A scene from my new book AN OLD STORY

La Boheme
30 Years have gone by.

He was just standing there by the railing, leaning comfortably on one elbow. One loafered foot casually crossed over the other. The Playbill in his sturdy hands the object of his focus, his downcast eyes peering over readers. Even before he realized I was walking toward him, I could feel the effect of his looking up. The tenderness. All I could think in that moment was that I could just gobble him up. So he would be with me forever. So he would become part of me and I would never have to say goodbye.

He was happy to be here, standing in the lobby of the Metropolitan Opera during intermission of La Boheme. No. More than happy – enchanted. I had no doubt. There was no other place he wanted to be. No one else he would rather be with. I knew.

Was he handsome? I don’t know. Not in the movie star sense. Not particularly tall. And, at this point, mostly grey receding hair. A solid body. Not fashionable in his dress, but somehow perfect. He was perfect. In my eyes. And, over the thirty years since I met him, there was nothing – nothing – he could do or say, or that I could do or say, that would change that. Now, years later, even though he chose someone else to share his life, he remained perfect.