Happy in Central ParkSo, there’s this girl I met while I was at MICA: art student, painter, smart, pretty, plays the flute, listens to Beethoven and U2, reads the classics, likes museums and plants and insects and CS Lewis. I first noticed her at Bible study; that first night, when she mentioned Beethoven, and again a few months later, at Sunday Art Group. And then again, in the library, working the desk, and reading John Donne between jobs at the copier.

I was smitten. We talked occasionally after bible study, and two weeks later, I asked her out right there and then, with as much grace and dignity as that of a teenage middle-schooler. She gently — and wisely — refused. We became good friends, though, and it turned out that it was exactly what we both needed.

Winter passed. Spring came. A week before I graduated, I told her that I had grown to love her, and asked her out again. She said yes.

That’s who the girl in the picture is. Her name’s Amy. We’ve been together almost half a year now, and I think we’re in for the long haul.