A Perfect Union

August 2, 2011
It was sunny the day I met Lucy. I was 26. She was 19. We were walking in a crowded street, and caught each other's eye. Her blonde hair was back in a ponytail. She wore a red scarf. There was a yellow star painted on her cheek. We stopped walking before each other and the people passed around us. I said hello. She told me her name. I bought her flowers from the nearest stand and she held my hand. Our love is simple, clear. Sometimes life just falls the right way. Among everything it can throw at you, it throws the right thing, and a perfect union is made. We walked to the park, sat under a tree eating salty peanuts and cherries. She put a cherry in my mouth, smelled my hair. She smelled like ink and jacarandas. She told me I smelled like the ocean. I told her I thought she was pretty. She smiled and thanked me. I kissed the yellow star on her cheek. She encircled me with her arms and I closed my eyes, felt the sun on my face. I felt secure, like a child again, in my mother's arms. 'You're such a generous little lovebug, Helen', she would say, when I was young. Generous with my love. And then I met Lucy and all the love in the world became mine.

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