Tiny Love Stories: ‘I Slunk Into Will’s Room and Under His Sheets’

Under His Canopy of Fish

During our junior year of college, Will taped 50 squiggly worms to his bedroom ceiling, suspending each one on a bit of fishing line. Their little glow-in-the-dark eyes turned into constellations when the lights were off. Will cooked a lot, smoked too much and rarely let us see him upset. He is my best friend. Once, when the world felt like it was closing in on me, I slunk into Will’s room and under his sheets. I didn’t say a word; neither did he. He let me lay as long as I wanted. The stars looked extra wiggly that night. — Teigist Taye

Cheering Me On at Cheers

“I’m coming to Boston,” my sister declared days before my 23rd birthday. I had a honeydew-sized tumor on my adrenal gland and needed surgery. A newlywed with a demanding job, Shannon flew cross-country and moved into my Holly Hobby-sized apartment. We reverted to our childhood selves, bingeing on potato skins at Cheers, dancing on the floor piano at F. A. O. Schwarz, giggling like schoolgirls. When I awoke post-surgery to Shannon’s hand on my arm, I felt safe, at home, even in the sterile recovery room. The pungent ammonia, incessant beeping and searing pain couldn’t compete with my sister’s calming presence. — Amy Paturel

Our Second Severance

I woke in recovery after abdominoplasty. Fertility-drug twins had torn my abdominal muscles, necessitating repair. I’d craved the biological connection of children, having been abandoned at birth by my own mother. I passed my fingertips over my abdomen, and my breath caught. The surgeon had cut away loose skin, fashioning an imitation belly button: a tiny twist no larger than the nail of my pinkie finger. The spot where I’d been joined to my mother — my only evidence of connection to her — lay in some hospital waste bin, my mother gone all over again. I cried for days. — Jillian Barnet

Decade-Old Discovery

We “met” in college in Poughkeepsie. Paige was from L.A.; I was from N.Y.C. The night we first spoke, I felt like we had known each other forever. Paige admitted that she felt an instant familiarity, too. Several months later, at home after graduation, I was going through old papers when I found a letter I had written at age 11 from camp in Vermont. Apparently, I had just shared a canoe with my “really great, awesome, funny friend Paige,” with whom I now share a loving relationship, more than a decade after writing home. — Catherine Borthwick

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