I don't want to open my heart

*B* tells me she can't have a baby.

B, the friend who spread out a blanket with me in the wet bluegreen grass outside our dorm room so we could have a slumber party under the stars (while our suitemates went clubbing). B, who when I broached the unspeakable ... "divorce", asked me earnestly, warmly "so what if you do?" allowing me to be okay in the eyes of at least one human.

Other friends said my voice changed whenever I talked to B. We'd listen to jazz in the dark or eat cheese and grapes or go for snowy walks. We'd joke that it was too bad we weren't attracted to women - marrying each other would be so much simpler. But in truth, I was glad we weren't; asexually,we were able to love each other so much more - more purely, more authentically.

So when she writes me out of the blue that she is hurting and fearful and ashamed, I tell her what I know to be true: that God is not punishing her, that as she so often told me that God has a plan, for her precious gifts too.

And B, my pastor friend, spiritual counselor, doctor of theology, asked why it was that at her Christian college and Christian world the only spiritual guidance she got was from me, her Jewish friend, her soulmate.

I tell her I wish I could have a baby for her, because suddenly, surpisingly, I am just not sure I want a baby of my own.

She says her acupuncturist gave her a CD called "open your heart to a new life"

"And," says B "I realized I wasn't sure I wanted to open my heart to a new life."

I say I understand. I do.