the train into Manhattan on Saturday. He said sure, although his enthusiasm dampened when I suggested we go to the Metâthe Metropolitan Museum of Art, I explained to him. Apparently he was not a huge art connoisseur. Still, we went.
      It turned out that Joey had never been to a museum, except in the first grade, when he went on a class trip to the dinosaur rooms at the Museum of Natural History. That blew my mind. Iâd lived most of my life just a few blocks from the Met, and had gone there almost weekly. So I took him around, showed him the Egyptian exhibit and tomb, and the medieval section with all the thick suits of armor. He was amazed; he hadnât even known these things existed anywhere, least of all thirty miles from home.
      Then I took him upstairs, to the paintings.
      To my favorite place in the museum, and possibly in the world.
      To the Monet room, a place where you could actually be among some of the finest works of Claude Monet, who was in my opinion the greatest of the Impressionist painters. Monet was infatuated with gardens and water and often depicted both. He created stunning pastel-colored, dream-like portraits of nature.
      This room is my sanctuary.
      We circled the room slowly, weaving through people, taking everything in.
      The last painting was my favorite. Bursts of lavender water lilies floating on an ethereal pond. I turned to tell Joey how much I loved it, but stopped when I saw his face. I didnât have to tell himâhe felt the same way. He was mesmerized, steeped in thought. It was as though he was trying to figure out how to enter the painting. Or maybe, somehow, he had.
      After a while he turned to me, smiled that little smile.
      âThanks,â he said.
      I took his hand, led him to the bench in the center of the room. Surrounded by beauty, we sat.
      We sat crooked, his denim-covered knees touching mine in grey tights. I felt this tingling through my legs and I inched closer into him, into his arms.
      God, I felt so safe in those arms.
      So, so safe.
      Then he kissed me.
      There were all these people milling around the exhibit and then just like that there werenât. They evaporated, they melted into the air. It was just us, then. Just us left, and the water.
      Us in the water, kissing softly.
      He held me tight, like he was my vessel guiding me across.
      I melted then, too, but not all of me. Just the hardness, the coating over my everyday life. I didnât need its security, because I had Joey. It vaporizedâpoof!âand I was free to be me.
      I realized then, as I reveled in my freedom, that the covering Iâd been sheathed in hadnât been shelter, not anymore. It had started that way, but it became a pall, obscuring me. A facadeâa camouflage of who I was supposed to be, but wasnât. It was the personification of everyoneâs expectations.
      Everyone except Joey. Heâs the only one who didnât expect, or assume. He gave me room to breathe.
      My shell had gone from protection to prison, and I hadnât even noticed. Iâd been locked insideâsafe, but alone. Iâd spent so much time being who Mom and Dad wanted me to be that Iâd never gotten to explore who I truly was. I just didnât know it until now.
      In my sanctuary, kissing Joey, I knew it was safe.
      Finally, it was safe to be me.
      Momâs finished cooking and weâre all at the table. She and Dad both blink
      It turned out that Joey had never been to a museum, except in the first grade, when he went on a class trip to the dinosaur rooms at the Museum of Natural History. That blew my mind. Iâd lived most of my life just a few blocks from the Met, and had gone there almost weekly. So I took him around, showed him the Egyptian exhibit and tomb, and the medieval section with all the thick suits of armor. He was amazed; he hadnât even known these things existed anywhere, least of all thirty miles from home.
      Then I took him upstairs, to the paintings.
      To my favorite place in the museum, and possibly in the world.
      To the Monet room, a place where you could actually be among some of the finest works of Claude Monet, who was in my opinion the greatest of the Impressionist painters. Monet was infatuated with gardens and water and often depicted both. He created stunning pastel-colored, dream-like portraits of nature.
      This room is my sanctuary.
      We circled the room slowly, weaving through people, taking everything in.
      The last painting was my favorite. Bursts of lavender water lilies floating on an ethereal pond. I turned to tell Joey how much I loved it, but stopped when I saw his face. I didnât have to tell himâhe felt the same way. He was mesmerized, steeped in thought. It was as though he was trying to figure out how to enter the painting. Or maybe, somehow, he had.
      After a while he turned to me, smiled that little smile.
      âThanks,â he said.
      I took his hand, led him to the bench in the center of the room. Surrounded by beauty, we sat.
      We sat crooked, his denim-covered knees touching mine in grey tights. I felt this tingling through my legs and I inched closer into him, into his arms.
      God, I felt so safe in those arms.
      So, so safe.
      Then he kissed me.
      There were all these people milling around the exhibit and then just like that there werenât. They evaporated, they melted into the air. It was just us, then. Just us left, and the water.
      Us in the water, kissing softly.
      He held me tight, like he was my vessel guiding me across.
      I melted then, too, but not all of me. Just the hardness, the coating over my everyday life. I didnât need its security, because I had Joey. It vaporizedâpoof!âand I was free to be me.
      I realized then, as I reveled in my freedom, that the covering Iâd been sheathed in hadnât been shelter, not anymore. It had started that way, but it became a pall, obscuring me. A facadeâa camouflage of who I was supposed to be, but wasnât. It was the personification of everyoneâs expectations.
      Everyone except Joey. Heâs the only one who didnât expect, or assume. He gave me room to breathe.
      My shell had gone from protection to prison, and I hadnât even noticed. Iâd been locked insideâsafe, but alone. Iâd spent so much time being who Mom and Dad wanted me to be that Iâd never gotten to explore who I truly was. I just didnât know it until now.
      In my sanctuary, kissing Joey, I knew it was safe.
      Finally, it was safe to be me.
      Momâs finished cooking and weâre all at the table. She and Dad both blink
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