decision. I was real young when I made the decision." "How old were you when you got immersed?" "I was five or six," she said. "They stood me up alongside the galvanized tank under the choir loft. My piano teacher had painted the River Jordan and a biblical-looking sky on a giant piece of canvas that was set on a makeshift frame behind the galvanized tank. Right nice. Real pretty sight. Then they picked me up by the neck and dunked me. When they got me on my feet again I noticed my dress had floated up around my neck, more or less exposing my entire maidenish bratty six-year-old body to every Southern Baptist thrill-seeker in the vicinity. That moment marked the true beginning of my womanhood."
"Those were the true, real and honest days." "On Saturday night all the boys used to go up on the railroad bridge and pee down on the passing trains."
"Listen to Fenig," I said. "He's devised a new pattern." "What's he doing up there?" she said. "It doesn't even sound like pacing. It sounds like he's running around in little circles. I don't think I like having him up there. A man who spends his evenings running in little circles. But I'll tell you what I really don't like. I don't like not liking him. I never used to be this way. I used to have shadings. Now I'm all one thing."
Opel had spent a year at Missouri State Women's College in Delaware, Texas. This fact was all I knew about that year. She'd led a scattered life and saw no reason to elaborate on content. It was enough in her view to present titles, headings and selected prefaces. Her past was such that these did the necessary work. When I met her, in Mexico, she'd just completed two years in New York. All I ever learned about those years was what happened on the very first day. This was a selected preface. The very first day in New York she walked through Bryant Park to get to her hotel. It was December and a man dressed as Santa Claus sat on a bench eating a sandwich. A derelict walked across the park singing, in full voice, "God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen." He seemed headed right for the Santa Claus. The Santa Claus watched him for a moment, then got up and began to run away, biting at his sandwich as he fled. Once across Forty-second Street he looked back to see how much distance he'd put between himself and the derelict. Then he ran through traffic on Sixth Avenue and disappeared. Opel gave the derelict a dime and he obligingly exposed himself.