by Lesley Pink

He handed me the paper, and I took it. He held it out, folded up, ready to be tucked away while we sat down for dinner. It was a simple transaction, like one runner passing a baton to another in a relay race. Our eyes didn't meet. He passed me the Daily News, I placed it in my work bag, and we continued our conversation. I understood then that there was now an us.


Lesley Pink, author of Waiting, lives in Forest Hills, New York.