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--- C H A N D A   J .  G L A S S

I knew a woman once whose body couldn't stop talking. All her thoughts
winged out through her elbows and the backs of her hands, and because her
skin was so eloquent, she seldom pushed noise along the inside of her
throat and out of her teeth as most of us do. Magnificent to see. An arch
of an eyebrow was a definite "yes," and the droop of an eyelid was a
scorching black "no." But it wasn't just simple things her body said. She
wasn't binary that way. She could discuss political upheaval in African
provinces with a shiver in the small of her spine. A kneecap could tell of
her tastes in Renaissance art or favorite brush techniques in the work of
Gauguin or her preferences of palates in the work of Monet. She could
order lunch with the minor rotation of a shoulder socket. This was her
undoing. We'd gone out for fettucini in the late afternoon, and her polite
request for garlic bread captivated our waiter. His jaw swung open when
she asked for more water. By the time she ordered dessert--triple fudge
cheesecake and a large cappuccino--he knew he had to propose. He shoved 
thesweets on our table and down he went on one knee, flailing his arms like
wounded birds, waggling his ears back and forth while his fingers and
thumbs yammered frantically about love at first sight. And that ninny said
yes. Can you believe it? As if no one else ever spoke with their limbs, as
if she'd never again be able to flex her left ankle and have someone read
I accept.

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