Sunday, October 02, 2011


The last time I saw her, she was 16 and had heavy hoop earrings that tugged dangerously on her earlobes when she spoke. She wore tight jeans and high heels in July, down by the waterfront where kids played frisbee and families biked past us, one after another whipping by. She was secretly engaged to a boy in the military; they were going to elope and move into an apartment on the base. She had no idea how beautiful she was.

Stood beside her in a coffee shop today, 200 miles from the waterfront where we last spoke. She is unmarried, and living in the town I left a year ago. She wraps herself in trendy oversized sweaters and sings in the choir at her local church. She still wears those big hoop earrings, but they don't pull on her earlobes like they used to. She is still beautiful, and she still doesn't know it.

Funny how we both found our way here, so far from home, she said. I was surprised by the thought of finding my way here, and wondered if I'd found anything at all.

The last time I saw her, the sun had just come out after three days of rain. It was summer in our city, the lake was wild before dark, and we both knew exactly where we wanted to be.

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