My daydreaming always gets worse as fall approaches.  One afternoon I was walking through the produce section at the grocery store when a display of exceptionally vibrant oranges caught my eye.  Like a flash, I recalled that they were Bette’s favorite flavor, favorite fruit, one of her favorite smells.

            I stood in front of the rack staring at the oranges, not moving, hardly breathing, and definitely creating quite a sight.  Finally, a young man who worked there woke me out of my trance by asking if I was all right.  I nodded my head, picked up an orange, and left the store without buying anything else.  I went to a nearby park and sat on a bench holding the orange until dark, then went home and ordered a pizza for dinner.

            I’m not sure what that was.  An acute memory, an obscure fact about someone who’d faded out of my life almost thirty years before.  It concerned me that after all this time, she still had that kind of effect on me, enough to cause me to make a spectacle of myself from who knows how far away.  Sometimes, we don’t hang onto things; they hang onto us.  Things we never meant to hold or carry with us, things we’d maybe sooner forget.  But they stay and remind us of the things we could have done differently or changed.  If we’d been brave enough to.

*          *            *            *            *

            The semester rushed towards its end and still we hadn’t met.  In fact, we barely even discussed it again except in passing.  Life kept getting in the way.  My comprehensive exams approached, as did Bette’s final projects and research papers.  As the last weeks approached, she mentioned she planned to take a trip to the City a few days before her last exam.  I begged off, telling her I couldn’t possibly get away; I had too much studying to do.  It was the only lie I ever could bring myself to tell her. 

            I didn’t know how to divulge that, actually, I was going to New Jersey with Henry to visit his family, and how could I have explained to Henry that I backed out to meet a friend and one I’ve never met before, at that.  At the time, it was such a small thing.  She was disappointed, but understanding, and Henry, as always, didn’t know any better.  She and I agreed to meet first thing in fall, for her birthday.  Neither one of us realized how detrimental that four month delay would prove to be.