Moving On. What happens when you finally catch the girl you've been chasing?
She dared me to run with her. We'd had too much wine by that point, still breaking the thick ice. We were both in our 20s, interns, and recent transplants to New Mexico—she from California, me from Georgia. We were roommates by necessity, a shy, athletic woman with three bikes in the backyard and lots of running shoes paired with a poetry-writing guy who liked to bake bread. I pulled out a pack of Parliaments and offered her one. She smoked her first (and last) cigarette, so I agreed to run.
