Have you ever felt a connection, a pull to someone whom you’ve never met or will meet again? I have. Often. One of those people happened in my life on a sad day; interesting that a few of them have. Writing this reminds me of a heart-wrenching December day a few years back when I went in search of a wedding dress. Never mind.

Why this one was sad, I don’t remember. January 29, 2006, my last day in Puerto Rico. I left my Mom’s apartment to spend the day in Old San Juan, roaming the cobblestone streets until I had to go to the airport, and into a small shop I went. It was cool and comfortably dark inside. I looked and touched a couple of books, magnets, pottery. The young woman tending the shop was painting, I think, replicas of the colorful doors of Old San Juan. I picked up a poetry book — I am not into poetry, but like some very much.

the first book I read froze me on the spot

I had to fight back tears. Read a few more poems. Saw two other small books written by the same poet. She was a young woman, her photograph was on the back. Looked through them over and over … couldn’t move. She wrote my thoughts. That was me on paper. I don’t remember how long I was there, but it was a lot longer than I anticipated. Didn’t care.

at last, I chose a book — thought it silly to buy all three

“I wasn’t sure which to buy.”

“We ship,” she said.

I paid for it and the young woman asked if I’d like the book signed. My brain did summersaults. It was her — Lady Lee Andrews — the photo on the back! She spoke to me in English, and I answered in Spanish. When I’m there, I seem foreign, and when I’m here, I do too. Don’t get it.

I was halfway up the hill towards the fort, where I love to sit with street food to say goodbye to the island when I began to cry. I waited it out, cleared my face and throat, and went back to the little shop.