“So, you’re a Mormon, right?” asked J. Williams as we stopped at a stoplight. Was I Mormon? How do you respond to something like that? I picked at some imaginary fuzz on my sparkled red sweater while I tried to imagine what would make him think that.


“No,” I replied after a moment. “I’m Presbyterian.”


He laughed a little while he explained to me that he was told I was heavy into that religion ‘stuff.’ I looked toward the middle of his dark sunglasses in hope that I would be looking him in the eye and smirked as I told him to watch out or I’d try to save his soul. We carried on the pleasant conversation of two people who haven’t seen each other in altogether too long until we reached his loft twenty minutes later.


We dragged bags of ice from his back seat up the stairs where I was greeted by wonderfully welcoming family. We chatted and prepared for the guests that would inevitably appear and join us to celebrate the life, times and spirit of a dear and mutual friend.


I perched gingerly on J. William’s bed while I awaited instructions. J. himself came around one of the large white walls that were suspended from the ceiling. I leapt off the bed lest I intrude his personal space and quickly asked if there was something I needed to do. He was simply coming to check on me, he said.


“Why?” I teased. “In case I had suddenly sprouted wings and run off?”


“Uh no. I think you’d have to be flying off at that point.”


Touche.

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