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"He's not like other boys." A few hours later I am cradled tight in my love's arms, something that, in other relationships, had always made me feel confined, uncomfortable.
I found myself staring, leaning in like he was an insect on the sidewalk. He did look like Dev Patel, but I was so consumed, everything I saw looked like him. Some are astonishingly bold, like my good friend who requested I draw her a picture of what my boyfriend's privates looked like. This is a story about how one day I believed certain things about myself and the next day I realized, knew the way you know a good nectarine, that I had been wrong. Girls play football, boys like to sew, everyone cries. He broke me the way I was broken the first time a child reached to hold my hand to cross the street. "It is the best of both worlds." "Not exactly," I think, remembering how my man manically flips the channel on the remote control, cruising for any show with a pit bull or a medical trauma or a cop. He vigorously works his toothbrush for at least five minutes, till the foam covers his mouth clown-style. " I think, "If I were any more in love, I'd be unbearable company." Next: "I love him because of who he is, the same reason he loves me" He comes back into the bathroom, asks what is on my mind. Several years back, my love was on a subway in New York City when some young thugs put a knife to his throat. And then there was the moment, early on, when he was washing dishes and instinctively cupped his hand over the sharp edge of my kitchen drawer to protect my daughter's forehead from a scratch.