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I imagined a sun-bronzed goddess in an off-the-shoulder peasant blouse.
I pictured them sitting together at a desk, poring over social science proofs and speaking secret words to each other.“It’s been a year,” he said, and steered me with his hand to a bench, brushing away dead leaves.
After the divorce I bought this ring in a junk shop, and told God that I wouldn’t take it off until I found the right woman.” I wanted to reach out, hug him, and tell him I understood.
I knew how hard it was to be outside of a pair, especially in our faith.
A pastor’s daughter, my upbringing included the strict moral code of “no sex before marriage.” This code was promptly discarded in my teenage years, when I learned, all too painfully, why my parents had tried to protect me from being prematurely thrust into the turmoil of physical intimacy.As I climbed the last of the steps to the top of the old train platform, I recognized him right away.He looked exactly like his photos and he hadn’t lied about his height; he was at least three inches taller than me, making him truly 6’1”. Our walk along the Highline took on the flavor of a stroll on the Champs-Élysées.He taught me some French phrases and I tried to impress him with the few words I already knew.I sounded as if I were reading off the menu from Le Pain Quotidian, but he humored me with applause.