When I was about 24, living in Santa Fe I had started befriending, then flirting with, then falling in love with a neighbor’s friend. This girl, named Hillary, was staying with friends of mine. We were part of a small bundle of casitas around a small courtyard, and I would often spend time with these neighbors, chatting, making food, watching movies. Hillary’s feelings towards me were, at best, uncertain. She was engaged to be married to a man that she ostensibly loved (the marriage ultimately lasted only a short time), but she didn’t seem completely disinterested in my affections. One particularly salient memory is a time when Hillary and my neighbors were over at my place and we were watching a movie. There was a particular sad part of the movie and Hillary started to cry, but instead of wiping away the tear with her own hand, she grabbed my hand, which was on the armrest near hers and wiped it with my hand. At the time I thought it was a tender sign of affection, but I really never understood it.
Hillary wipes away a tear