Michelle would arrive daily with a two to ten minute brief on her own dating status, her nightly dreams, grades, new family developments. He looked like a French boy soldier she had once glimpsed marching towards his death in one of the battles they would later call the Hundred Years War. Like the flaws of an old marble. Homosexuals weren’t looked too kindly upon in their exclusive suburban neighborhood, not even dashing handsome ones. She was to be a Corsair’s Bride. To her horror she realized that she had nearly forgotten how to kiss after a years-long dry spell, and she could detect drool on her own chin and John’s cheek.
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