Everyone calls him Bird. At least 98% of the people who know him. Most don't even know his real name. I do.
He sat down next to me, and I helped with his NYTCWP. God, this is all there is. "You must do more than crosswords?" Well, he watches films by Hitchcock, Bergman, and Tachovsky, but that's about it. And he likes to play golf.
Words, words, words, it comes down to. Every day, from waking until rowing, I was doing a puzzle or two, deeper in love than I ever could feel. I always thought I loved him more than he loved me, but it was the other way around.
Blue veins in strong arms, and tall, and dark, and a slow talker, which was surprising. No one takes a moment these days, they just spurt out whatever happens to be in their mouths and not their mouths at the time. But like me, in front of the class, he took his time, and we followed up each other's answers a few times; and she let us go, and I left on his heels, but he's shy, he's shy, and we'd both blushed enough already for today.
I've got a perfect body, but sometimes I forget . . .
