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  • She swept him smack off the porch, the dance floor, the worn boards in that old church way up the hill, the planks of the dock by the lake, the dirt road with tiny pebbles that scrunched under their feet as they walked, barely touching arms.

    Every time they were together his eyes rolled back in his head and he asked Dear God what is happening to me?

    He told me once as we were driving in his old '52 Ford looking/smelling for spring skunk that "speaking of smell, in her presence I could barely breathe...."... and his voice trailed off. He shook his head slightly. But she loved another, he recalled. He didn't care. He was charmed, lost, glued, done-for. It was love. The greatest obstacle brings the largest surge of strength. He said he studied her like a kid might study a frog by the side of a creek. With that sense of complete and unflinchable wonder. He observed her every movement and she knew it. Never alone in those days, her chaperones watched him watching her. They watched her watching back, responding. Finally. Finally, she was his. Energy flowed between them like opposing electrical charges.

    They were almost never alone. Friends with friends in those days. It was the smile; her beautiful teeth and sparkling eyes, her long hair which when unloosed moved like summer wheat bending gracefully this way, then that. He woo'd her and won her. My grandfather and grandmother.

    It swept him away like some great cloud containing wind and rain, and he went with it full out. I look at her smile and I see my own. I hear his description and it's familiar.

    The gene thing.
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