Saturday, July 18, 2009


She was so pretty. I met her on Craigslist. Just sitting there on the bench outside the bakery, all blond hair, sundress, flash of perfect white teeth. I was selling a little antique diamond ring - she adored it. Somehow, by the end of our exchange, she was holding my hand, the two of us bonding over finding work during these crazy times. She was an advertising photographer, she promised to help me find writing work.

When I returned home, there was an email waiting there for me. She sent me her website, it was elegant, like her. I sent her mine back – it was straightforward, like me. We complimented each other's sites, and started talking in emails. She was in the process of stacking diamond rings on her finger, her engagement ring felt lonely, she said. There was a vision in her head, and wondered if I could help. She was hoping for another diamond ring to flank her engagement ring, one that would go with the one she had just purchased. Her instincts were right. I did have another ring similar to it, one that my first serious boyfriend had given me on our first trip to England. I felt comfortable selling it to Annabelle, I liked the thought of her having something personal of mine. I felt like I’d known her my whole life. She wanted to ride her bike over to my house that moment, she didn’t realize that the skies were about to open up and explode rainstorms all over the borough. She emailed me a half hour later, and told me to go outside, that it was a sight to see. The misty pre-storm demeanor of the night was magical. I stepped out to the terrace, and we shared it from our far corners of Brooklyn. She was so cool, this Annabelle. She even had a cool name.

She emailed me again just after noon the next day, she wanted to meet up, and see the England ring. We met inside Trader Joe’s, next to the free coffee. She was flush from walking, wearing a lovely little linen dress, she kissed me hello. God, she’s perfect, I thought, taking in her beauty. These women that are so perfect, how do they do it? Blond hair, lovely skin, perfect tits, and a husband that proposed to her with a lovely antique diamond ring, the one she was now wearing with the one she had bought from me the day before. Surprise! A precious little white dog popped his head up out of her little black bag.

I asked her about her husband. She said that he was an alcoholic, and they had separated. He never loved her the way she had loved him and just before his year anniversary of sobriety, he had asked for a divorce. Her white Maltese puppy had an incurable life threatening disease, she didn’t know how long he had to live. We talked about dating, she said she had met someone – they’d been together for four months, and in spite of her bipolar disorder, it was still going well. She thought that her recently discovered mental disorder might have been related to her MS that she had been diagnosed with 7 years ago, but she would never know for sure.

She took the ring off my finger and slipped it on to hers. It looked perfect with the other rings on her beautiful slender hand. She pulled four crisp fifties out of her bag, and tucked them into my hand, like a best friend passing a secret note in class. She kissed me on the cheek again, she smelled so good, it wasn’t some perfume, it was shampoo, or just her, I couldn’t tell. She took both my hands in to hers and thanked me, and skipped off into the day. Her blond hair bobbing against her athletic tanned back, her long legs gilded in strappy gold sandals – my God, I thought, she really is perfect.


  1. WTF!?! I thought I was your first serious boyfriend. Not that it matters to the story line.

  2. "First Love" trumps "first serious boyfriend" every time. And I still get why I loved you. :)