Peter and I hitched our wagons young. Early 20s. He was wildly handsome, gay, with soulful brown eyes and a head full of loose, unruly curls.
Raised by an African American woman and a white preacher man, Peter spent his childhood steeped in the evangelical ministry.
He was as terrified of his father’s sermons as he was soothed by his mother’s inclination to administer to the more human aspects of the congregation they both led.
The night I met Peter, he and I fell all the way in love. Kismet, you could say. He made me laugh with his very first words.