The End of Moreland Ave - 3
The End of Moreland Ave - 5

The End of Moreland Ave - 4

Jim Vaughn, of all people, was sitting right by the cashier, punching keys on a laptop. It had been 15 years, but he was unmistakable, just add gray hair.
    “Hey, Jim?” I said, resting my latte on the table. “Do you remember me?”
    He blinked a few times, and then tested the name.
    “Wait. It’s Hannah-Roo and Myra-too!”
    “What?”
    “Hannah-Roo and Myra-too! That’s what I always said to remember your name!”
    Not exactly what I was expecting, but he has known me since I was a little girl. Our families were neighbors and we went to church together in Stumptown.
    We exchanged a hug-- me and this huge old guy in suspenders-- right in the coffee shop. He gave me a quick appraisal.
    “You look great,” he said, “You look… the same.”
    “How’ve you been?” I asked, trying to remember if it was his mom who had just died, or his dad. Or both.
    “And you... you were saved by a miracle on 9/11,” he told me
    “What?”
    “You were living in New York and you were late for work that morning or something and it was a miracle?”
     “Oh nothing like that really. I mean, I was there and it made me late for work. But I wasn’t really saved…” I sounded like I was being modest. Suddenly I didn’t want to ruin the miraculous story he had heard about me.
    “Hey, I was sorry to hear about your parents.” I said quietly.
    “Well, they say lovers follow.”
    I nodded, completely stumped. My date was settling on a couch across the room.
    What was Jim Vaughn doing here? What was he so busy with online? I wished him well and walked away with that queer feeling you’d get from seeing your 7th grade biology teacher at her part-time job at Wicks’n’Sticks. Like a cheap imitation of the girl he remembered.

Comments

grier

your date was me!

d. mathias

you're unforgettable.

The comments to this entry are closed.