It was there in the stacks I found him
in the Purple Room of the world’s largest
bookstore, in the section on Christianity.
I was searching for Lewis, and passed him,
crouching in the center of the aisle, three
times. Each time, his head rose as I passed.
I should have asked him to help me, but my
need for self-sufficiency reigned. I found Lewis only a
few feet from where he perused the Inspiration selection.
I could not stare without being noticed, so I saw his profile
in my peripheral. His skin, chocolate and smooth,
unlined. His eyes, dark; his brow furrowed;
body lean and muscular. He walked over next
to me to look at L’Engle, while I moved down slightly
to Miller. I felt electricity leap off him and snap me,
a gravitational pull that drew me near to him without
a single motion. All I had to do was lean toward him,
whisper what I was looking for; maybe he could help.
But I had nothing to say, nothing
at all, so I walked away.