Chapter 1: Not my Type

As the child of immigrants, I was raised with the powerful belief that education was essential to achieving one’s dreams and leaving the world a better place than how we found it. My husband Dennis and I raised our daughter Abigail with those same values, and she responded in kind. As a high school senior, she was in the throes of college applications- and based on her outstanding grades, strong extracurriculars, and a perfect SAT score- she was poised to have the pick of her favorite Ivy League school. At the moment, she was torn between Harvard and Princeton- but this fluctuated by the day.

Dennis and I were both professors at Dartmouth. My specialty was English literature, his was political science. Dinner table conversations were intellectually rich and stimulating, and we encouraged Abigail to be a full fledged participant from an early age. Astonishingly her precocity extended to both mind and heart. Keenly aware of current events, she was a tireless advocate for the most disaffected populations, and a thoughtful, passionate voice for those she felt were marginalized by systemic oppression.

Although not prudish, she was highly discerning about the company she kept. She had no tolerance for misogyny, racism, or bullies of any stripe and she endeavored to lead by example to show young girls that there was nothing unfeminine about a highly intellectual, studious woman.

Abigail’s fierce intelligence was interwoven seamlessly with her natural beauty. Standing 5’4 with long brown hair and poetic hazel eyes, Abigail was stunningly beautiful. Obsessed as she was with her academics, it was important to her that she stood out for her scholastic achievement- not anything else. Her fashion was stylish and elegant, but never provocative. A typical outfit might be a colorful blouse with either form fitting dress pants or a tasteful knee length skirt and tights. Makeup was tasteful, but never overdone. Her intelligent yet chic glasses were ever present.

Abigail kept a small but exceedingly loyal group of friends who shared her intellect and her values. Her best friend Ashley was the head of the debate club at her high school. Like Abigail, she was an honors student and bound for the Ivy’s. A committed activist, she was chairwoman of the Young Democrats, and a leading voice for climate advocacy, gun control, and ending the abuse of sex trafficking. Since they were small children, Abigail and Ashley would tantalize each other with which school they would attend- Harvard or Yale, Princeton or Brown, etc.

Her true animating force, however, was her boyfriend William. As one might imagine, it took a man with a surplus of confidence, intelligence, kindness, and attractiveness to attract a girl like Abigail. William was the real deal. At 6’3 with piercing blue eyes and a confident grin, he was devastatingly handsome. And he was unabashedly romantic. A typical date might involve a picnic in the park, with William reciting Shelley, Wordsworth, and Keats- in addition to his own original poetry. A gifted writer, William called Abigail his ‘muse’. Like the rest of her friends, William was Ivy bound, with English literature and philosophy being his primary interests. Although their strong preference was to attend the same school, William was unconditionally supportive of Abigail following any path her heart led her.

In addition to an academic schedule that included AP Physics, Calculus, Government, and English Literature, her after school schedule was filled with extracurriculars- including debate, Feminist club, cello, volunteering at the local homeless shelter, tutoring and Safe Rides. Amazingly, Dennis and I never pushed her to do any of this. Her motivation was entire intrinsic. She wanted to grow her mind and heart to her full potential and leave the world a little better than she found it.

Our story begins in September of Abigail’s senior year, just after her 18th birthday. She was beginning to settle into the routine of the new school year. Monday was debate, Tuesday was feminism, Wednesday was tutoring, Thursday was babysitting, Friday night was date night with William, and Saturday night was Safe Rides.

It was the Sunday after the first week of school that I discovered something that I didn’t know at the time would be life altering. I was putting away her laundry, when I found a book that looked like a journal at the bottom of her garments drawer. Engraved on the cover was the words, “The Muses’ Musings.”

Inside the front cover was a special message from William, embroidered in calligraphy. “To my beloved Abigail- you are the immaculate marriage of head and heart. May this book be your own personal jewelry box for your most precious thoughts and feelings. My own selfish wish would be for musings of me to occupy a small fraction of that space. Yours always, William,”

I have to admit my heart skipped a beat reading that. As a mother, I was overjoyed that Abigail had found someone who really got her and expressed his devotion so poetically.

On the next page was a quote from Aubrey Hepburn, “The beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure that she carries, or the way she combs her hair. The beauty of a woman is seen in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart, the place where love resides. True beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul. It’s the caring that she lovingly gives, the passion that she shows & the beauty of a woman only grows with passing years.”

This was Abigail to a tee. Her beauty sparkled in the goodness and kindness in her eyes. I could not be a more proud mom!

I continued reading with not an insignificant amount of guilt. It was by no means that I didn’t trust Abigail- I most certainly did. I was selfishly curious to understand some of the secrets of her beautiful soul.

Entry 1 September 5, 2023

Dear Diary, It is hard to believe that today was my last “first day of school”. I remember my younger self skipping off to kindergarten, so eager to learn. I have always cherished the crisp fall air, and the smell of new classrooms and textbooks. My greatest joy in life has always been getting lost in a book and letting my imagination run free. And I love being in classes with other students who love to learn, have strong opinions, and make a positive difference- especially for those less fortunate.

All day this twinge of nostalgia tickled me, as I reminisced upon my prior first days. It is surreal to think that at this time next year, I will be in my dorm room in college- hopefully Harvard if I’ve played my cards right.

This journey would not have been possible if not for loving support of my incredible family and friends. My mom is my idol. Ferociously intelligent, fiercely protective and a fearless advocate for her beliefs, my mom is who I want to be when I grow up. And the way my dad treats my mom is how I want to be treated by my future partner, although William gives him a run for his money! He honors my mom’s intelligence and ambition, and isn’t afraid to let her have the most prestigious job. With me, ever since I was little he encouraged my love of reading and learning. We would have book clubs together, where he would recommend books for us to read and discuss. I love my dad so much!!

Ashley is my rock. We have been inseparable since she moved next door when I was five. I was sitting outside reading Little Women. Ashley told me that is one of her favorite books, but that it was not quite as witty as Pride and Prejudice. I knew immediately that she was a kindred spirit and a fellow traveller. We would spend hours reenacting our favorite literature as well as inventing new stories of our own.

Ashley can be painfully shy- especially when meeting people for the first time. My theory is she fears her prodigious intellect would engender ostracism from her peers. Still, as the head of the debate club and the Young Democrats that shyness dissipated completely when advocating for a cause she believed in. In these instances, Ashley was fierce and uncompromising and I loved her for it.

Like me, Ashley has a long term boyfriend- Henry Gobbins. They are absolutely adorable together! Henry is the head of the math league, and president of the chess club. What I love about them as a couple is that they are both comfortable in their own skin. Ashley is beautifully bookish, with her cute nerdy glasses and her red hair tied back in a ponytail. Diminutive, pimply, with thick glasses and an ever present pocket protector, Henry looked more like the stereotypical nerd. Rather than fight it, Henry wore nerdiness as a badge of honor!

Like Ashley, Henry’s family lives a few blocks down the street and it was not uncommon for me to run into Henry walking his adorable dog Checkers in our neighborhood.

Truth be told, Henry used to have a bit of a crush on me in middle school. While I have the highest respect for him, Henry’s mind is more purely mathematical- and while I have grown to respect the beauty and symmetry of mathematics at the highest level- it is really poetry that captures my soul. And the paragon of poetry and unabashed romanticism in my life is one William Banks.

Unlike Ashley and Henry, William didn’t grow up with us. His family moved here when we were juniors. The day we met I was nestled in the corner of a hallway in front of a window reading a book, as I often did during lunch at school.

“What light through yonder window breaks,” I heard a deep voice speak slowly. Looking up, I saw the most beautiful man I’d ever laid eyes on towering above me.

Meeting his eyes, I replied, “It is the east. But I’m not Juliet. My name is Abigail,”

Unfazed, he responded, “What’s in a name,”

I grinned, enjoying our repartee. “Oh wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied,”

“I’m William,” he said, taking my hand in his and kissing it gently, “like the bard,”

“And are you this courtly and solicitous of all the maidens at this high school, William?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

“O beauty, till now I never knew thee,” came his retort, his eyes never leaving mine.

“If that’s the case, how is it that you have made no moves to initiate a proper courtship?” I replied saltily.

“This Friday- 8:00 La Chaumiere. I’ll pick you up at 7:30.”

I tried in vain not to betray a reaction. That was by far the fanciest and most romantic restaurant in town- not to mention the priciest.

In the days leading up to our date, I was so excited I could barely sleep! When the day finally arrived, I wore a classically elegant floor length dress in the mode of my favorite literary heroines.

The date was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. It wasn’t just the ambience or the food- both divine- but the unwaveringly caring, interested and compassionate attention. Unlike every other 17 year old boy, the ratio of listening to talking was tilted deeply towards listening. We talked about our mutual love of literature, and he continued to swoon me with his almost encyclopedic knowledge of Shakespeare. He wanted to know everything about me- and not just on a superficial level.

We also confided in each other our most tender vulnerabilities. I learned that he came from a chillingly abusive home. Growing up, his father beat his mother mercilessly for the most minor of perceived offenses. His mother was the one who passed down his love of literature, but tragically she succumbed to heart disease when he was only 10- aided and abetted most likely by her husband’s brutal treatment. He had one older brother, Jimmy, who had clearly inherited their father’s sadistic tendencies. He was the kind of kid who would torture animals for kicks and bully anyone he perceived as weak.

I was flabbergasted that a man of William’s innate sensitivity, intelligence, and empathy could have been cultivated in such a boorishly cruel environment.

My heart broke for William. I have always despised bullies, particularly those that prey on the most vulnerable. It was clear that his passion for literature stemmed from a desire to find beauty and love in a home life so lacking in them. Hearing about William’s upbringing made me grateful for the unconditionally loving family I grew up in.

My worries seemed trite in comparison to his. Mostly, I worried that I would fall short of my goal of attending an Ivy League school and making my mark on the world- ultimately disappointing my friends, family and myself. Upon hearing this, he took my hands in his and said, “Your worth is more than any external validation. You are worthy enough just by being who you are.”

My eyes welled up hearing this. I don’t think I actually believed it, but it meant so much that this incredible guy who had been through so much could see such possibility in me.

Wiping a tear away, I looked him in the eye and said simply, “Thank you, William. And your upbringing is not your destiny. You are more of a man than your father and brother could ever hope to be,”

That struck a chord in him too. We held hands in loving silence. That night, while walking me to my door he kissed me for the first time. It felt like something out of a fairy tale. He leaned in slowly until our lips met. We stayed like that for a few seconds as my body became accustomed to the new sensation. Soon his tongue found mine and they began caressing each other slowly. After a few minutes of what felt like heaven, I gently removed my lips.

“You kiss by the book” I said coquettishly with a twinkle.

“Give me my sin again” he said, thrusting his mouth into mine. We made out furiously. Not that I had any context for it, but it felt like our tongues were making love. I felt my breathing become heavier as lust swelled inside me. I knew I had to stop. As pleasurable as it was, I had no intention of going further on a first date.

“Parting will be sweet sorrow indeed, sweet William,” I said, tenderly caressing his face.

I was walking on clouds. It was the most romantic night of my life by far- surpassing even my most beloved books. It was also my very first kiss. There had certainly been propositions, but the boys at my school were extremely immature and quasi illiterate and I wanted my first experience to be with someone I had true feelings for.

William had had several relationships before, the longest being one year. According to him, his dad and brother sabotaged all of them. I could tell this was a painful subject, and I didn’t linger.

We began dating in earnest. To say he swept me off my feet is an understatement! He regaled me with tickets to the opera, symphony, plays. Among other things, he was also a consummate chef. He would cook lavish dinners for me and my family, who absolutely adored him. Strangely, he never invited me to see his house or meet his family. Knowing this was a sensitive topic, I didn’t pry but my curiosity was quite piqued!

Physically we progressed slowly, which only served to heighten my burgeoning desire. While at a concert, he would lean in close and whisper romantic musings into my ear. He would gently run his fingers through my hair with one hand and put his hand on my knee with the other. These small ministrations made me unspeakably aroused.