We lost touch in the summer when I went to South America. I came back and you were gone. There was nothing left in your empty dorm room but the old guitar and just a hint of your perfume. What was it? Lilac?
Our RA, the one who looked like David Bowie and smelled like fish sticks, said you went to travel the world. I hope you got to see the world. I hope life has treated you well.
I didn’t see you again until a month ago. It was Wednesday. You were rocking back on your heels, balancing on that thick yellow line that runs along the platform, waiting for the F train. I didn’t know it was you until it was too late, and then you were gone. You said my name, I saw it on your lips. I tried to will the train to stop, just so I could say hello.
After seeing you, all of the youthful feelings and memories came flooding back to me, and now I’ve spent the better part of a month wondering what your life is like. I might be totally out of my mind, but would you like to get a drink with me and catch up on the last decade and a half?
M
(212)-555-3004
Second Movement:
Fifteen Years Ago
4. When I Met You
Matt
It was a Saturday when we met at Senior House. She was reading a magazine in the lounge while I struggled down the hall with my nineteen-year-old wooden desk. It was the one piece of home my mother had shipped from California, other than a single box, my camera equipment, and a duffle bag of clothes.
When she glanced in my direction, I froze awkwardly, hoping she’d look past me as I balanced the desk with little finesse.
No such luck.
Instead, she stared right into my eyes, cocked her head to the side, and squinted. She looked as if she were trying to recall my name. We had never met, I was sure of that. No one could forget a face like hers.
I remained still, transfixed, as I took her in. She had big, incandescent green eyes, alit with energy that demanded attention. Her mouth was moving and I was staring right at her, but I couldn’t hear a word she was saying; all I could think about was how uniquely beautiful she was. The eyebrows that framed her big almond-shaped eyes were darker than her almost white-blonde hair, and her skin looked like it would taste sweet on the tongue.
Oh my god, I’m thinking about what this girl’s skin tastes like?
“Bueller?”
“Huh?” I blinked.
“I asked if I could give you a hand?” She smiled, piteously, and then pointed to the desk I had balanced on my knee.
“Sure, yeah. Thanks.”
Without hesitation, she tossed aside her magazine, grabbed one end of the desk, and began walking backward as I struggled to keep up.
“I’m Grace, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said, out of breath. The name suited her.
“Do you have a name?”
“One more,” I said, gesturing with a nod.
“Your name is One More? That’s kind of unfortunate, but it does make me wonder how your parents came up with it.” She grinned.
I let out a nervous laugh. She was stunningly beautiful but she was also kind of goofy. “I meant we’re one room away.”
“I know, silly. I’m still waiting on that name.”
“Matt.”
“So Matty One More,” she said after she stopped in front of my room. “What’s your major?”
“Photography.”
“Ah, so I must recognize you from Tisch?”
“Nope. This is my first year.”
She looked puzzled. I reminded her of someone. I was hoping it was someone she liked. After we set the desk down, I moved past her to unlock the door. With my head lowered, I spoke to my Vans. “Yeah, I transferred from USC.”
“Really? I’ve never been to California. I can’t believe you left USC to come and slum it at Geezer House.”
“It wasn’t my scene.” I turned around and leaned against the door before I opened it. Our eyes met for a few seconds too long, and we both looked away. “I had to get out of California for a bit.” I was nervous-talking but I didn’t want her to leave. “Do you want to come in and hang out while I unpack my stuff?”
“Sure.”
She propped the door open with a stack of books and then helped me as I carried the desk inside to place in the corner. She hopped on top of it and sat, legs crossed, like she was going to meditate or levitate. I looked around my room again for the second time that day. It came complete with the standard dorm furniture: one metal extra-long twin bed, a desk that I could use for my camera equipment, an old stereo on the floor that the last person had left behind, and one empty bookshelf. The large box I had brought contained some of my favorite records, books, CDs, and photos. My best work from USC was matted inside a leather portfolio. Grace immediately grabbed it and began flipping through the pages. There were two long, narrow windows that bathed the room in sunlight, illuminating Grace’s face perfectly. It was as if the light was coming from her.
“Wow, this one is amazing. Is this your girlfriend?” She held up a photo of a gorgeous girl with devilish eyes, the curve of her naked body exposed.
“No, she wasn’t my girlfriend. Just a friend.” This was true, but it was also true that she had mouthed Do you want to fuck me? right before I snapped the photo while my friend—and her boyfriend—watched us silently. Like I said, USC wasn’t my scene.
“Oh,” she said quietly. “Well, it’s a great photo.”
“Thanks. The light in here is fantastic. Maybe I can take a couple of you?”