Broken Glasses, Clear Vision
In 1966, I saw Ken at New Haven’s only gay bar on Halloween. We ate hamburgers and then went back to his room at Yale, where we made out in front of his fireplace. I stepped on his glasses, then tried to hide that I had broken them by pushing them under a chair. I remember snuggling into him (he is a head taller than me) and feeling safe for the first time in my life. This Halloween marks 54 years together. I say it was love at first sight, even though Ken had trouble seeing me. — Ronald Kirchem
Fleeing the Flames
“Got your passports? Underwear? Flashlight radios?” My family of five split into two cars, figuring a car saved was a car gained. Mid-dinner, “Evacuation Order” pinged on our phones. The inferno scorched the foothills, threatening our San Jose, Calif., home. We sped to a beachside inn, the waves our protector. Amid the hazy Pacific air, Dad — bereft of utensils — whomped a watermelon open. My sister, Arianna, humored spotty video classes. My mom and my brother, Aidan, dug a sand tunnel. Whether our house would survive was anyone’s guess, but in this salty seaside suite, we found hearth and home. — Melody Cao
The Smalls Loving Big
We call ourselves the Smalls. Both under 5-foot-7, my boyfriend and I laugh about how different life must be with a few extra inches. On March 23, panic was mounting in New York City. When my mother called, we had barely figured out how to coexist in my studio apartment. My uncle — 68 years old and healthy — had died of coronavirus. Four hundred square feet isn’t much space to grieve, but the walls never closed in. Seven months later, space remains limited and our size is unchanged. The loss is immeasurable, but so is the love. — Sophie Jacob
You Can Stay by Me
Mrs. Abby played guitar. She was young and beautiful, and I loved her so. She let me stay in at recess even though that was her break time. I don’t remember much about third grade in 1970, but I knew my teacher loved me when it felt like no one else did, and that was enough to get me through a day. I’ve been teaching for 25 years now. Sometimes there are students who need to know their teacher loves them when no one else does. Sometimes they stay in at recess. Sometimes I play the guitar. — Hope Watterson
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Tiny Love Stories: ‘We Call Ourselves the Smalls’ - The New York Times
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