Taylor: Fragments of You

I have a friend who used to build towering snow mountains with me in the playground three houses down. He was my childhood outdoorsman . . .

He coined the nickname “M & M” there . . .

He slept in a bunk bed with his little brother in their house’s smallest room—big enough to fit only a dresser and swinging room for the built-in closet door. They were like premature dorm roommates . . .

He lived across the street from me but one day left and went to boarding school for a long time in another state. I don’t remember which; I was only eight years old . . .

I’m not sure if I believe in Fate, but we’ve ended up at the same college. I ran into him in the mailroom one day and was in such a state of shock that I couldn’t speak for almost five minutes straight . . .

Strong as an ox, sensitive as a flower unprepared for the frost, he is real . . .

We’re both in love with his calves, each the size of a cantaloupe . . .

He is a man of water, loving winter and competing in swim teams. I imagine him, sometimes, from Atlantis . . .

He drinks coffee only when relaxed, with just a drop of cream and a spoon to stir it by. On his papers there are often traces of his sipping: faint brown circles suggesting a long night’s work . . .

I call him my night owl . . .

He is quite musical and likes to jam on anything and everything that will support a beat and trill out a little melody. “You never fail to amaze me when you do that” I say. He sings, too, but his days as choirboy are riddled in dust . . .

I think the best way to his heart is through his stomach. A chef, he appreciates quality foods and the patience it takes to make them an art form. He once created a three layer chocolate cake for my birthday and hung framed pictures of it, the masterpiece, on his wall . . .