Katy's Character Sketches

His hands are perpetually crusted with soot and the dust from the shop. Sky blue eyes are so often ringed with the imprints of his safety goggles. He is a builder. Our home is full of bronze-cast sculptures and homemade tools. The desk in his workroom is strewn with half-formed wax models, covered in dust from his alabaster carving. "Can I have a kiss?" he'll ask, at least once a day. I usually comply. Each morning, before the sun rises, while the chill of night is seeping through our window, he snuggles close for a moment. I protest when he pulls away, preparing to leave for the gym. "I've gotta get huge!" he'll say jokingly.

She is soft like an angel or maybe a bear. It depends on the day. She can definitely growl like a bear when she's angry. But mostly, she floats like an angel. Her softness is manifest in her fluffy graying hair, the gentle lines crisscrossing her face, the smallish knots beginning to form in her hands. Her body is warm and inviting, her arms holding a small child whenever one is available. Her home is cluttered, but not dirty. The dishes are always done, the floor always vacuumed, but somehow there are always toys covering the cleanliness. The old sticker-maker, the dress-up cowboy vest and hat, the Fisher Price Hospital.

At first she is uncomfortable. I can tell from the way she avoids my gaze, her dark red hair falling like a curtain over her face. I ask her more questions. Her gaze lifts to mine. She doesn't want to tell me what's going on. Her small frame shakes as she squares her jaw and says firmly, "We've separated. I'm okay though." Are you? I wonder. I can tell from her face that she wants no pity. Her eyes have hardened, as if daring me to feel sorry for her. I don't think she is okay, but I do not feel pity. All I feel is admiration. One day, she is going to conquer the world. She knows it, and I know it.