When I was in high school, about three quarters of the way through the last century, I had a girlfriend. Her name was Carol, and we went out for a couple of years. She grew up quickly and disappeared. I grew up – if at all – a lot more gradually, but now I own a condo. It happens to be very close to the condo where Carol lived with her family.

I guess I saw her at a class reunion in the early 1980s. Yes, we went together. And there was a wedding shortly after that — hers. The event horizon beyond which I have no idea, but I sure hope things went well for her. A good person, she, and life can be very beautiful and joyful. Or not.

The other day I was out for a walk and decided to try to figure out which unit was hers. I knew it was one of a few in a particular building, but I wasn’t exactly sure. Now I am.

Boy does this bring back memories. See the black door? Got some good kisses there. And that was her bedroom, above and to the right, behind the tree.

Things were fresh then, sweeter, more exciting. But sitting here now, at age 44, knowing what I do … if I could go back and have it to do over … we’d spend less time up there behind that tree, and more time at my folks’ place, playing with the dog.

A bland light is best to see it in.
Middle age brings it to flower.
And there, just when you’re feeling your weakest,
it floods you completely,
leaving you weeping as you drive your car.

— Joe Salerno