by Allen M. Price
Whatever you did for one of the least of my brothers, you did for me.
May 31, 2002. The air was light. The sun bright but setting. The pallid quarter moon peeking over the horizon. And Shawn and I were going out on what would be our first date in almost seven months. We hadn’t spoken since the second Sunday in October when we both agreed that it was all too much: going to grad school, interning and dating. It wasn’t an easy decision, for me anyway. I really wanted to be with him. But time just refused to let us be together. Deep inside, though, something told me that it wasn’t over. So after letting the months go by like a bird flying south for the winter, I decided to call and congratulate him on graduating from the Kennedy school. Well, when he picked up the phone and said hello, I just about hung up, worried that he might not want to talk to me. But after I said hey, Shawn, he enunciated my name with so much excitement there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that he wanted to talk to me. Only to be confirmed minutes later when he asked if I’d go to an end-of-the-school-year party with him that evening.