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He stood at the front of the room, but not for long. He talked with his hands, and took off his trench coat. Why a raincoat at this sunny location? I didn’t know, but the raincoat was not a standard one, and could have been a designer model from Europe. I was too fixated on what he was saying. He walked slowly back and forth in front of the whiteboard, telling us all the stories behind the articles he wrote for Harper’s magazine.

“This was before the editor knew me, so he wanted constant updates,” he said, his deep voice resonating through the room. “I knew I’d have to satisfy him and not up-end my research.”

His hair was chestnut brown, with the streaks of copper that make it interesting. It was long for a man his age. What was his age? I stared, mesmerized. His eyes were blue, and knowing; I followed them. He was tall, and wore a white dress shirt with jeans and some nice shoes that weren’t loafers. He slowly rolled up each sleeve of his shirt as he spoke.

I took his class twice, feeling myself perk up for each class, arrive a bit earlier for each class, wear something a bit nicer for each class. A purple leotard with jeans and a vintage jacket.

We were together only twice, after class was over, when it seemed kosher. We shared a drink at a bar outside of town, and repaired to a room at a nearby hotel. We talked and laughed and slid into each other’s embrace and kisses. We slid into the bed and the warmth of his skin felt as right as how our bodies fit together. Who is he? He’s a soul mate from another city who I loved.