I am in love with a married man, and I’m not talking about the man I’ve been married to for the past 30 some odd years. I’m talking about another man.
I don’t know his wife so I’m not too sure what she’d think of me being in love with her man. I suspect that’s she’s kind of grown accustomed to all that adulation heaped on her man.
I don’t know what his daughters think either, but surely they understand. They must love him near about as much as they love God. I bet they come to love him even more as they grow older and realize what a truly remarkable father they’ve been fortunate to have.
He don’t know I’m in love with him. Well, if he’s reading this piece, he’ll know now. But I’m just saying there’s nothing illicit about this love I have for this married man.
I’m not attracted to him in any physical way, not that there isn’t good reason to be, he’s a fine looking fella, easy on the eyes. It’s just that’s not the source of this wellspring of emotion I have towards him.
I fell in love with him at a hotel room in Portland, Oregon. I’d picked up a copy of his book Clay’s Quilt at Powell’s Bookstore earlier that evening and while all the other journalists attending a conference went out the bar, I curled up in the middle of that big ol’ bed and began reading that mountain story.
It is such a fine story you need to read it yourself. I thought his name — Silas House — was all made up, just like the story itself, but it’s not. That’s really his name.
Silas is from Kentucky, not too far from where my own daddy grew up. He is a truly gifted writer and more important than that, Silas is just a very fine man, from the inside out.
Tell me what you think. I have a hunch you’re going to fall in love with this man too.