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There's a girl I love. I loved her when I first saw her, though
I think something about me scared her. I loved her while she was
living with her boyfriend, breaking up, meeting someone new, and
marrying him. I'm kind of nuts about her. Once I used her to break
off an affair, simply by telling the other girl I was in love with
someone else. (People take these things so seriously!) We see each
other often, though it's a lot like the Greek myth of Pyramus and
Thisby, who could love each other only through a keyhole. Five times
I've managed to touch her breasts! Twice when she came and stood
beside me while I was reading something, brushing a left one against
my bare right arm, then again. Once when I "accidentally"
brushed the back of my right hand against her left one, and twice
more when she embraced me (pressing them both against my chest)
a few moments later.
I think I've learned everything by loving her. I've learned how
to throw energy up my spine (in some sort of erstwhile wish to take
over her mind), and I've learned about pennies.
At first I decided to pick up pennies I saw lying on the ground
simply because almost everyone else believes it's demeaning. I decided
I'm going to pick them up because everyone else won't, and
besides, I realized, I've heard it brings you good luck.
I don't save them. I just pick them up, and every time, reaching
down to pick one up, think of her.
Then something strange happened. One day recently, as I was reaching
down to pick up a penny and think of Mary, I saw the penny through
the eyes of a little boy, who was reaching into the sand to find
a rainbow-colored periwinkle, at Wrightsville Beach, when I was
five years old. It was a multidimensional experience, reaching down
for that one penny on the cold asphalt at the airport, the penny
shining and glimmering in my eyes as if I was reaching into the
ancient waters of a pond.
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