Julie struggled with the clasp on her handbag as she got up to go. She caught my glance. The bandage made the entire left hand stiff and ungainly. “Don’t worry,” she smiled, “it’ll be off in time for your massage next week!” I hesitated for a moment, and then, as I got up to hug her goodbye, smiled too.

I might not believe in Julie’s God or in her demons any more, or in any tradition of blood covenants or salvation through sacrifice, but she did. Her elegant solution to the problem she had faced because she did was awe-inspiring. I knew that I could not hope to be touched by purer hands.

← On Memory

et cetera
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