I had just graduated from Bunker Hill Community College in Boston with my Associate’s degree in Criminal Justice. How did I pay for school? I worked...under the table. Doing odd jobs here and there. I had no work permit and no social security number, side effect of being technically an illegal immigrant in America. I was done with college but couldn’t get a job because of my uniquely sad situation. I was despairing until I heard of a program through which refugees living in America could safely. " She looked sad and anxious, but not displeased. I guess my job was done. The universe used me, once again, to get a woman through a crisis, and sent them on their way, at least partially healed.Abigail was able to catch a flight out of Charleston, South Carolina, and I continued up the Intercostal, alone – again.Being alone gave me time to think about Abigail's news. If her husband was some kind of conduit for Muslim terror, could he have been involved with the death of Abigail's father on. Or so I thought. I went through my day, high school, first four periods, lunch, fifth, and finally sixth. I had sixth, math, with Ryan. It was a trig day, and the teacher asked us to split up into pairs. Naturally, me and Ryan teamed up, and got to work. I accidentally dropped my pencil, and he picked it up for me. As he was handing it back to me from the floor, his hand brushed against my package. I thought nothing of it. At the end of class, Ryan asked me to come to his house for a sleepover.. "Do you have a name for yourself when you're dressed?" Yes. Belle." Belle. That's a beautiful, feminine name." she said smiling. "You saidyou weren't gay. What about girlfriends? Have you had many and what didthey think of Belle?" She was probing here but I had promised to answerall her questions."I've had a few girlfriends but none of them has liked Belle. It's ashame because one of my fantasies is to make love as Belle." Why did Isay that? I was giving too many of my personal secrets.