1971.
He was an anthropology major. It was more a hobby than a calling. She was a double major in English and Art History. He looked the part and had the convertible, but lacked the imagination and confidence to give her more than a sliver of what she wanted. They lasted three months in their junior year. Following school he went on two digs, then took a job selling shower fixtures in bulk. Tedious but profitable, especially when he landed the Hilton account. He married a woman shortly after. He loves her and their children, but still thinks of fall afternoons with garters under his fingertips. She went on to curate a mildly successful gallery, then married well. When it rains in Connecticut, she thinks of the autumn chill in the convertible and feels a pain, as though the edges of her lungs have grown hard and immobile. They are not friends on Facebook.
