“Are you a nun?”
That’s what the man asked
Good question. Am I a nun? Is that what I’m becoming?
My friend K. says at this age, we need to say yes to (just about) any and all propositions we receive because, who are we kidding? At 56, the offers aren’t exactly flooding in, and they aren’t likely to get more numerous with the continued passage of time. If I have any “juice” (i.e., desire for intimacy) left in me, perhaps I need to take her advice.
But, maybe I’m a “monja” now (nun). That’s what the man asked me in the cafe in Morelia, Mexico last week. There I was, enjoying my cappuccino and admiring a group of boys gathered around a massive stone fountain across the street (not admiring them that way, just admiring how sweet they were, how young, how the morning sun lit up their branded sweatshirts and caps. How welcoming the fountain was and how gentle the pine tree, with long needles swaying above their heads).
A man walking by glanced in. I saw him too, and I suppose our eyes met over the distance, although it’s impossible to know for sure since my eyes aren’t that sharp anymore even with glasses on. But, we seemed to register one another’s presence. He entered the cafe, strode up the aisle, and stopped at my seat in the corner, by a massive wood shutter opened onto the street. He hesitated briefly, then introduced himself as Juan. I…
