I had been pen pal friends with a woman in South Africa. We met in a writing class. Both of us were novice writers but of all the people in this writing class we sensed in each other true talent and like minds. We started leaving snarky comments to the other students who didn't seem to have a clue we were not playing nice. Finally we shared our personal email addresses and thus, a great relationship was born. Each year she took a vacation away from her family to either visit Europe or come to the states. By this time we had been writing each other or talking on the phone for two years. She decided to come to NYC where I live on her vacation. I was looking forward to meeting her, and was sort of surprised, though pleased she chose NYC as her vacation destination. We were to meet at my offices in the Flatiron District after work. It was mid-summer and it had been a hot summer overall. I waited patiently at first, but then it got to be later and later and still no word from. I found myself growing more and more anxious and decided this whole thing was a bad idea. And then she walked into the office, looking like most European visitors. She wore good hiking shorts and expensive walking sandals. I took one look at her and knew I was in trouble. "OMG," I thought. "She's a dike." Yet i couldn't keep my eyes off of her. I walked her into the Village and we cut across West 13th Street, I felt obligated to show her a bit of my NY. And in the oppressive heat I walked her all the way to Pastis, a French Bistro, which was one of "thee" places to be seen in NY. We sat inside at first to get out of the heat. We had the run of the place as it was rather empty. We talked. Fast. We interrupted each other. Our drinks finally arrived. We both smoked cigarettes and you could still smoke inside of restaurants back then. I had just put out my cigarette, my hand still resting on the table. Was I imaging something? I looked down at my hand and hers was on top of mine. I didn't move my hand away. She didn't withdraw hers but kept playing with my hand. What was I doing? Who was this woman? We decided to go outside to eat dinner. The sun had set but it was no cooler outside. We were definitely buzzed, but we each ordered dinner but just poked at our food. The talking never stopped. It was after midnight when I invited her to spend the night at my loft, a couple blocks away. She had missed the last bus to Jersey where she was staying. The A/C in the loft didn't do much against the oppressive heat outside. She wanted to listen to music and asked if i had anything my Annie Lenox. I suggested Medusa. She started dancing by herself at first, stripping down slowly to a sort of sarong she had brought with her. She encouraged me to dance with her. She encouraged me to take off some of my clothes. Both of us were good dancers. We were having fun, losing more track of time until we were both naked. We wandered off to the bed. We made love then fell asleep. She stayed two weeks in NY. We went upstate for the weekend then came home in horrible traffic jam most of the way which put her in a bad mood. I don't know if it was because she had to leave in a day or so. She wanted me to come to South Africa with her. I said maybe another time. My only regret is that I never made it to South Africa. We continued to write and talk on the phone. She always called me late at night. She came down with a terrible disease, Buerger's disease. A disease that affects the legs. They wanted to amputate her leg so she could live longer. She would have nothing to do with that. She only wanted to live as a whole person, so she could enjoy her life as she always lived it. The disease killed her, but I knew it was OK for her. She lived and died on her terms. Both her cousin and husband called me to let me know. I cried for a few days. I loved her deeply. Her name was Phillipa.