She walked toward me on 3rd Avenue and past the circling silver bands of the sculpture called "Contrapunto." (No one in the building where he worked knew the name of it. They all passed it each morning as they did hundreds of other works of art, anonymous and invisible. But I knew the meaning.) A khaki skirt, a blue shirt, a silver charm bracelet twinkling at her wrist. She smiled and I took a breath. She was pale and freckled and redheaded. She was smart and adventurous and confident and gorgeous and beautiful and funny. In the warm dusk light she came right up to me with a kiss. "Hello," she said.
I never really looked back again.
