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photon game We Were Just Voices in a Dark Room

I once moved 800 miles to a city where I had no job and didn’t know anyone besides my fiancé, a man with whom I had spent less than three weeks in person.

Marty lived in Fort Collins, Colo., I lived in Las Vegas, and we met on a trail in Utah’s Capitol Reef National Park, where both of us had gathered with friends. The trail was actually a steep, fast creek. Once you scrambled to the bottom, you needed a second car to retrieve the car left at the starting point. Our two groups each had one car, so we joined up at the top.

He was a physics professor with big brown eyes, long eyelashes, a shy grin. And his outfit matched mine! Same loose khaki shorts, brown pullovers, beige T-shirts, black hiking sandals. We started walking together, talking nonstop and ignoring our friends. Turns out we had been to some of the same mountains and knew some of the same people despite never having lived in the same state. We were familiar strangers.

I helped him at a steep spot when he stumbled, but he didn’t get embarrassed like many men would if they fell in front of a woman they were flirting with. Marty was just comfortably himself, including some clumsiness, which I think is remarkable, and rare.

At trail’s end, we sat close while our friends left to get the other vehicle. The desert was hot and silent around us. He smiled. I smiled and moved closer, thinking we should kiss, but he didn’t take the bait. Instead, he got in his group’s car and left, without asking for my number. Later, though, he tracked down my address and wrote me a letter.

My dating profile said I was over 30, worked as a field biologist, wanted a serious relationship, and loved children and hiking in remote places. Man after man had responded by saying they wanted a hot mountain honey like me for casual good times. None mentioned children and most seemed unfamiliar with the concept of hiking.

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