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I paid the clerk who, fortunately for me, spoke perfect English. I thanked her, and we left the shop.We walked about two kilometers until we came to an old Lutheran church with a moderate-sized churchyard. Lars and Annika led us around to a small stone that said ‘Birgit Elizabeth Anderson’ and ‘September 5, 1962 — June 10, 1978’. Tears ran down my face as I walked to the stone and laid the flowers against it.I opened the envelope, and I read my letter out loud as tears streamed over my cheeks and dripped onto her grave. I felt an arm around me and looked over and saw Birgit holding onto me. I blinked a few times and realized it was Karin, not Birgit. I read from the letter, telling Birgit everything I had hoped for our future, everything I had desired, everything I had felt.My knees trembled, and I slowly sank, sitting back on my legs, Birgit, no Karin, moving with me, on her knees beside me, without breaking her hold around me.There were some very intimate comments, and I read those. " How about right now? I've got a van with smoked glass right outside. You want to prove it to me?"I shook my head no and she sneered at me, "I knew it! You are just like all the rest, all talk, no walk."I looked her right in the eye, "Just because I'm not willing to take a chance on doing it in public doesn't mean I won't do it. You want to prove me wrong follow me home and see what I'm willing to do in the privacy of my own bedroom."She looked at her watch and said, "I can't. I've got to pick my husband up in half an hour." Right! Who's backing away now?"She gave me a long look and the said, "Give me your address."I wrote down and gave it to her, "My phone number is on there too, just in case you get lost."We left the coffee shop together and I watched her get in her van and drive away. It had been an interesting encounter and we had never even introduced ourselves. She was a gutsy little broad and I was sorry that I would never see her again.Three days later I had just gotten home.
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