American woman

It was early May and I walked her to the hill behind the town. We became more and more aroused as we walked and talked and ended up making love in the meadow — it was quick and dirty and very, very pleasant. One of those days I'll remember till the end of my days.

She was getting her PhD and pursuing her career at the time and I was wandering the world in the best tradition of Jack Kerouac.

Fast forward to 2009 and thanks to Skype I see her again. She's a woman in her thirties. Traded her job in international diplomacy for a chance to stay in the States. Worked as a waiter. And was laid off recently. She's married to one man and having a child with another. He's unemployed, too. They're living in a rented place in the suburbs.

She's all different. She's changed. Sparkless, chubby and more realistic than ever. Her dreams are gone and she's accepting her life the way it is. Dull? She seemed even far worse off than I am.

I loved her once. And today, I still can't believe the bizarre twist of fate when I learned she named her firstborn daughter Zoe. The same name I'd give mine, would gods blessed me with one.