Unintentional Intendant

The new superintendent moved to our building one October. A single father of a 6-year-old girl, he charmed his way into the residents’ hearts. For Christmas he bought a fir tree for the lobby, but the old lights failed. I rushed to my apartment, dug out my box of decorations, brought them downstairs and handed them over. He took out an ornament, asking, “Where should I place this?” “Wherever you’d like,” I answered. Smiling, he said, “I like a woman who … ” Next thing, he invited me in for a glass of wine. Our ensuing romance lasted nine warm years. — Yvonne Fitzner

For Wendy

On a warm July day, I prepared to toss flowers into the wildlife sanctuary’s meadow. Two young women approached on the path. One remarked, “Those are beautiful!” I burst into tears. “My sister died of cancer. She would have been 65 today. I always toss flowers from my garden here on her birthday.” “Do you need a hug?” “Apparently,” I replied, sobbing. They embraced me. “What was her name?” “Wendy.” The women were Jehovah’s Witnesses, proselytizers I tend to turn away. This day, we held hands. They prayed aloud. I tossed the flowers. And together, we murmured, “For Wendy.” — Karen Lee Ziner

Hoping We Make It

My daughter and I sprinted for the train, but she paused beyond the turnstile. At 9, she knows not to board without me, though she’d manage fine. “Today’s a special day,” I told her, as we rode to school. “We honor trans people who’ve been killed or died by suicide.” Her brother just turned 12; he transitioned in 4th grade. Our family worries society might make his life unlivable. He’s not immune — to the dread or the statistics — but most days he radiates unadulterated joy. “I’m glad that’s not him,” she said with weary cynicism. “Me too, lovey. Me too.” — Ali Moss

Love Like Garlic

Our love grew like garlic. A clove can germinate even in the most un-ideal environments, like a dark, dry pantry. Our love sprouted, despite the 3,700 kilometers between us, our respective recent breakups and different cultural backgrounds. Uncertainty held me. What if we plant our hearts again, water our relationship, but it doesn’t root, it doesn’t grow? But, then, I looked into his eyes and thought, what if it does? — Aylin Miranda-Pollock

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