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Reflections from the Snow

By: thezinger



I recently had cause to recollect my first love, a girl whom I met my senior year in high school in Reno, Nevada. The occasion for this nostalgic backward glance was, sadly, the aftermath of the signing of the divorce decree between me and my now ex-wife, its location a dimly lighted booth at my favorite neighborhood bar. Large snowflakes drifted down outside, eerily peppering my pale reflection in the window glass.

That I even had a favorite bar was a sign of how badly my marriage had deteriorated. Fourteen years of marriage never achieved the bliss that our nuptial vows had promised. If I were to be completely honest with myself--a condition from which I only rarely suffer--I would have to admit that we were badly suited to one another from the start. Yet both of us were either too stubborn or too deep in denial to voice or even contemplate what would be the likely outcome of our ill match. That is, not until many fruitless years had passed and the consequences of persisting as a couple became too stark even for us to ignore.

I felt hollow sitting there alone, sipping straight scotch and absently watching the bubbles rise and delicately sizzle at the surface of a soda chaser. The snowflakes melted quickly on the sidewalk outside, their fragile impermanence mocking that of my own marriage. The sense of relief I naively thought would accompany the finality of the decree eluded me. I was emotionally enervated, incapable of mustering the optimism that would fuel a risky look into an uncertain future. So it was only natural that I should fill that void by looking to the past, to a time when I was emotionally unencumbered by years of guilty baggage and imagined shame. The evanescent beauty of the cold, white flakes on the other side of the window evoked old memories with unexpected force and clarity.

I met her during the spring term of my senior year. As I recall the semester had begun quite inauspiciously. I was a member of the track team with aspirations to be invited to the state meet at the end of the school year, at least as part of the 800-meter relay team, and perhaps in the 200-meter sprint, which was my best event. I had trained hard over the holiday break and the first couple of weeks of the semester and had established myself as one of the best sprinters on the team. But at the first meet of the year, on a clear but cold day, I felt a twinge at the back of my thigh as I accelerated into the straightaway in the first heat. I finished that heat, but the leg tightened up over the course of the day and I could barely limp around by the end. A pulled hamstring, the docs later said, at least four weeks to heal. That was bad news, but didn't necessarily end my aspirations. If I could keep myself in decent aerobic condition, do lots of stretching and ease back in to running carefully, I still had a shot at state.

Not a week after that, an all-you-can-eat pizza and wings buffet at the local pizzeria on a Friday evening turned ugly. At first, I just thought I had over-eaten, if an athletic teen-aged boy can possibly do that, but after a night calling dinosaurs it was clear I was really sick. I was particularly bummed because the next night was a big party for two new exchange students from the Boston area. One girl, Victoria, was being hosted by my friend Shelley's family, and the other, a girl whose name I didn't know yet, was staying with the family of one of Shelley's friends, Maureen, a girl I knew, but not well.

My hopes for a quick turnaround were dashed as I seemed only to get sicker over the weekend, ruining my prospects for meeting Victoria, whom I had already heard described in glowing terms by Shelley. Shelley and I had been friends for years. I liked her for her honest, no-pretense attitude and acerbic wit, although I had no romantic inclinations toward her. I don't think the same could be said about her feelings toward me, however, and I believe if I had given any sign of desire for her she wouldn't have hesitated. Shelley seemed instead to have channeled her romantic feelings toward me by becoming my matchmaker, having set me up with various of her female friends and acquaintances over the previous couple of years with, sadly, limited success. I tolerated this state of affairs partly because of my genuine affection for Shelley, and partly because I needed all the help I could get: I didn't seem to fare any better in love when left to my own devices.

Shelley had spoken glowingly of Victoria and was anxious for us to meet. The Saturday night party was supposed to be my opportunity to meet this raven-haired beauty with a dazzling smile and bubbly personality (so Shelley), but it was not to be. To make matters worse, not only was I sick the whole weekend, when I still felt ill the following week, a doctor's visit confirmed a dreaded diagnosis: I had mono.

They call mono the "kissing disease". If that's true, mine would have been the first documented case of disease transmission via dreams. However I got it, as mono goes I didn't have an especially severe case. But it kept me in bed for a good two weeks. The first week I was worthless. I basically just slept. The second week I could muster enough energy to sometimes do a little studying in bed, working on assignments my best friend brought me after school so I wouldn't get too hopelessly behind in my classes. By the third week, I could attend half-days, but needed a long afternoon nap and spent evenings doing schoolwork. Oh, and did I mention that I spent my 18th birthday as an invalid? It just doesn't get any better than that!

So it was mid-February before I was back at school and more or less functioning normally again. I had given up any hope of qualifying for the state track meet. Although I was strong enough to do everyday tasks, it would be weeks, if not months, before I could begin seriously training again. I dropped the track team and used the extra time to try to catch up on my schoolwork.

I was having my first lunch in the cafeteria since coming back to school full time when someone came up from behind and gave me a robust slap on the back between mouthfuls of mystery meat (or was it shit-on-a-shingle that day? I can't remember).

"Howdy, stranger! Welcome back to the world of the living!"

Shelley grinned as I choked and coughed on my mouthful of food.

"You trying to send me back to the hospital?" I exclaimed once I had recovered. I stood to give Shelley a hug. Since we didn't share any classes this semester, this was the first time I had seen her in weeks.

"No, you seem to do well enough maiming yourself on your own," she retorted. "But if you can keep yourself out of the ER for a few minutes, there's someone here I'd like you to meet."

Behind Shelley I now noticed a dark-haired girl standing unobtrusively off to the side.

Motioning the girl closer, she said,"This is Victoria. Victoria, I'd like you to meet Robert."

"It's Robbie to my friends," I said, extending my hand. Victoria placed her carefully manicured and delicate hand in mine, but returned a surprisingly firm handshake.

"So you expect us to be friends already?" she teased with a mischievous smile. She turned to Shelley. "You didn't tell me he would be so presumptuous."

"You will just have to forgive him. Once you get past the fact that he's sickly, maimed, and lacks social graces, you'll begin to see his appealing qualities. Both of them."

I was not thrown in the least by Shelley's ribbing. This type of banter was our standard mode of communication.

"Victoria, your name befits your regal countenance," I countered, bowing slightly with exaggerated deference. "It is an honor to make your acquaintance. And I find it especially generous of someone of your station to associate with my rustic friend here." At that I gave a Shelley a prolonged glance from head to toe to point out her wardrobe, which was her usual cowboy boots, jeans and Western shirt. Shelley loved horses and used every spare minute to ride or care for her horse, which was stabled on the outskirts of town. Today she was clearly planning on making a trip to the stables as soon as she could get out of school.

Shelley's outfit couldn't have contrasted more from Victoria's. Whereas Shelley's leggy form looked like something straight out of a John Ford Western, Victoria's petite frame was carefully clothed with tight-fitting designer jeans, simple but stylish flats and a tight-fitting pale-blue sweater that highlighted her slim waist and small round breasts. Her round face was tastefully highlighted with makeup, showing off her sparkling brown eyes and delicate nose. This was a girl who took great care with her appearance, without question. I found it curious that she and Shelley seemed to have hit it off so well since they seemed total opposites.

Victoria glanced at Shelley with raised eyebrows and nodded approvingly. "He seems to have some wit about him," she observed with mock admiration. "I think perhaps he is worthy after all of the invitation we had discussed."

"If you say so," Shelley replied. "But I take no responsibility for any social embarrassments that may ensue."

Shelley turned to me and dropped the faux haughtiness. "So wadda ya say? You done with your faking-mortal-illness-for-sympathy routine long enough to come to Beth's birthday party on Saturday night?"

"Beth? Who's Beth?" I asked.

"Beth, silly. You know, the other exchange student. Vicky's friend from Boston. Maureen's hosting a party to celebrate Beth's 18th birthday this weekend. Can you come?"

"Well, sure, I guess," I replied. "I sure as heck won't be running any track meets that day."

"Yeah, I'm really sorry about all of that," Shelley responded, finally expressing her true feelings. "I know you really had your heart set on going to state. But maybe being surrounded by beautiful and elegant women would be some consolation. And if you keep faking that limp, I'm sure you'll get some extra attention just out of pity."

"Thanks for that," I said. "I'll take all the pity I can get. I'd love to come."

"Great!" Victoria exclaimed perkily. " You'll have the whole week to practice your adoration." She batted her eyelids coyly.

"I am resolved to begin immediately!" I exclaimed with obviously forced exuberance.

"Well, sorry we can't stick around to join you for lunch," said Shelley. "We've got places to go, people to meet. But see you Saturday at 7 at Maureen's."

Shelley gave me a quick hug, then marched out of the cafeteria with Victoria.

I saw Victoria on a few occasions that week, but only briefly and never alone. She was always friendly, energetic, and sexy without looking promiscuous. I was really starting to look forward to the opportunity to get to know her better at the party.

When Saturday evening finally rolled around I was seriously worked up. Maybe something would finally work out for me romantically, and with such a beautiful and charming girl! Spending time with Victoria was my sole focus as I walked in Maureen's front door.

The party was already rolling by the time I arrived. It had snowed during the day and stopped just as my family sat down for dinner. My mom made me shovel the driveway before I left, and the roads were treacherous and slow, so I was fashionably, if unintentionally late. There were already about 20 people there when I arrived and more guests kept trickling in. Maureen answered the door. She was quite tall, nearly reaching my five foot ten and rather plain in the face, but with a sweet smile. Her boyfriend Paul was hovering about nearby. He was literally the tall, quiet type: well over six feet and you could hardly get a word out of him. But he seemed like a nice guy.

"Hi Robbie," Maureen greeted me as she waved me in. "I'm not sure where the birthday girl is right now, but I'm sure you'll see her around. I think Victoria's in the rec room. Sodas are in the cooler in the kitchen."

I grabbed a can of coke and wandered around. I'd never been in Maureen's house before so I didn't know where the rec room was. The house was big, that was for sure. There was a big family room, a formal living room, a dining room, and a kitchen on the main floor. Stairs leading up must have led to the bedrooms. Off of the kitchen were stairs leading down to the basement, from which animated voices could be heard. I headed down and saw several clusters of people in conversation, most notably the petite and ever stylishly-dressed Victoria surrounded by five athletic-looking guys. I recognized a couple of them from the football team and one of my (now former) track teammates was there as well. I made my way over. They were talking about nothing important: school sports, gossip, classes. I tried to insinuate myself into the conversation hoping that Victoria would turn her attentions to me, but to no avail. She seemed to enjoy all the male attention and flirted with each boy in turn, except for me, it seemed.

After a time, I became bored and discouraged and began to look around the room distractedly. I saw Shelley with a group in the corner and she caught my eye and motioned me over.

"Hey there big guy! Have you met the star of tonight's party yet? This is Beth. Beth, this is Robert."

Shelley always introduced me as Robert, even though I went by Robbie. Maybe she wanted to give me the chance to use what was becoming my signature line:

"Hi Beth. My friends call me 'Robbie'. Nice to meet you."

She looked me in the eye as she offered her hand. "Nice to meet you Robbie. I've heard you're quite the track star."

"Well, 'was' is more like it. Mono and a tender hammie have done me in for this year."

I took Beth in as the small group chatted. She was as unlike Victoria as Shelley, although in a different way. She was taller than Victoria, maybe five-six, and with a fuller build, although she had a shapely figure nonetheless. Her clothes were casual, nice, but nondescript. She clearly wasn't the clothes-horse that her friend was. She wore neither makeup nor nail polish, and styled her medium-length brown hair simply, partially pulled back and fastened with a barrette. She was attractive, but not glamorous. If you wanted to be critical you might say her nose was too broad and chin a bit heavy, but I instantly liked her warm, easy smile and deep green eyes.

Our little group chatted there for quite a while, with some folks drifting off while others would join in for a while. But Beth and I always remained. Eventually, it was just the two of us. We talked about school, which classes we were taking and which teachers we liked. We compared our lifestyles in our respective home cities and what we liked to do for fun. We discovered we both loved reading and music (hey, jocks can be cultured too!) and the outdoors. At one point Shelley, who had wandered away earlier, returned with two sodas, which she offered to us during a rare break in the conversation.

"You two look like you could stand to wet your whistles," she said as she handed us the drinks.

"Thanks!" was all I could manage before Shelley turned to go.

"Thanks, Shel!," I repeated as she started to walk off. She looked over her shoulder and gave me a wordless wink before bounding up the stairs.

Beth and I talked in our corner the whole evening. I totally monopolized the birthday girl. When I finally had to excuse myself to take a pee, I looked at my watch and saw it was nearly midnight! As I trotted upstairs to find the facilities I could see the party was noticeably winding down. Maureen and Paul were still there, of course, as was Shelley. I saw Victoria talking to a couple of guys (different ones from earlier) in the kitchen. After washing up, I reluctantly decided I needed to leave. I went into the family room and thanked Maureen for hosting the party, gave Shelley a quick good-night hug, and managed to catch Victoria's eye in the kitchen and gave her a farewell wave, which she returned with a smile, before turning again, laughing, to her admirers.

I went over to Beth who had joined the small gathering in the family room.

"I had a wonderful time talking to you tonight," I said. "I'm sorry I jeopardized you for the whole party! That was very selfish of me. I hope you'll forgive me."

"You can jeopardize me anytime you want," she replied. "I really had a wonderful time. I hope it's not the last."

My heart began racing as she said those last words.

"It won't be, I promise," I replied earnestly. "But I think I need to go now."

"I understand," she said.

She leaned toward me and gave me a hug. It was a little bit longer than just a "thanks and goodnight" hug, but not long enough to attract undue attention from the others in the room, who could all see us plainly.

When we released our too-brief embrace, I grabbed my coat from the closet and headed out the door to my car. It had turned into a brilliantly clear and bracingly cold night. An almost-full moon etched crisp shadows on the fresh snowfall. As I crunched my way to the street I heard the front door open and turned to see Beth pulling on her coat and running towards me. She held out a piece of paper as she reached me.

"Here, I wanted to make sure you had my phone number."

I took the slip of paper, which had Maureen's home number hurriedly scribbled on it. Surely she knew that I could easily get the number from Shelley, or from the phone book, for that matter. Yes, of course she knew that! That wasn't why she was out here.

"Thanks," I said, putting the scrap in my pocket and smiling. "I'll be needing that."

"Here, let me walk you to your car," Beth offered.

I resumed the cold trek to my parking spot, which was several houses down the block since I had arrived somewhat late to the party. As we trudged through the cold Beth took my arm, then my hand. Lava seemed to surge up my arm and my heart raced yet faster.

When we got to my car, Beth unhesitatingly reached out and hugged me so tightly I had difficulty breathing.

"I wanted to do this so badly in there earlier," she said in a husky voice and looked up at me invitingly. "Is that how you feel?"

"Oh god, yes!" I said, and leaned over to kiss her.

My heart did its best to escape my chest cavity as I savored Beth's moist soft lips against mine, felt her curvaceous warmth pressing against me, and watched the passionate steam of our breath crystallize between us in the frigid night air. I don't know how long we stood locked in that embrace, but the sound of a door opening and voices coming from down the street startled us out of our reverie.

"I had better go," she said. "You have that number," she added.

"Don't worry," I replied. "You really really don't need to worry."

With that, she trotted off into the night.

Beth and I spent every moment together that we could manage over the next few weeks, not that that was very much. Since Beth was a guest in her hosts' home, she had less control of her schedule than she might otherwise. We had no classes together and I was still playing catch up from my several weeks absence, so I often had extra tutoring or study sessions. But we treasured every moment we could steal, for we were both clearly head over heels in love. Being with Beth was just so easy, so natural, so fun, and so tender I never wanted it to end. But it was rare that we could find time to really be alone. So I was delighted when Beth came bounding up to me in the hallway one day in early March with a big grin on her face.

"Got any plans for Spring Break?" she asked while playfully poking me in the ribs.

"Well, once I've finished with the surgery and rehab for the assault I'm undergoing right now, I might have a day or two free. Why?"

Beth redoubled her attack with both hands. "Reschedule," she laughed.

"I'll call the hospital as soon as I get home," I said, dancing away from her pokes.

Beth abruptly ceased her assault, put her hands in her pants pockets and adopted a casual air.


Reflections from the Snow Ch. 02



Author's Note: This story is a continuation of a story from several years back, "Reflections from the Snow." That story was conceived as a freestanding work. Yet, like the story's hero, I have been unable to quite let go of Beth. "Reflections in the Snow, Chapters 2 and 3" continue the story begun in the original "Reflections." I have decided to let the original stand as I first titled it, so there is no official "Chapter 1." Nonetheless, you may regard that earlier story as chapter 1 of these follow-on works.

*****

Prologue

The woman stood uncertainly on the sidewalk, clutching her knit cap to her head with one hand to keep it from blowing off in the steadily increasing wind. She looked to her right down the street towards the subway stop from which she had not long ago emerged, and to her left up the street into swirling snow and darkness. A series of darkened shop windows in that direction confirmed that she couldn't have encountered him beyond where she was now standing. She glanced to her right again. Only three lighted windows: an all-night drugstore, two darkened storefronts, a souvenir shop, and a coffee shop at the corner. Then a cross street and there was the entrance to the subway.

She turned to the doorway before her. The sign above said "Corcoran's Pub." This had to be it; he had to have come from here. She pulled the door open and walked in. The dimly lit room was about half full. A noisy table of three men in the middle of the floor punctuated the quiet conversation of the remaining patrons. A barmaid was collecting glasses and wiping clean a booth table along the front window. The bartender was busily preparing drinks at the far end of the bar while another barmaid jabbered at him from across the counter.

The woman stepped up to the end of the bar nearest the entrance, but didn't seat herself. She set her bulky tote bag on a stool seat and leaned awkwardly against the bar, casting occasional nervous glances to the still-occupied bartender.

Why hadn't she acted more decisively? she asked herself. Her heart had almost stopped when she thought she recognized his face, but he ran off so quickly! And then she just stood there, rationalizing how it just couldn't be him; it was just too improbable. And by the time she talked herself into chasing after him, he had already descended the stairs to the subway station, and then she had to wait for the light to change, and by the time she crossed the street and ran down the stairs to the station all she found was an empty platform and lights disappearing into the tunnel.

After resignedly walking back several blocks towards her original destination, she managed to talk herself into trying just one more longshot, even more of a longshot than chasing after a stranger who reminded her of a ghost from her past. So now she was counting on someone else to recognize her ghost for her.

The bartender finally finished preparing his order and walked over to her.

"What can I get you, ma'am?"

She hesitated.

"Well, uh, you see . . . " she spluttered.

The bartender didn't reply, but looked at her patiently.

She tried again.

"You see, I'm, uh, looking for a gentleman. A gentleman-a man-that I think was just in here a little while ago."

"And what does this man look like?"

"Well, he's got a medium build and dark hair. And he wears a hat."

"A hat. What kind of hat?"

"Uh, well, let's see. I just caught a glimpse of it when it blew off his head. I think you'ld call it a cap, like a driver's cap. It was dark, maybe gray, or maybe it was brown."

The bartender sighed.

"I'm sorry ma'am. That's not much to go on. You probably described about half the men that have been in this bar tonight."

"But the hat!" the woman protested.

"Lady, it's Boston. In November. People wear hats."

"He has hazel eyes . . ." Her voice trailed off.

The bartender regarded her pitifully. To her dismay, she felt her eyes moisten. She looked away quickly to hide her distress, which she herself didn't fully understand.

"Yes, you're right," she said, picking up her bag and turning to the door. "A lot of people have hats."

She got partway to the door when the bartender raised his voice. 

"Hey, does he have a name?"

The woman turned and smiled wistfully, as if in remembrance. 

"Robbie. Robert. Robert . . ." She struggled to remember his last name but couldn't seem bring it to mind.

"Can't seem to remember anything these days," she said apologetically. "What with the . . ." Her voice faded and she turned to go.

"Wait!" the bartender exclaimed.

"Wait," he said again more gently. "Why don't you write down your name and number? I'll keep it by the register. In case I recognize him."

The woman's face brightened.

"All right," she said. "That's a good idea. Yes, that's good. Thank you!"

She hurried back to the bar and set her bag on it. The bartender handed her a blank guest tab and a pen. She hovered over the note and chewed unconsciously on the tip of the pen, as if uncertain what to write. The bartender, who realized he was staring rudely at her, looked away and pretended to study the large bag sitting next to her. The woman, finally having decided what to write, scribbled furiously on the paper and handed it back to the bartender. 

The bartender watched the woman leave and stood silently in place for a few seconds. He looked down at the note. It read, "Robbie-Reno, 1975? Beth." Beneath her name was a phone number. One of the barmaids walked up to him and regarded him with raised eyebrows. The bartender shrugged and slowly shook his head.

"Why do I get all the lonelyhearts? Now, where's that tape?"

-------------

My hope was that the New Year would bring me new cheer, but that didn't seem to be happening. Neither a holiday trip to warm and sunny Phoenix, where my parents had opted to retire, nor two months further remove from my divorce, seemed able to puncture the envelope of gloom that surrounded me.

You might think that it's not too uncommon for recent divorcees to feel depressed, but in my experience, most of them are just as happy as clams. Take Charlie, one of my workout buddies. He had only been married five years when he and his wife decided to call it quits. For months afterward he looked like he could walk on water. He was just floating!

And Debbie, who worked in my department. I never even knew she was capable of smiling until she got unhitched. After her divorce, I had to reach for my sunglasses whenever she walked into the room.

So why was I so miserable? Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that we had worked just so damned hard to make things go, then, after all that effort, it just fell apart. It was like spending your life constructing an elaborate building, only to find that the foundation was faulty and once finished, had to be torn down. It was utterly deflating.

The Boston winter didn't help, either. The weather didn't even have the courtesy to be dramatic. Just always vaguely cold and vaguely gray. Not like a proper Reno winter, nestled up against the foothills of the Sierras, where storms would bring gloriously bright snowflakes and the most bracing cold came in the intense blue after a storm, so crisp you dared not turn your head too quickly for fear the air would cut your cheeks.

So, yet again, I sat nursing one more whiskey than is good for me, staring out a window, and thinking back longingly on my youth.

The frigid weather reminded me of my first year on the track team when I was a high-school sophomore, having no clue what "training" really meant and being thrown out with the distance runners for some endurance running. One frozen winter morning we had to run around a small lake not too far from school. It was maybe two miles around. About a dozen of us were lined up in a long string and told, "Run!" The catch is, when you're at the end of the line, you have to pass everyone to run up to the front. So not only do you have to maintain pace, but every so often you have to put on a burst of speed. I started about in the middle of the group and by the time it was my turn to pass everyone, I was already about to die. But somehow I dug deep and slowly, slowly mustered that extra bit of energy to start pulling ahead of those in front of me. But when I had passed almost the entire line, the guy in the lead-Dave, I can see that bastard's grinning face as clear as if it were yesterday-upped the pace and I started falling behind again. Not to be humiliated, with superhuman effort I found yet one higher gear and again started pulling ahead. But once more, as I pulled even with Dave, he stretched out those long legs of his (he was about six-two) and easily pulled ahead again. I tried desperately to catch him, but in the end I had nothing left in the tank and fell aside, gasping for air and coughing like my lungs would come up.

I kept a secret flame of bitterness burning for that long-legged sadist for several weeks, until Dave, who was a senior, invited me to one of his legendary parties. His family must have had money, because they had an enormous home with a motorized gate at the head of the driveway. The basement was huge, and had a pool table and an awesome stereo that blasted rock 'n roll at dangerous levels. And his parents, apparently, were entirely deaf. Or dead. Or vacationing-always. I never did meet them. It was at Dave's party that I learned the fine art of shotgunning beer. It was also at that event that I had the pleasure of meeting our team mascot-Janet. And after meeting Janet, I forgave Dave everything.

Janet, thankfully, was not a grizzly, the official school mascot. Janet was specifically the track team mascot. Not a sanctioned mascot, mind you. I don't think any of the coaches knew about her. But the rest of the team sure did. The thing about Janet was, you got a few beers in her, and she would make out with anyone. Perhaps even a grizzly! But certainly with anything that could wear pants, even if only a lowly sophomore.

As far as I know, no one ever "took advantage" of Janet at these parties. Maybe she had a boyfriend she did things with, I'm not sure, but at these parties, her big, beautiful lips were available to all comers. She was the first girl I really kissed, you know, more than just a peck on the lips. She was obviously quite practiced and boy, did I learn how much sensuality you could pack into a few square centimeters of skin! To be honest, she kind of spoiled me. I later had girlfriends who thought a kiss meant opening your mouth as wide as possible and assaulting the other party with the tongue. But Janet knew where all the good nerve endings lay. She would gently touch your cheeks with her elegant fingertips, close her eyes and draw you to her. She would first brush her barely parted lips gently against yours, then maybe gently bite your lower lip. Next, she might press her pouted lips against yours and swing her head slowly from side to side, creating a wondrous friction, then wrap her arms around your neck and pull your forehead against hers, then insert her tongue between your lips and your teeth. She had more ways of making two mouths meet than the Catholic Church has bishops. Janet was a gourmand of kissing. If a kiss were a daily meal, she could season each one with a different spice the year long.

Sadly, I only experienced Janet's talents on two or three occasions. Rumor had it that after one particular party she stayed out well past her curfew (which must have been pretty generous to start with) and had shotgunned a few too many beers into the bargain. When she finally staggered home, she opened her front door to find her father standing there in his PJs, arms crossed. She promptly threw up on his feet. That was the end of Janet's status as track team mascot and kissing maven. And the world is a poorer place for it.

The only woman I ever knew who could kiss like Janet was Beth. Beth wasn't a fancy kisser like Janet was. She didn't have "technique." But she, too, knew where all the good nerve endings lay. When I pressed my lips against Beth's, I knew I was in for an experience. Her lips weren't merely soft; they had depth. When you leaned into her lips, they leaned back. They met you, they took you in, they enveloped you. It was like easing yourself onto a waterbed-you would just sink in and you weren't sure you would ever want to get out again.

Beth, when she really got going, had this most enticing habit. I don't know how to describe it exactly. It was like she was humming, or purring even. She was totally unaware of it, I'm almost certain. I never pointed it out to her because I didn't want her to become self conscious about it. But I loved it. It made her lips vibrate ever so subtly, a vibration of pleasure and complete immersion in the moment that gently buzzed its way through my mouth into my head, and into my loins, and into my heart. In our last couple of months together, after the fateful ski trip, when we could at best arrange a few tens of minutes of fleeting privacy, we spent our most intimate moments making out and, honest to God, it was almost as good as sex. I could have spent hours feeling her being pulsate through her lips into my soul.

A startling noise from the street outside roused me from my reverie. Such reminiscences might brighten my spirits for a time, but eventually I had to face grim reality. I splashed back the last of my whiskey and reached for my wallet. I always paid cash here but on this night my wallet was empty. I looked up to catch a barmaid's eye, but the only one I saw on the floor was busy taking the order for a large party across the room. I looked at my watch; just enough time to catch the 8:45 if I hurried. I grabbed my coat and hat, slid out of the booth, and trotted up to the bar, catching the bartender's eye as I did so. I noticed it was Mel, the owner, who had been absent for the first couple of weeks of the year. On vacation, I guess. It was the first time I had seen him since I had gotten back from the holidays. Not that Mel would know me. I was just the poor slob that liked to nurse whiskeys by the window a few too many nights a week.

"Four Johnny Walker Blacks," I said, pulling my credit card from my wallet. Mel took the card and punched a few numbers into the terminal, then swiped. I pulled on my coat and hat, preparing to head out into the cold night and run to catch my train. Mel started to hand me back the card, but his hand froze as he looked at me. I couldn't understand what had so arrested his attention and turned to look behind me, thinking that something across the room might have caught his eye. But there was nothing notable I could see.

I turned back to face him. He was looking at my card.

With great deliberation he read aloud: "Robert Stearns." He looked up at me. "That right? Robert Stearns?"

"Yes, that's me. Do you need to see additional identification?"

"No, that's . . . Wait, yes, that would help, uh, clear things up. Driver's license?"

I found this all rather strange. Not many businesses asked for ID for a simple credit transaction anymore, least of all a modest bar tab, but I obligingly pulled out my wallet and tossed my driver's license onto the counter.

Mel picked it up and read out loud.

"Five-ten. Hundred sixty-two pounds. Hair: black. Eyes: hazel." He looked up at me. "Yup. That's you."

He handed me back my license and credit card. As the credit slip was printing out, he asked casually, "You ever go by 'Robbie'?"

This startled me. I hadn't used that nickname for years, decades really. Not since I was a freshman at college. I thought, at the time, that 'Robbie' was too childish for a real adult. 'Robert' was much more dignified, I felt. I had difficulty making it stick among my friends and acquaintances, though. I usually had to settle for 'Rob.' Nowadays I was Robert at work, Rob to my friends.

"I used to," I replied cautiously. "Why?"

He didn't answer directly, but as he ripped off the credit slip and handed it to me to sign, he asked, "Reno mean anything to you?"

This was getting to be just too much.

"What are you after?" I demanded, slapping the signed credit slip and pen back on to the counter.

My irritation didn't faze Mel in the least. He calmly reached around and tore something off a shelf behind him, then turned to face me. 

"If Reno means something to you, I might have something here for you," he said, waving a scrap of paper in his hand.

We stared at each other for a long moment, then I replied, "I grew up in Reno. So, yeah, it means something to me."

Mel wordlessly handed me the scrap of paper.

"Robbie," it read. "Reno, 1975? Beth." I choked back a sob I didn't know was in me.

Beth? Beth??? But how? Was this some kind of prank, a cruel joke? But who would know to pull this stunt on me, even if they had the inclination?

"How . . ." I sputtered. "How did you get this?"

"A lady came in a while back, a few months, maybe. She was looking for a guy named Robbie she thought had come out of this place earlier that evening. A guy named Robbie with a hat."

"A hat?"

"I thought maybe she was a little off, if you know what I mean, but she had a look about her that was, I don't know, you just believed her. Or wanted to."

"Yes, Beth did have that gift. She made people believe in her."

"So I had her write down her name and number and I taped it up there," he said, indicating the shelves behind him. "Never thought I'd actually have need to use it and, to be honest, I had completely forgotten about it until tonight."

"What made you remember it?" I asked.

"The hat, I guess. That, and that look you got that says maybe you need to be found."

"Yes, perhaps I do. Thank you." I slipped the note into my pocket and walked out into the night.

For some reason I couldn't bear to even look at the slip of paper with Beth's handwriting on it during the ride home. When I got to my condo I set it on the kitchen table, but couldn't make myself dial the number written on it. I instead watched late-night TV and eventually fell into a restless sleep. I called in sick the next day and spent most of the morning with a cold cup of coffee in my hands staring at the note.

How could it be that this happiest of memories from my youth might actually come back into my life? What strange coincidence allowed our straying paths to once again intersect? Could it be fate, a concept I quite frankly scoffed at for most of my adult life?

Eventually, I gathered my nerve and yanked the phone off its cradle. With a shaking finger, I punched in the digits. The ringtone on the other end trilled once, twice, then stopped. A short pause, then a click. A female voice: "I'm sorry. The number you have dialed is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this number in error . . ."

I stabbed the off button on the handset, then carefully redialed.

"I'm sorry. The number you have dialed . . ."

I hurled the handset across the room, where it hit the wall and shattered into a thousand pieces. 

Rather like my soul.

Maybe it was seeing the days grow longer. Or perhaps it was just knowing that you had seen the depths and still lived to tell the tale. Or, maybe, it was just time. Just giving yourself enough time to let wounds heal, to let that damnable animal drive to survive push you on to the next day and the next after that, until the pain is no longer fresh and you dare to enjoy a small pleasure here, a friendly smile there, and begin to think of a future.

In the couple of weeks following my almost encounter with my past, I was desolate, barely able to function. There were days I barely got out of bed, days I virtually slept-walked through my work routines, days I slept twelve hours and days I slept two. But curiously, none of my days involved sitting in a bar drinking whiskey. Despair and self-pity were sufficient drugs for the time. 




Reflections from the Snow Ch. 02



Then, some internal timer seemed to click and said, "Time to get on with things." So I did. I came back to the world, invested myself into my work, saw friends, did things. I lived. After some months, I even developed the presence of mind to actually look for Beth on my own. So much better than just sitting there being a passive schmuck. But it yielded me nothing except the limited satisfaction of knowing I had tried something, at least. I called every Beth, or Elizabeth, or Bethany Miller I could find in the area. Let me tell you, in the greater Boston area there are quite a few. And many of them don't like strange men calling them asking about their past. But most definitely none of them were my Beth.

She had probably long ago married and taken a new last name. One that she quite probably still carried in the happy marriage that she so richly deserved.

And so I let go and moved on. Mostly. For a while. 

I had definitely moved on from my failed marriage, of that I was sure. Val, my ex wife, was already engaged. And I bore her no ill will for it. She deserved happiness just as much as anyone. I just hoped the poor bastard she was going to marry liked to clean!

No, the broken marriage was not the issue. But Beth still was. She still lived in my mind as that might-have-been, could-have-been, should-have-been lost piece of my world. 

By the summer I was dating again, a little half-heartedly maybe, but not without pleasure. Yet every pair of eyes I gazed into lacked that gleam of mischievous animation that was Beth's; every kiss failed to quicken my pulse, like Beth's had; every touch failed to heat my skin, like Beth's had.

And as time went on, I began to wonder why, and how, she left that note. It was an itch that wouldn't go away. I tried not to scratch it, but the more I ignored it, the more it rankled.

Finally, one muggy August night I sat myself down at my kitchen table and put Beth's note, which I had carefully stashed in one of my kitchen drawers, in front of me. I pulled out a legal pad and started taking notes.

OK, so what did the bartender say? She was looking for a guy with a hat named Robbie who had been in the bar earlier that evening.

I wrote "guy with hat" on the pad.

How would she have known I had a hat? She must have seen me, of course. Seen me coming out of the bar. But when?

I wrote "saw me!", then "when?"

I thought back to when the bartender, the owner, Mel, gave me Beth's note. It was January, a couple of weeks into the year. I'd been going there to drink and feel sorry for myself ever since I'd gotten back from visiting my parents over the holidays. But Mel hadn't been there at first. It was just that last night I'd been at the bar that he had first returned. And he had said . . . what? What had he said about when Beth came in?

I wrote, "Mel. Mid January."

I replayed the scene in my mind: I gave him my credit card, then my license. He asked my name, asked if I knew Reno, then handed me the scribbled note. He said a lady came in and asked for a guy in a hat. 

"Credit card, license. My name, Reno? Gives me note. Lady comes in." 

When? WHEN?

I reviewed the scene again: Card, license, name, note. A lady came in, a lady came in.

I tapped each word I had written on the pad with the tip of the pen as I went over it in my mind.

Card, license, note. A lady came in . . . A lady came in a few months back. A FEW MONTHS BACK!

OK, OK! Mid January, then a few months back. I scribbled furiously on the pad. So, around the time my divorce was getting finalized. October, November? Could it have been as early as September? Maybe, but I wasn't visiting the bar that much in September. Heavy work project, late hours. But October and November, damn near every night. Practically kept the place in business single-handedly. That wasn't much help.

When did I stop going there? I considered my timeline. I stopped going there sometime in November, then picked up again at the New Year after getting back in town. But when had I stopped in the fall? And why? 

I thought back: After the divorce was finalized there was a shitload to do. Pack the house, arrange movers, meet with the realtor. It was a whirlwind. Then Thanksgiving, which I spent with my now-fellow divorcee Charlie and his extended family, bless their pointy little heads, then another couple of weeks wrapping up the new living arrangements, then off to Phoenix for a long holiday stay with the folks.

So, after it was finalized, I stopped going to the bar for a while. When did we sign the decree? I thought back to that day. I had to take part of the afternoon off work and schlep across town to the lawyer's office. Val was early, of course. Or at least she was already there when I arrived and looked like she'd been waiting for hours and it was my fault. She had that look down cold. 

The lawyer was behind schedule, so we had to wait some more. That was fun. Then he was finally ready and we signed and that was that. I don't know why Val insisted we sign together. You don't have to do that, once you've agreed on terms. I think she saw it as some kind of penance we both had to pay for giving up. I didn't fight it. Too many fights already.

Papers signed, I headed back to work, but got caught in a traffic jam and after a while just said "screw it" and headed home. But rather than sit at home feeling sorry for myself, I decided to sit in a bar feeling sorry for myself, so hopped on the subway to my familiar destination. 

It was already getting cold that afternoon. I could feel the wind shift about 4:00. By the time I got to the bar it was snowing. I remember sitting in my favorite booth and staring out the window at the snowflakes coming down. And that was the last night I was there until January.

I tapped my pen on the legal pad. A lady comes in . . . A guy in a hat . . . Snowflakes coming down . . . Snowflakes . . . 

My mind wandered back once again to the ski trip with Beth and Maureen and Paul. It was the last day of our trip. Paul and Maureen had taken a lift to the top of the mountain, but Beth and I decided to take a break and grab some hot chocolates at the base lodge. It was mid-afternoon so the lodge restaurant wasn't too crowded. We managed to find a relatively private little corner of the deck off to the side of the building and we sat there on a bench by ourselves, sipping hot chocolate and enjoying the bit of sun that was peeking through a break in the clouds.

Beth, the mischievous little devil, was always thinking of new ways to torture me, so under cover of our heavy down parkas, she secreted her hand inside my pants to give me a little squeeze. Her hand was icy cold of course, and I squealed like a pig when she touched me. That delighted her to no end. But after teasing me about what a wuss I was she got that look that I knew spelled trouble for me. She extracted her hand from my pants and jumped up. 

"I'll be right back!" she tossed over her shoulder as she ran into the restaurant.

A few minutes later she returned holding another mug of hot chocolate.

"I was thirsty!" she giggled as she sat and snuggled up against me.

She leaned her head against mine and wrapped both hands around her mug of chocolate. I could have spent the rest of the day like this, but after a minute or two she put her mug down and whispered into my ear in a sing-songy voice, "I have a little surprise for you."

Then I felt her hand making its way under my trousers again, but this time when she grasped me her hand was wonderfully warm from holding the mug of hot chocolate.

"Like that, sailor?" she whispered and punctuated her question by gently inserting her warm tongue into my ear.

I instantly hardened.

"Mmm. Guess so." More tongue, and her hand very expertly massaged my most vulnerable spots.

I nervously looked around, but either no one noticed us, or no one cared, and soon I didn't either.

Beth alternately nibbled on and tongued my ear while deftly massaging my cock. It wasn't long before I was panting and felt the pressure building.

"That's it sailor, don't hold back. Just let it be."

I climaxed as unobtrusively as I could and figured I'd just have to live with the sloppy undergarments for the rest of the day.

But Beth, clever little vixen that she was, had stuffed some paper napkins down there at the last minute and sopped up most of the mess.

I gave her a big kiss.

"You know," she said winking at me, "you've got a great, big, shit-eating grin on your face right now. But before you protest," she continued hurriedly, "I want you to know that's alright, because I love making you happy." And then she planted one of her passionate, heart-stopping, stroke-inducing kisses on my lips.

At that moment the sun disappeared behind the clouds and a gust of wind kicked up, whipping our woolen ski caps off of the railing in front of us. I lept up to retrieve them.

My god! Of course, that was it! The snowflakes. The wind. My hat. That evening, coming out of the bar. The wind whipped the hat off my head and I chased after it. I practically knocked someone down. A woman. A lady. A lady who later walked into a bar and asked for a guy in a hat. Beth. It had to be!

I never looked up, but she must have seen me, seen my face. Recognized me. But if she recognized me, why didn't she say something?

I replayed the scene again, writing down the cue words to help cement the memory.

"Leave bar. Wind. Chase hat. Beth?"

Oh god, did I actually see her? Well, only a pair of shoes and the hem of a dress, but it was something. And did I actually touch her?

I replayed the scene again. Hat flies off, stumble after it, bump against woman's legs a bit, she jumps aside. 

Yes, I touched her! My god, I practically bowled her over. Did I even say "Excuse me, ma'am" or "Pardon me?" I couldn't remember. She probably thought I was just a stumbling drunk trying to get home. No wonder she didn't come after me.

Yet, something must have changed her mind. Something made her walk into that bar and ask for a guy with a hat. A guy with a hat. That's it. A guy with a fucking hat. And write down her name and phone number and hope against hope that some drunken schmuck-with a hat!-would walk back into that bar and be recognized and get her note and call her. Which actually fucking happened! Except that the fucking phone number didn't work!

I violently threw the pen onto the floor, and the legal pad followed. Tears started to flow and once the dam had been breached, there was no stopping the flood. I sobbed like the bereft, like the guilty, like the damned. I sobbed for all the mistakes I had made, all the wrongs I had visited upon others and never atoned for, for all the happiness I had missed or caused others to miss. I sobbed for my whole, fucking, pitiful life.

The next morning, my pityfest expunged from my system, I set about devising a plan for finding Beth. I knew she was in Boston-or did I? She could have just been visiting. Maybe she actually lived somewhere else. But the number she gave was a local number, so she must be here! Or at least she was once here. Even just two months after leaving that number at the bar it had been disconnected. Had she moved out of town?

No, I couldn't think that way! I had to assume she was still here. But I had no success searching the phone book under her maiden name. She must be married. I had to find her married name. But how?

The only thing I had to go by was a disconnected phone number. Surely there was a way to trace previous owners of an expired phone number. But I had no clue what it was. Would I have to hire a private eye? That seemed a little creepy, but if that's what it took . . . Or the police could probably trace it. But what pretext could I give that would convince the police to check on a disconnected number? Of course! Charlie! Charlie had once mentioned that he had a cousin who was on the force! Maybe Charlie's cousin could look it up somehow. 

I was resolved. That's where I'd start!

Sure enough, it worked. It cost me a very expensive steak dinner to make up for Charlie's trouble, who in turn swore that he was in even deeper debt to his cousin now. But Charlie always was a teller of tall tales, so I wasn't too worried for Charlie's sake.

The important thing was that I now had a name: Bernard Viscoli.

Bernard Viscoli. Somehow it didn't seem like the kind of name a guy that Beth would want to marry would have. But heck, you can't control someone's name, just like you can't control who you fall in love with. At least it wasn't "Smith" or "Jones"! How many Bernard Viscolis could be in the Boston phone book?

It turns out the answer to that question was a big, fat zero. Not a single one in the phone book and not a single one through directory assistance. Damn! There had been a Bernard Viscoli last November, but no more. Or did the mysterious Mr. Viscoli have an unlisted number? I thought about going back to Charlie and asking if he could search for unlisted numbers, but I figured that might be pushing it.

Then I tried Beth's name plus Viscoli, then the variants Bethany and Elizabeth. All drew blanks. Back to square one.

I sat myself down at my kitchen table yet again and reviewed what I had: a probable full name-Beth Viscoli, a disconnected local phone number, a glimpse of a pair of shoes and the hem of a dress, and . . . And what else? Nothing. Nothing but that and the bartender's story. 

The bartender, Mel! Maybe there was something he didn't mention, some detail, that could help me find her. I looked at my watch: 10:15. I grabbed my coat and hat and ran to the subway station.

Thirty minutes later I was pushing my way into Corcoran's Pub. I hadn't been there since the night Mel handed me Beth's note. It looked just the same. Just being there lowered my spirits. Too many dark memories associated with the place. I didn't even dare look over to my old "favorite" booth.

I looked for Mel but someone I didn't recognize was working behind the bar. I approached the nearest barmaid.

"Excuse me, miss. Is Mel around?"

"He's in the back, working on the books. Doesn't like to be disturbed. Anything I can help you with?"

"No, it has to be Mel."

"Better if you come back another time."

She turned to go, but I grabbed her arm. She yanked it out of my grip in alarm.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" I exclaimed, backing off a step and throwing my hands in the air. "I didn't mean to startle you. But please, it's urgent. Please!"

She looked me up and down and decided to take pity on me.

"OK, I'll ask. But I'm not making any promises. Who should I say is asking?"

"Tell him it's the guy with a hat. From Reno."

She gave me a questioning look, shrugged, then disappeared through a door at the back of the room.

I took a seat at the bar and waited. Mel walked out a few minutes later. He sat on a stool next to me.

"The guy with the hat. I'd recognize you anywhere," he observed dryly.

"I'm Robert," I said, holding out my hand.

He shook it.

"What can I do for you, Robert from Reno?"

I launched into my story.

"The note. You remember the note?" 

He nodded in assent.

"I'm looking for Beth, the lady who walked in that night looking for me. The phone number didn't work, it was disconnected by the time I called. I think I've figured out her last name, but I just can't locate her. Has she been back here?"

Mel shook his head.

"No, 'fraid not. Least not that I know of. Sorry."

"No, I figured that would be a longshot. But maybe there's something you can recall from that night that might help me find her. Maybe something you forgot to mention. Some little clue. Anything," I pleaded.

"I think I told you everything," he replied. "Like I said, this lady walks in, says she's looking for a guy with a hat that had been in earlier. His name was Robbie. Left a note with her name and number on it. Then she leaves. That's it."

"But surely there's more to it than that," I suggested. "Think back, try to describe exactly what happened. Here, I'll help write it down, make it more specific." 

I grabbed a few nearby cocktail napkins and searched around for something to write with, but didn't find anything handy. Mel regarded me skeptically for a few seconds, let out a big sigh, and reached into his pants pocket and handed me a pen.

He began his story again unprompted.

"A lady walks into the bar . . ."

I interrupted him immediately.

"Did you see her walk into the bar?"

Mel gazed thoughtfully into space.

"You know, I guess not. I first noticed her already sitting-no, standing-at the end of the bar, just over there." 

He pointed at the end of the bar nearest the entrance.

"I was filling an order or something down at the other end and when I looked up, there she was."

"OK, then what happened?"

"OK, so I walk up to this end of the bar and ask what I can get her. She looks all flustered and embarrassed and says she's looking for a guy she thought had been here earlier that evening."

"A guy with a hat," we both intone together. We both laughed.

"I tell her that's not much to go on and she says . . ." He pauses and stares absently for a few seconds. "And she says he's got hazel eyes, too."

My eyes began to moisten. Beth always exclaimed over the color of my eyes.

"Then she turns to go. But I start to feel sorry for her and ask if this guy with a hat had a name. 'Robbie,' she says. But she doesn't give me a last name. I think maybe she couldn't remember it."

That stung me a little bit. How could she not remember my last name? Before I could reflect on this further, however, Mel continued.

"Then she tries to go again but I say that she should leave her name and number in case you come back." 

I interrupt.

"What was she wearing? Can you remember?"

After considering for a while, Mel answered, "I can't recall that very good. Nothing very noticeable, if you know what I mean. She must have had a coat or a jacket on. I just can't see that when I try to remember. She had a hat, or a cap, or something. I remember water drops or something kind of glinting against the light when I looked at her once."

"Probably the snow melting. It was snowing that night."

"If you say so."

"OK, so you tell her to leave a note . . ."

"Yeah, that's right. I say she should leave a note, so she comes back to the bar and sets her stuff down and writes her note."

"Her stuff? What stuff? What did she have with her?" I ask urgently.

"Stuff, stuff, stuff," Mel says, drumming his fingers on the bar counter. He suddenly brightens.

"She had this bag, this big, tan bag. I remember it now 'cause she set it on the counter when she wrote her note."

"Was it her purse?" I asked.

"No, no, it wasn't a purse. It was like this cloth bag you carry stuff in. Whaddya call it . . . a tote bag!"

"Alright, so she had a tan tote bag. Not a purse, a tote bag. Right?"

"Yeah, that's right."

Mel squeezed his eyes shut and slowly shook a clenched fist.

"And there's something on the bag, some symbol or something."

He keeps shaking his fist with closed eyes.

"It's like a shield, or something. A blue shield with this swirly thing at the bottom. I remember now 'cause when she was writing the note I didn't want to be rude and stare at her so I just kind of looked at the bag. It was a blue shield with this swirly thing at the bottom and some letters at the top."

"Letters? How many letters? What were they?"

"Hmm. Letters. What were the letters? I think the first letter was a 'b'. There weren't many. Maybe three or four. It was like 'BMW' or something."

"'BMW', like the car maker?" I inquired eagerly. I felt like we were finally getting somewhere.

"Mmm. I don't know. Maybe. I didn't really recognize it. I'm pretty sure about the 'b'. I think."

He didn't sound very convinced or convincing, but at least it was something.




Reflections from the Snow Ch. 02



"OK, that's alright, that's OK. Now is there anything else? Anything else you can think of?"

Mel pondered for a moment more.

"No, I don't think so. She wrote her note, handed it to me, took her bag and left. That's the last I ever saw of her."

I made Mel draw a picture of the shield on a napkin. It was pretty crude and I wasn't sure how much it would tell me, but it was something.

I shook Mel's hand vigorously and thanked him profusely before heading home with my new prize.

It was already past midnight when I got home, but I poured myself a beer and pulled out the Yellow Pages. I searched for every business I could think of that might have a shield as a logo. I immediately tried Blue Cross Blue Shield insurance. I found an ad for them that had their logo and it was a blue shield. But there was also a cross (duh!) and there were no letters in the logo.

Then I tried looking for BMW. There wasn't a listing for the car manufacturer itself, but I found a dealership ad that had the logo. The letters were there at the top with a nice big "B", but the logo itself was round, not at all like what Mel described or sketched on the napkin.

I looked for other companies with the name "shield" in them, but didn't come up with much. I wasn't even halfway through my first beer and I was already stuck! I drained it and went to bed, hoping for fresh ideas in the morning.

But fresh ideas never came. I kept my eyes open for business logos, scanned for ads in the newspaper and local magazines like never before, even pestered my friends and co-workers for ideas, but nothing matched. I was at another dead end.

It was about three weeks later. I had taken advantage of the three-day Labor Day weekend to head up to New Hampshire and get away from the big city for a while. I got a later start back on Monday than I had intended and got stuck in traffic on I-93 in the afternoon. It was a giant parking lot.

There I was, fruitlessly searching for something interesting on the radio, sitting in traffic, and tapping my fingers restlessly on the steering wheel. My eyes wandered to anything of interest: clever custom license plates, unusual makes of cars, striking occupants of nearby vehicles, even billboards. That's when I saw it. "Trust your loved ones to the Brigham and Women's Hospital family of doctors." A picture of a dad holding his toddler high against the backdrop of a clear blue sky. And the Brigham and Women's logo: a blue shield with the letters BWH across the top and three brushed, thick, white lines forming a rough triangle in the lower part of the shield. Exactly what Mel described! I stared at that logo fixedly, as if there might be some other clue hidden in the image, until repeated honking behind me broke my attention and made me realize the traffic in front of me had moved up a good 100 yards.

The rest of the journey was agony. I wanted to get home and plan what I would do next. But the traffic was implacable and just barely crept along. I tried to occupy myself by bringing to mind what I could of the hospital. It was a huge complex, as I recalled. I had driven past it a few times, purely by chance. I'd never had occasion to actually go there. But I knew they had a million different specialties, areas of treatment, and so on. It wouldn't be easy to locate someone who . . . Someone who what? Did she work there? Was she a patient there? How would I inquire? This might not be so easy.

I pictured the place in my mind as I crawled south. I imagined patients shuffling around in hospital gowns, doctors walking briskly down hallways with stethoscopes draped around their necks, and nurses in blue scrubs and cushioned shoes rushing from room to room.

Shoes! That's when the last clue fell into place. My mind returned once again to that fateful night outside Corcoran's. I step outside. My hat blows off and I stumble after it, almost knocking over a passing woman. I don't look up, but I do see her shoes. Flat, thick-soled, tan, boring shoes. Shoes like a nurse would wear. Beth was a nurse. It had to be!

I pounded the steering wheel with the palm of my hand. Would this damned traffic jam never end?



Reflections from the Snow Ch. 03



I started by calling the Brigham and Women's Hospital HR department. But they wouldn't give out any information about employees over the phone. That didn't really surprise me, but it meant that I had to go to the place and just start asking.

I began my search with the ER. This was an emergency, after all! But no Beth Viscoli. Then I tried the patient wing. I went to each floor and asked at each nurses station if they recognized the name. There were three stations on each floor and sixteen floors, so this took quite a while. And in the end it was fruitless. I took the elevator back to the main floor, trying to remain positive. As I passed through the main lobby and saw the information desk, I thought that I would give that a try. There were several people in front of me making inquiries and I looked around the lobby as I waited impatiently. There was a tremendous bustle in the lobby: doctors, nurses, patients, visitors. This place was like a small city.

When it finally came my turn, I asked the information clerk, "I'm looking for Beth Viscoli." 

"Is that a patient?"

"Um, yes."

The clerk typed the name, which then appeared in green phosphors on the terminal screen.

"Nothing, I'm sorry."

"Are you sure you spelled it right? That's Beth Viscoli, V-I-S-C-O-L-I."

"Yes, I spelled it correctly, sir."

"Oh, did I say 'patient'? I meant 'employee'. I'm looking for an employee named Beth Viscoli."

"Do you know what department she works in? I can't give out employee information, but I can connect you with her department."

"No, I don't which department she's in. If I did, I'd just bloody go there, wouldn't I?" I answered crossly.

The clerk gave me a you're-being-a-jerk look.

"Never mind," I said, and abruptly walked away.

I needed to get outside for some fresh air. I would have liked to sit down, but the best I could find was a raised concrete planter with some flowers and bushes in it. I perched on the edge of the planter, leaned forward, and put my head in my hands. I felt I was so near, but this was so daunting! And the task was clearly fraying my nerves, based on that last little hissy fit. It seemed so doable when I was just imagining it, but this place had countless clinics and offices and nooks and crannies where a nurse could be working. There was no way I would be able to inquire at all of them! They'd probably peg me for a creep before long and either throw me out or throw me in jail.

I sensed someone near me and looked up. A middle-aged nurse with a craggy face had sat down a few feet away and was fishing in the pockets of her scrubs for something. She pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lighter, extracted one cigarette from the pack, lit it, took a deep drag and then let out a long plume of smoke.

"Vile habit," she remarked without looking directly at me. "You'd think a medical professional would know better."

She took another drag on her cigarette. 

"Care for one?" she asked, finally looking at me as she extended the pack.

"No thanks. I'm not a smoker."

"Wise choice," she responded, burying the pack back in the pocket of her scrubs.

She took another long drag.

"You here visiting someone?" she asked me.

"Sort of," I replied. "More like looking for someone."

"Would that be Beth?" she asked casually.

I sat bolt upright like someone had sent a high-voltage current through me.

"You know Beth?" I demanded. "And how do you know I was looking for her? Can you help me find her? Where is she?" The questions poured out of me.

The craggy face regarded me coolly, then took another puff on her cigarette.

"I overheard you pestering that poor information desk clerk about a Beth Viscoli. There probably aren't too many of them around. And yes, I know her. But the more important question for me is, how do you know her?"

"We were . . . friends once, a long time ago. But we lost track of each other over the years. Our paths almost crossed recently and I'm just trying to renew the connection."

"How did you know to look for her here?" she asked.

"Well, that's kind of a long story," I explained.

"That's too bad," she replied, looking at her watch, "because my break is over in a few minutes."

I slid closer to her.

"Can't you just tell me how to get in touch with her?" I pleaded.

"Not gonna happen 'till I know more about you, sweetie. Those of us that call Beth our friend are very"-she dragged out the word 'very' for emphasis-"protective of her."

"Well, can you at least give her my phone number, let her call me?"

"Nope. I'm not going to let some obsessive jerk from her past get her all upset right now."

I replied heatedly, "I'm not an obsessive jerk! You don't know the first thing about me! How dare you . . ."

"OK, sorry, sorry! Don't get your panties all in a wad! That came out a little harsher than I intended. But you're exactly right about one thing-I don't know the first thing about you. And until I do, you're staying away from Beth."

I fumed silently for a few seconds.

"What is it you want from me then? What do I have to do?"

"Well, I think we need to have a proper chat sometime." She looked at her watch again, then dropped her cigarette on the ground and snubbed it out with her shoe. "But I don't have time for that now. Have to get back to my shift. But call me and we'll set a time to have a coffee. Call the main hospital number, then ask for extension 1467. Ask for nurse Sally. Got that?"

"Yeah, got it."

She stood and started briskly walking back to the hospital entrance. But after just a few steps she paused and said, "Oh, and it would help your cause if you could bring some evidence. Something that shows you and Beth were on good terms. Letters, pictures, something like that."

She turned to go, but hesitated and faced me once again.

"And don't bother trying to find her on your own. She hasn't gone by 'Viscoli' in years. You'd never find her."

Finally she turned and hurried back into the building.

I sat there dumbfounded for several minutes, trying to process what had just occurred. On the one hand, it seemed a miracle that a chance passerby would overhear me mentioning Beth's name, actually know who she was, and then take the trouble to follow me and talk to me. On the other, there she was acting like the gatekeeper to the fucking queen of the universe and I had to pass some test to prove myself worthy.

I shook my head in dismayed amazement. It seemed that every time I got closer to finding Beth, I really got farther away. But there was no alternative now to going through this "nurse Sally." So I turned my attention to satisfying her demands.

When I got home, I took stock of my on-hand Beth memorabilia: zilch. I did still have a lot of things in storage that I hadn't decided what to do with, but I was reasonably sure that there wasn't anything there that would be of any use, either. I needed to turn to an expert, so I called my mom.

An hour and fifteen minutes later I had a sore ear and a lot of unnecessary knowledge about our neighbors' children and dad's athlete's foot, but I had also secured a promise that she would go through my box of high school 'memories' (as she called it) and send me anything related to Beth, whom she still remembered fondly. I made her also promise to mail it to me Fed Ex Overnight. I had a little difficulty explaining the urgency of that request (and I certainly hadn't tried to explain the whole convoluted story of almost-Beth over the last ten months), but in the end I think she just kind of took my word for it.

Sure enough, three days later I came home to find a substantial Fed Ex package waiting for me. It contained my senior yearbook (Beth's remembrance simply said "You'll always have my heart.") and three photos. That was it; that's all she could find.

I looked at the photos. They were all small-3x5s or 4x6s. One I think mom herself had taken of the two of us standing arm in arm in front of my home. It was sweet. The second must have been taken at some party. It was somewhat out of focus and showed the two of us sitting on a couch laughing. I couldn't even place the event in my memory.

But the third one . . . The third one almost stopped my breath. It was taken during our ski trip. The photographer was undoubtedly Maureen. She was a real shutterbug and I remember her going through roll after roll of film on that trip. This particular photo was a close up of the two of us, cheek to cheek, somewhere on the slopes. Maureen snapped this one on the third day, the day after Beth and I first made love. You can see it in our eyes, hers green, mine green mixed with brown, burning with lovers' passion. And the smiles so intense, so profound, that the sorrows of the whole world would not have the power to break them. I remember how I felt that day. Every moment with Beth was a crucible of overwhelming tenderness, burning away every experience but the unshakeable core of our bond. I felt so protective of her that day, I would have, without hesitation, jumped into a lake of fire to protect her. And every shred of feeling we held for each other at that moment shined through our faces.

I set the photo down and fast-forwarded through my emotional life since that time. Had I ever felt that way about another woman since? I had certainly been in love with other women since then. I loved Val, my ex wife, for many years. But I don't think it was ever with the white-hot purity I felt for Beth that day, and truly, for all the days she was with me. But was that because it was Beth, or because Beth was the first, or because I was eighteen and, well, that's how eighteen-year-olds feel? Or could it be all three?

I called nurse Sally the next day and we set a meeting time for the day following. I met her at the coffee shop she had specified near the hospital.

"Let's hear your three riddles," I said, once our coffees had arrived.

"What on earth are you talking about?" the craggy face asked.

"It's an old Chinese legend. Suitors have to vie for the hand of the princess by answering three riddles. If they fail, they are beheaded."

"Sounds grim. But I hope you're fate is a little less dramatic. Nonetheless, you do have to tell me how you met your princess."

I had carefully considered how I would tell this strange, forbidding woman my history with Beth. Truth be told, I had never really shared our story with anyone beyond those who already knew us both at the time. I didn't exactly relish recounting such an intensely personal part of my life with a complete stranger. Yet, this might be my one chance to finally see Beth again. So I started from the beginning and gave her the whole story of that glorious winter and spring. I withheld a few of the more graphic details, but the gist was clear.

After I had finished, nurse Sally said, "Well, that sounds a bit more than the 'friends' you mentioned a few days ago!"

"True," I admitted. "But I didn't know you then, either. I wasn't about to rattle off some long tale about my love life to a stranger. For that matter, I still don't know you, but you've rather forced my hand. So take it or leave it."

"Fair enough," she acknowledged. "Do you have anything from Beth at that time?"

I pulled out the photo and showed it to her. Nurse Sally regarded it for a long time. 

"She looks so young," she almost whispered.

"And beautiful," I added.

"Yes, and beautiful," she agreed.

"So how did you come to the conclusion that Beth works at Brigham and Women's?" she asked.

I launched into my second twisted tale, the tale of the hat and the wind, of the bartender and the note, of the disconnected phone and its mysterious owner, and of the tote bag and the shoes.

"You mean to tell me," nurse Sally said after hearing my story, "that you pieced together all those clues over all those months, just on the chance that you could find Beth again?"

I stared back at her thoughtfully for a few seconds.

"When you put it that way, it does seem perhaps exceptionally determined," I said.

"Obsessive is what I'd call it," she retorted. "Still, you've clearly got a history with her. I'll ask her if she wants to see you."

Although I was relieved to hear this news, I was also still feeling resentful of the control this woman was exerting over my life. I needed something in return.

"You can at least tell me her name," I demanded.

Nurse Sally regarded me thoughtfully, then said, "No, I still don't feel comfortable with that. Not until Beth gives me the OK. But I will solve one mystery for you. You see, Viscoli was the name of her first husband. He was quite a bit older than she, about 15 years or so. He had a son from a previous marriage, but Roger and Beth never had children of their own. Roger died in a car accident a number of years ago, and Beth eventually remarried. She goes by that name now."

"The name you won't tell me."

"Yes, the name I won't tell you."

"Well, then who is Bernard Viscoli?"

"That's Beth's step-son, Roger's son."

"Why did Beth leave me Bernard's phone number when she left her note? And why was the phone number out of service when I called it just a couple of months after she left it?"

Nurse Sally made a wry face.

"That's complicated. I'll let Beth explain that to you, if she wants to."

Nurse Sally looked at her watch.

"Time for my shift. I'll take this and show it to Beth, if you don't mind," she said, taking my photo.

"I'll want it back, no matter what!" I exclaimed fiercely.

"Don't worry, you'll get it back. Call me tomorrow, you know the number." 

Two days later, I was riding the elevator to the fifth floor of Brigham and Women's. The day before, nurse Sally had said she'd meet me by the fifth floor elevators at 2:00 pm. I had tried to get more information out of her, but all she'd say is that Beth had agreed to meet me and to be there at 2:00. I was about ten minutes early, but nurse Sally was there waiting already. My breathing was shallow and my hands trembled. I felt I couldn't catch my breath.

Nurse Sally took me by the elbow and began to slowly lead me around the corner and past the nurse's station. One of the very nurse's stations I had been at just days before, inquiring for a Beth Viscoli!

Nurse Sally began to speak in a low voice as she led me.

"Now, I don't want you to be dismayed when you see her. She doesn't look her best right now."

I stopped.

"What? What are you saying? She does work here, doesn't she?"

"Yes, she does work here. She works as a nurse in the NICU."

"NICU?"

"Neonatal intensive care unit. But she's not here, on this floor, as a nurse. She's a patient."

I was stunned to silence. Once I had determined that Beth was a nurse, I had no longer considered that she might have been a patient, too.

Nurse Sally took my arm and continued to lead me and speak in quiet tones.

"She's had surgery recently and is still quite weak. So please be careful not to tire her. If I say go, you go. Is that clear?"

I nodded.

Nurse Sally steered me into a room a few steps down the hall, just a few steps from where I had stood mere days ago. The name on the door said "Elizabeth Morris."

Lying in a bed was a figure covered in blankets. Tubing emerged from machines that clicked and whirred and seemed to extend everywhere. The barely eaten remains of a meal rested on a rolling tray next to the bed. Tucked under the plate was the picture of me and Beth on the mountain. 

I approached the bed. Beth's head was turned to one side on her pillow, facing away from me. She appeared to be sleeping.

"Beth, Beth," nurse Sally called quietly. "Someone's here to see you."

She stirred and turned her head towards me. Her eyes seemed to take a few seconds to focus, but then a sparkle of recognition ignited in them.

"Robbie!" she said weakly, extending her one hand and arm not encumbered by tubes. "It was you! I wasn't dreaming after all."

I rushed to her side and grasped her hand with both of mine.

"Beth, how are you? What's happened to you?"

"Oh, I must look a fright! Sally, call my makeup artist!" She gave a quiet chuckle and a smile momentarily broke nurse Sally's stern visage.

In fact, Beth's appearance alarmed me. She looked thin and drawn. Her complexion had a yellow tinge to it. She looked very, very sick.

I glanced at nurse Sally with alarm in my eyes. She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head as if to say "it is what it is."

I turned back to Beth.

"Whatever it is, I know you. I know what kind of strength you have. You can beat this."

Beth just squeezed my hand and smiled in response.

"Can you hand me that cup of water?" she asked. "I'm so thirsty. Thank you. Now, I need to hear some good news. Tell me about your life. How long have you been here?"

"I've been in Boston about ten years. I got a job with a financial services company whose headquarters is here."

"See?" she said. "I always knew you'd be successful.!"

"Well, I don't know about that," I replied.

"And to think we've been sharing the same town for all this time and never knew it! Married?"

I hesitated. "I was. Fourteen years. But it didn't work out."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. You deserve to be happy."

"Well, I'm not sure what I deserve, but I do know that being here with you makes me very happy."

Beth smiled but didn't answer.

Nurse Sally stepped up.

"Beth, sweetie, you're looking tired. Let's let you rest for a bit."

Beth nodded very slowly and closed her eyes. Nurse Sally gently took my arm and guided me to the door. Once outside, I quizzed her urgently.

"What's wrong with Beth? What's happened to her? Why is she in here?"

"Cancer," she replied. "She's been dealing with it for over a year. She went through chemo last year. In fact, it was probably around the time she stumbled across you."

"Or I stumbled across her-literally."

"Whatever the case, the original diagnosis was breast cancer, but the lesion was very small and they decided to treat it with radiation and chemo. No surgery. But recently an MRI revealed a small spot on her pancreas."

"Pancreatic cancer?" I exclaimed in dismay. I didn't know too much about cancer, but everything I had heard about pancreatic cancer was that it was pretty much a death sentence.

Nurse Sally placed a sympathetic hand on my arm, the first conciliatory gesture she had made towards me.

"It's not quite as bad as it sounds. They caught it very early. They took off about half her pancreas. It looks like they got it all. She was very lucky."

"Some luck! That poor girl!"

Nurse Sally regarded me almost with tenderness, I thought. Then she slowly shook her head.

"She still is a girl to you, isn't she? That beaming eighteen-year-old you showed me in the photo. You have to understand, she's not that same carefree youth anymore. She's not had any easy time of it. And the cancer isn't all of it. You'll have to take that into account."

"What? What else has happened to her?" I asked anxiously.

"That's not for me to say. You'll have to let Beth tell you in her own time, in her own way. Just tread lightly, that's all I'm asking. I can tell you care for her. But I'm afraid you may be caring for someone who isn't there anymore. I don't want to see you build her hopes up then dash them because she's not the fantasy you've been constructing in your mind for the last twenty years."

"I . . . I wouldn't do that!" I protested.

"I have no way of knowing that. But I can't protect her forever. At some point she has to make her own choices, take her own risks again. There is one thing that speaks in your favor, however. I haven't seen Beth's eyes light up like I saw when you stood before her, or like when she looked at the photo of you two you gave me, in a very long time. Whatever you two had, it has left a mark. Just don't waste it!"





Reflections from the Snow Ch. 03



I returned every day to visit Beth. We spent much of our time reminiscing. "Do you remember when . . ." conversations. I was vastly relieved to observe that over the course of my visits that Beth seemed to steadily improve. After about one week her color had returned to normal and she was able to walk on her own, albeit slowly, up and down the hall, an activity I dotingly aided her in.

After returning to Beth's room from one such expedition, she sat in the large lounge chair in her room rather than the bed. She looked much stronger. I felt I dared broach a subject I had been postponing until she was more resilient.

"Tell me about the day you saw me, last November," I said.

Beth took a long time to respond, as if gathering her thoughts and organizing the facts she had to convey.

"It was November 9th. Funny that I can remember the day, but it had been one of my chemo days. It was my second treatment, so it wasn't hitting me so hard yet. After about the third or fourth one, they really start to kick your butt. I still had most of my hair, but it was already starting to come out, so I wore this big knit cap that covered my whole head."

"Yes, I remember Mel mentioning something about you having a cap on."

"Mel?"

"The bartender you talked to, Mel. He owns the bar. He was the link that kept our chain from breaking entirely."

"Well, I had had my chemo earlier in the afternoon and still had to take care of some errands. They say it's good for you to stay active right after a chemo session, keep the blood circulating and all that. So I had done some shopping and was heading home. The weather had turned and it was turning into a nasty evening. I just had my head down trying to walk home as quick as I could. Then out of nowhere I see a hat go skittering past me on the sidewalk and a man stumbled after it. He kind of bumped me a little and it startled me. I glanced down but just caught a glimpse of his face as he kept chasing after his hat. I could have sworn it was you. It made me gasp, but you-I still can't believe it was you!-just kept walking. I just stood there, trying to talk myself into believing it was you. Not much had gone right for me that year and I had trouble believing that something with happy memories attached to it might actually come my way. Finally, I said to myself, 'Beth, if you don't check this out, you'll regret it.' So I ran after you. But you had gone down into the subway and by the time I got there you had already caught your train.

"So I just decided to go back home. But when I had gone a couple of blocks, some little voice inside said I shouldn't give up. I knew it was silly, but I just couldn't give up. So I went back to where you lost your hat. I thought maybe I had seen someone come out of one of the shops along there and thought maybe that had been you. I figured it must have been that bar, so I went in to see if anyone remembered you, knew you.

"I felt such a fool talking to that bartender. To Mel. He must have thought I was crazy. I remember him telling me that everyone wears hats in November. I was ready to skulk out of there, but he offered to take my name and number in case you showed up. That was sweet of him."

I squeezed her hand and smiled. 

"Can you tell me about the phone number you left? I did call it, eventually, when Mel finally made the connection that I was the guy in the hat. But it was a couple of months later."

"Um, I was kind of in-between right then. My second husband, Randy, had left me not long before that. Kicked me out, may be more accurate. He had found a younger woman and was anxious to trade me in for a newer model. You know what it's like finding affordable housing around this place. I needed some place in a hurry so I was staying at my step-son, Bernie's, apartment."

"Bernard Viscoli," I elaborated.

"That's right. He had graduated from Boston College in the spring and just that fall had landed a job in Philadelphia. His lease went to the end of the year, though, so he let me move in until then. I just kept his phone and utilities, it would be such a short time."

"So when I finally called, in mid-January, you had already moved out and disconnected all the utilities, is that right?"

"Yes, that's what happened."

"And when, in the summer, I looked for Bernard Viscoli in the phone book, he was in Philadelphia, not in Boston."

"Yes, that's where he was, in Philly."

"So how long were you married to your second husband.? Randy?"

"Yes, Randy. I don't even like saying his name, it leaves this taste like dust in my mouth. We weren't even married two years. Saying yes to him was not one of my prouder moments. Roger had passed away about a year earlier, and Randy was just so insistent, and seemed so energetic and glamourous. And he had lots of money. That seemed so exciting to me. Roger didn't, he was just a hard-working guy who managed to make ends meet. But Randy would pick me up in his fancy cars and we lived in a nice house. He wanted me to quit my job, but I wouldn't do it. I think that was the start of his disenchantment with me, when he realized he couldn't manipulate me. He was very manipulative. I don't know what he wanted with a boring old nurse anyway."

"It's those eyes," I said. "They could enchant a blind man."

"Well, aren't you the flatterer!" she smiled. "Anyway, I'm better off without him and hope I may never see him again!"

After she had recounted these events to me, I could see Beth's eyelids grow heavy. I knew I had to let her get some rest.

"Here, let me help you get back into bed. I think you need a little beauty sleep right now."

Beth smiled wanly and nodded. I helped her into bed and tucked her in.

"I had better go now," I said, leaning in close. "I have to warn you that I'll be gone for a few days on a business trip, but I'll be back soon, I promise. OK?"

She nodded a little sleepily and grabbed my hand.

"Come here," she said with a little thrust of her chin, and I leaned in close. She reached up, placing her hand at the back of my neck and pulled me even closer. Whispering in my ear, she said, "I'm so glad to have you back in my life," and then gave me a little peck on the cheek.

I kissed her forehead and smoothed her hair. "Me too. Now, I'll see you in a few days, right?"

She nodded, eyes already drifting closed.

My business trip lasted three days, so four days later I returned for a visit. I confidently strode into her room bearing flowers, but to my bewilderment, the room was empty. The bed was made and there was no sign of Beth or her belongings.

I ran to the nurses station.

"Where is Beth Morris?" I inquired anxiously.

The nurse there didn't even have to consult her records. "Beth's been in ICU for the last two days," she said.

I bolted for the elevator without waiting for more.

"She can't have visitors!" the nurse shouted over my abandoned flowers at my retreating back.

When I got to the ICU, I ran up to the main desk.

"Beth Morris," I stated, out of breath from my harried dash.

"Are you a relative?" she inquired coolly.

"Look, she'll want to see me. Can you just ask her?"

"No, I'm afraid not. There's a reason she's in ICU."

"What's wrong with her?"

"I'm sorry. If you're not a relative . . ."

I pounded my fist in frustration.

"Can I use that phone?" I asked, pointing to a handset on the counter.

The nurse nodded her permission and I dialed Sally's extension.

"Sally, this is Robert," I blurted out when Sally came on the line. "What on earth is going on with Beth? Why is she in ICU?"

"She's had a setback," Sally answered.

"Setback? What kind of setback?" I demanded.

"Hang on, I'll be down in a few minutes. It will be easier to explain."

About 15 eternal minutes later nurse Sally walked up.

"Tell me, what's happening?" I asked desperately.

Sally led me over to a waiting area and we both took seats.

"Beth has developed an infection," she explained. "It's a risk after surgery like this, and this one has proven very stubborn. She hasn't responded to the first antibiotics they gave her. They're going to try another round of a different type. We won't know for a while if they're working."

"And what happens if they don't?" I asked tremulously.

Sally's mouth drew to a thin line and she slowly shook her head. "Let's just hope they do," she said finally.

I felt my eyes burn and tears began to streak my cheeks.

"No! No, this can't be!" I slapped the arm of the chair in frustration and sudden despair. "I can't lose her again, not now!"

Sally patted me consolingly on my back.

"None of us can bear the thought of losing her," she said. "But it's out of our hands now. We just have to have faith."

"Can I at least see her? Please, please! Let me be with her!"

"I'll see what I can do," Sally said, rising.

She talked for several minutes to the nurse at the ICU desk. The nurse made a phone call, and the two of them talked a little more. Then Sally returned to me.

"She won't be responsive, and you can't touch her. But follow me, we can see her for a little while."

I followed Sally into the ICU. We both donned surgical masks and used sanitizer on our hands. Sally led me over to a curtained area, held open one edge of the curtain and beckoned me in.

Beth lay inert on the bed, a breathing mask on her face, an IV drip in her arm. Her complexion was sallow, her breathing shallow and irregular.

I looked imploringly at Sally. 

"Try talking to her," she suggested.

I turned back to Beth.

"Beth? Beth, I hope you can hear me. Beth, I know you. I know you can pull through this. I know what kind of strength you have. I've seen it. I've seen your fearlessness. Use that, Beth, tap into that spirit that I know you still have in you."

I looked at Sally.

She mouthed silently, "Keep talking!"

"Beth, sweetheart. You know, I spent a lot of time and trouble finding you. And we've only had a week together. You've got to give me a little more chance than that! Think of all the things we can do once you're better. We could go skiing again! Wouldn't that be a hoot? And this time you'll know that you really don't need to look out for snow snakes! Beth? Please stay with me. I don't know if I can endure losing you again. Can you try, Beth? Can you do that for me?"

I went on this way for another several minutes before one of the ICU nurses came back to shoo us away.

I called work the next day and told them I was taking an indefinite leave. Then I parked myself in the ICU waiting room. Sally got me in to see Beth a few more times over the next two days, but nothing much changed.

On the third day, after a tedious day alternately sitting in and pacing around the waiting area, Sally came rushing in.

"There's news!" she said. "Follow me!"

I hurried after her. Sally spoke in quietly urgent tones to the nurse at the desk, then motioned me to follow her into the ICU. After putting on our masks, we nearly ran over to Beth's bed. Sally pulled the curtains closed around us and walked over to Beth. 

"Are you with us, sweetie?" she asked gently.

Beth opened her eyes and took us both in. She still had on her breathing mask, and she tried to reach up to pull it down, but couldn't. Sally pulled it down for her.

"Just for a few seconds sweetie, just for a few seconds."

Beth's eyes fixed on mine.

"You're here," she said so faintly, I almost couldn't make out her words.

"Yes, of course I'm here," I said, coming over to her. "Of course I'm here!"

She gazed at me a few seconds longer, then closed her eyes and sank back into her pillow.

"You're here," she said one more time.

Sally gently restored her mask and said, "We'll be back. Now you just rest."

Beth's recovery from that point on was rapid. Another day later she was back in a regular room, and a week after that she was released. I visited her every day until she was back in the small apartment she rented in a quite frankly not great part of town and we had lunch or dinner regularly after that. 

Beth was able to resume part-time work about a month later and was working back to resuming a normal full-time schedule towards the end of the year. Our relationship had evolved to that of very close friends. Some unspoken agreement-or perhaps it was a barrier-between us kept our relationship platonic. I yearned for something more, but knew that the time wasn't right.

At Thanksgiving I got to meet her step-son, Bernie, who was a delightful young man. Much more mature than I was at his age, I decided. Beth's parents had both passed away some years ago, and her one sibling, a much older sister, lived in Florida. Bernie was the only family she really had, at least nearby.

As Christmas approached, I sensed an increasing distance, almost moroseness, from Beth. I thought perhaps the holidays might have been particularly difficult for her, given how life had tossed her around over the last several years. I tried to think of doing something that might lighten her spirits when I recalled my good old friend Charlie, whose family owned a rustic cabin in New Hampshire in the area of the White Mountain National Forest. Val and I had spent a few days there with him and his then wife one winter. It was a small but cozy place tucked in the woods and would make a terrific getaway. 

I asked Charlie if it would be available anytime over the holidays. He said he would check with his family and came back with good news.

"It's available for four days right after Christmas," he told me. "It's yours if you want it."

"Thanks pal!" I thanked him. "I owe you one!"

"Hate to break it to you my friend, but you owe me three or four by this point. But don't worry, I'll collect later."

I approach Beth about the idea. Could she get off that many days in a row?

"If I work Christmas day and New Year's, I can probably manage to trade my shifts. Let me see what I can do."

Eventually it was all worked out and on the morning of the 26th, we were on our way north. The cabin was as I remembered-charming and private. Recent snows truly made it look like a winter wonderland.

I had brought provisions and we made a light lunch once we got unpacked, then went for a long walk along a quiet country road. There were snowshoes among the permanent store of equipment Charlie's family kept at the cabin, and I had planned a little snowshoeing expedition the next day to a nearby patch of national forest.

The cabin was a two-bedroom affair with a large central room featuring a fireplace faced by a plush leather couch liberally sprinkled with pillows and throw blankets. I made no presumptions. I threw my bag in the smaller bedroom and got Beth set up in the larger one. That evening we had a nice dinner with wine, chatted comfortably by the fire until we got tired, and went to our respective rooms. 

The snowshoeing adventure the following day was a complete success. Beth took to snow like a squirrel to nuts. Her cheeks flushed a healthy pink and the sunlight reflecting off the snow gave her eyes an animated gleam. A smile never left her lips.

We treated ourselves to dinner at a nice restaurant in a nearby town and then went back to the cabin. I made a roaring fire and served up two big mugs of hot chocolate to cap our day. Beth snuggled up under a blanket at one end of the couch and sipped her chocolate.

"Do you know what this reminds me of?" she asked, raising her mug.

"A certain ski trip, I do believe," I answered.

"And a certain secluded corner of a lodge deck," Beth added.

I smiled in remembrance. "You were such a rascally little tease back then."

"I just liked making you happy. Nothing teasing about that."

"And you did. You made me very, very happy."

Beth was quiet for a long while, sipping her chocolate and gazing at the fire.

Finally she spoke again.

"What happened to us, Robbie?"

I stared into my mug, hoping to find a good answer there, but none surfaced. This was the moment that I knew was coming, the moment that I dreaded. But I also realized that this was the bridge that we had to cross. On the other side lay a treacherous landscape of memories, feelings, hurts, and betrayals. If we had any hope of a future together, a future that I had come to realize I fervently desired, we had to find a way to navigate around those obstacles together.

"I wish I had an easy answer for you, Beth," I answered finally, my face burning with shame. "But I don't. I can tell you one thing, and I hope you can forgive me for it, but it was all my fault. You did everything you could to keep us going. I was the one that . . . well, that just let things go."

"Didn't you love me?" she asked.

"Of course I loved you! You can't doubt that!"

"Then why . . . I just don't understand why you gave up so easily."

I tried to formulate a reasonable sounding response, something that made my actions appear rational, understandable. But there was nothing rational about it.

"There may be reasons, but I want you to know that I understand they're not excuses."

I paused before going on. Beth clutched her mug of chocolate, alternately looking at me and intently studying a spot on the blanket covering her legs.

I plunged forward.

"Back then, when I was with you, you were my whole world. I couldn't imagine wanting anything else than to be with you. But once you left, left for a home all the way across the country, I had difficulty keeping that clarity of feeling. There was a world in front of me, and it called me. I just lacked the . . . I don't know what to call it-the imagination, the determination-to keep things going over such a long distance. I was young, Beth, and I wasn't a mature youth. I'm sorry I failed you. I'm sorry I hurt you. I have regretted it many times since, believe me! But it was nothing inherent in you, nothing wrong with the way I felt about you. I was just . . . flawed, weak."

Beth continued to study her spot. I anxiously let her process what I had said, hoping she wouldn't just throw her mug of chocolate in my face and demand to be taken home.

She finally spoke.

"The way I felt about you-I had never felt that way about anyone before, have never felt that way about anyone." she said. "It just . . . it just . . . I felt abandoned. I thought it was a fault in me."

Her eyes brimmed with tears, as did mine in sympathy.

"No, Beth. Nothing could be further from the truth! The memory of you, the memory of us, in that time, has always been the ideal that I have used to measure my life against since. And as I've gotten older, I've come to realize how rare it is to find what we had together. I was a fool to let that slip from my fingers. A young fool, but a fool nonetheless."

I leaned forward and gathered one of her hands in my own. She set down her mug and grasped my hands in return.

I looked her in the eye. 

"Can you find a way to forgive me?"

Beth gazed at our hands for a long while, then met my eyes.

"Since you've come back into my life, you've been a like a shaft of sunlight in my darkened room. But I've been afraid to believe that we could find what we once had. I'm afraid to open that door."

Tears streaked her cheeks. She reached under the blanket and fished a tissue out from somewhere. She dabbed her eyes and blew her nose.

"You know, we've never really talked about it, but Sally told me what you did to track me down. I didn't know you had so much of the detective in you!" She laughed quietly, then blew her nose again.

"Once I had found you-well, sort of found you-I wasn't going to let you slip away again," I replied. "I just couldn't!"

"You really wanted to find me that badly?"

"I didn't know how badly I wanted you back in my life at first, but I just couldn't let go of the possibility . . . The possibility of what we had, and maybe could have again."




Reflections from the Snow Ch. 03



Beth let the tissue drop to the floor. Her eyes were dry now.

"Kiss me, Robbie."

I gathered her into my arms and hugged her to me tightly. Then I took her face in my hands and looked her in the eye.

"I love you, Beth."

When our lips met, a flood of feelings and memories washed over me. The taste of her mouth, the smell of her hair, the gentle cushion of her lips-these sensations transported me back twenty years to our first kiss in the bracing cold of a moonlit Reno night. My pulse raged and sparks seemed to dance over my skin. I could imagine no moment but now, no desire but to bond with this beautiful person holding me.

"Then love me, Robbie, and let me love you. Like we were meant to do!"

She began unbuttoning my shirt and soon our garments were strewn along the couch and floor. I pressed her breasts to my chest while my hands explored her body-not the firm young body I had experienced as a callow youth, but every inch of it desirable and aching to merge with mine.

Once we had really heated up, Beth pushed me away from her slightly, which caused me immediate alarm.

"What is it, Beth?" I asked anxiously.

"You know, back when we were eighteen, a couch to make out on seemed a luxury. But now that we're all grown up and all, don't you think we can find something better?"

I laughed in relief, leapt off the couch and scooped her up in my arms. She shrieked and kicked her legs in the air. Then she wrapped her arms around my neck and whispered huskily in my ear, "Robbie, you he-man!"

I deposited her at the foot of her bed and pulled back the covers. She leapt in and I dived in after her. Our bodies entwined, my hands fondled and explored her breasts, still sensual and alluring twenty years later. As I caressed her neck and shoulders, however, I felt a noticeable scar on her upper right chest, just below her shoulder.

Sensing the hesitation in my ardor, Beth spoke.

"You feel the scar?"

"I thought the only surgery you had was abdominal. Sally said you only had chemo for . . . for your other cancer."

"That's partly true," she answered. "You're feeling the scar from my port."

"Port?"

"When you do chemo, they put in a port. It's like a permanent IV connection that's just under the skin. When they're reasonably sure they won't need it again, they remove it, but it leaves a scar."

Beth shivered and I could feel, rather than see, a cloud come over her face.

"I'm afraid you ended up with a pretty used model," she said.

I kissed her tenderly.

"The model I ended up with is the most wonderful woman I can conceive of and I count myself the luckiest man alive because of it."

Beth kissed me, also with great tenderness, and pulled me close. Our bodies fit like two puzzle pieces. Perhaps there were still a few misshapen edges left from trying to fit where we didn't belong, but I could already feel our souls melting in to fill the gaps.

Beth hugged me close, then whispered, almost inaudibly, into my ear, "Take me, lover."

And I did.

Epilogue

We had a July wedding. We managed to keep the ceremony itself small and simple, but the reception got out of hand quickly. We didn't let it bother us, though. Nothing much did.

We risked an outdoor venue for the reception and were rewarded with one of those breathtakingly beautiful New England summer days with just a few puffy clouds floating across an impossibly blue sky, and just when you thought it was a getting a bit too warm, a cool, salty, tangy breeze would waft in from the east.

The grounds were open and grassy with trees irregularly dotting the landscape. Charlie (who else?) had found the place. He came to congratulate us with his new girlfriend-no, fiance- in tow. She, Kathy, was a pediatric nurse from the hospital, a friend of Beth's. She and Charlie were now inseparable.

After they had offered us their congratulations, I pulled Charlie aside. Gesturing at the fairytale scenery around us, I said, "Charlie, I'm losing count of how many I owe you. I'm afraid that some years from now, you're going to walk into my house and demand my firstborn for payment."

We chuckled, but he replied, "Rob, you don't need to worry about that. Your debt is washed clean and I think I'm now the one in the red." He glanced over at Kathy and Beth, who were talking and laughing with champagne glasses in their hands.

"Let's just call it even, what do you say?" I suggested. We gave each other a brief man hug, and Charlie went to retrieve his new love.

We had a traditional multi-tiered wedding cake, but Beth had secretly made arrangements for a groom's cake. It was a large, chocolate sheet cake, but decorated to look like a track, with light brown frosting in an oval around the perimeter for the track and green frosting for the infield. There was even a high-jump and a long-jump in there!

I was exclaiming over the clever decoration when who walks up but Maureen and Paul! How Beth tracked them down I will never know. I don't think it involved bartenders, though. Maureen and Paul lived in Salt Lake City and had three beautiful children. Paul was as talkative as ever, but Maureen made up for his reticence.

And speaking of bartenders, we invited Mel, who, to my surprise, actually made an appearance. He didn't stay long since he didn't really know anyone there, but we welcomed his brief presence. I didn't know it at the time, of course, but I found out later that he brought us a present: a case of Johnny Walker Black! I didn't have much need of the stuff anymore, but I could probably find uses for it eventually. Come to think of it, I had probably drunk about that much in my years of frequenting his bar, so, in a way, I'd already paid for it.

When nurse Sally greeted us, she gave Beth about the longest public hug I've ever witnessed. Sally gave me a brief hug, also. It was the first overt display of affection she had ever shown me, apart from the dark days when I was visiting Beth in the hospital. After releasing me from her iron grip she looked at the two of us, then winked at me. "I liked him from the moment I first saw him," she asserted. When she had walked out of earshot, Beth and I gave each other a silent well-what-do-you-know look with raised eyebrows and the corners of our mouths downturned, then broke out in uncontrollable laughter for a good five minutes.

Perhaps my favorite moment of the afternoon was when Amy, an old sorority sister Beth hadn't seen in years, appeared. The two of them squealed and stamped their feet, then hugged and jumped up and down. She looked like a schoolgirl again. It seemed to me at that moment that the weight of the world had finally released its burden from her shoulders and she was free to inhabit the lightness and joy that was her true nature.

Beth brought Amy over to introduce us.

"Ames, I'd like you to meet my husband, Robert Stearns."

She said it with such pride and formality; such a contrast to her girlish antics just seconds ago.

Turning to me, she said, "This is my dearest friend from college, Amy."

"Well, any friend of Beth's is a friend of mine," I said, extending my hand.

"So pleased to meet you, Robert," she said, pumping my hand.

"Please," I replied. "It's 'Robbie' to my friends."



Reflections from the Snow



"You ski?"

"Huh?"

"You heard me. You ski?"

"Of course, you know perfectly well I ski! Hey, what's going here?"

"Oh nothing. Nothing 'cept we can have a 5-day ski vacation at Mammoth Mountain, that's all! Five days!"

The last bit she squealed with delight.

"Wow! How'd you swing that?"

"Well, Maureen's parents have a timeshare cabin there for the week of spring break. They've asked Maureen and Paul and me and you along! Can you believe it?"

"Wow! No shit? Man, that's the best news I've had since, since. . ."

I grabbed her and gave her a big wet kiss.

". . . since I met you."

Beth was a bit taken aback by the sudden sincerity of my outburst, but after an instant, she took my head between her hands and gave me a long, passionate kiss.

When she finally pulled herself away, she said, "OK, well let's get planning!"

We left on a Sunday morning, bright and early. It was about a 3-hour drive from Reno to the Mammoth ski area where Maureen's parents, the Dahls, had their timeshare cabin. As excited as we all were when we started I think the four of us kids must have crashed about an hour into the drive. I did at least. When I woke up we were driving up a snowy road at the base of a mountain past a series of nice cabins. They were built to look rustic, but you could tell by the power lines, street lights, and generously lighted windows that this wasn't going to be roughing it.

We pulled up to one of the cabins and Mr. Dahl got out and started to unload the station wagon. Mrs. Dahl got the front door unlocked, turned on lights and heat, and generally made sure everything was in working order. We started hauling suitcases, ski gear, and supplies inside. The cabin had a small but comfortable living area with fireplace, a small kitchen, two bedrooms separated by a bathroom, and a kind of loft with a small enclosed room reached via a metal spiral staircase. We two boys were to be housed upstairs, so we hauled our belongings up the spiral staircase to check out our room. It was quite small with a low ceiling. Paul couldn't really stand fully upright, even in the middle of the room, which was under the peak of the roof. The ceiling slanted down from there to the two narrow beds against opposite walls. Sitting erect on the edge of the bed allowed a few inches clearance from the top of your head, but if you leaned back suddenly you were likely to get a pretty severe whack. A small window opposite the door looked out on the mountain slope.

After getting settled in and wolfing down the sandwiches we had packed for lunch, we headed for the slopes to get in an afternoon of skiing. It was a grey chilly day but it didn't snow, which was ok because there was still plenty of snow on the mountain. We had about a 15-minute drive from the cabin to the lifts. We each purchased our 5-day passes and eagerly put on our equipment and shuffled into the lift line.

We had a great afternoon of skiing. Beth was definitely the least experienced skier among us, but she was absolutely fearless. She went from snow-plowing down green slopes at the start of the afternoon to a pretty good stem-christie on a blue slope by the end. The other three of us took turns skiing with Beth while we went after the more challenging runs.

By the end of the day we were all ready for a relaxing evening. The Dahls had packed plenty of easy-to-prepare food and we had a tasty chili for dinner and hot chocolate by the fire to unwind. We played some card games to while away the evening and were all sent packing off to bed by 10:30. 10:30 is pretty early for a teenager, but I had been up early and wasn't in especially good shape after my illness and subsequent lack of exercise, so I slept like the dead.

I was awakened by a knock on the door in the morning as a giggling Beth and Maureen brought us a tray of hot chocolate. I sat up in bed so I could drink and realized that I had tossed off my t-shirt in the night. Being at the peak of the roof, the room actually stayed quite warm. Beth and Maureen were both in their nightgowns. Beth sat down next to me on my bed and Maureen next to Paul on his. We chatted about our plans for the day as we sipped our chocolates, illuminated only by the grey light coming through our small window. Dim as it was, there was still enough light for me to notice Beth's ample breasts bounce and jiggle under the thin material of her gown as she talked and gesticulated. When she turned a certain way, I could see the faint outline of her brown aureole and the tip of her nipple poking up through fabric. I began to have an erection. A really, really hard erection. I wanted her so badly right then it made my breath short and I felt flushed. I set my cup down on the window sill to try to distract myself, but when I turned back again to face Beth, I could see that she had an odd look on her face now too. My erection was poking the bedding up noticeably. Beth had obviously seen. She set her cup down on the floor and leaned in towards me, as if to whisper something in my ear. She slipped her hand under the covers and I felt her soft fingers work their way down to my stomach, toy with the waistband of my pajamas, gently lift it up and wrap themselves around my pulsing penis. When she first touched me there I started with a sharp intake of breath. I looked over at Maureen and Paul, but they were already locked in a passionate kiss. Beth slowly stroked me as she leaned in towards me. I could feel her hot breath as she whispered, "I want you."

I almost passed out. I'm not kidding. I was just so consumed in that instant with emotion and lust, it almost overtook my senses. I pulled Beth to me and pressed her mouth to mine. I wrapped my arms around her as she stretched out next to me. I kneaded her buns with one hand while I ran the other through her thick hair. My penis was about to explode. I started to pull up her nightgown when a voice exploded like an artillery shell in my Eden.

"Hey kids, it's awfully quiet up there. What's going on?" Mrs. Dahl's voice rang out from below.

Beth and Maureen both shot up in fright, whacking their heads against the low ceiling in the process. I could see now that Paul and Maureen must have been in pretty much the same condition we were and were equally disheveled. Mrs. Dahl's intrusion was so unexpected, so disorienting, that Paul and I blurted out with ill-suppressed laughter, more from relief and embarrassment than any humor in the situation.

The girls didn't see it that way. We both garnered none-too-gentle slaps for our outburst as Maureen shouted toward the door, "Nothing mom. We're about to come down for breakfast now."

Maureen stood, cautiously, smoothing her hair as best she could, and began gathering empty mugs. Beth did likewise and both reluctantly headed out the door and down the staircase.

Paul and I sat rubbing our crimson cheeks for a few seconds, then Paul, without looking at me, murmured, "That sucks, man. That just really sucks."

For Paul that was a soliloquy. But even Shakespeare couldn't have summed it up better.

We spent the day skiing, stealing kisses when we could do so unobserved, and generally enjoying each other's company. We again took turns 'babysitting' Beth on the easier slopes. Once, when Paul and I had completed one of the more difficult runs, we found Beth and Maureen sitting together on a bench near the base of the main lift, their skis leaning against the fencing behind them, animatedly discussing something. They apparently didn't notice Paul and I ski up to them, and when we called out to them as we approached, they seemed momentarily flustered, as if they had been caught doing something illicit. I questioned Beth about it as we rode the lift up, but she would only say that it was nothing that I could complain about and that it would become clear later. I couldn't pry another word out of her on the subject, but she did seem particularly cheerful the rest of the day.

That evening I was again dead tired after a full day of skiing and was asleep almost the instant my head hit the pillow. I heard Paul get up at some point in the evening and had a brief thought about all the hot chocolate and soda I had seen him drink after dinner, but then I rolled over and drifted off to sleep again.

I was awakened again some time later by the oddest sensation. I was on my side in bed facing the wall. It seemed my back had become quite warm. The room was much cooler than the previous night since Mr. Dahl said he would turn the heat lower at night to save energy and to keep our room from becoming too warm. So my foggy brain couldn't quite understand why I was so warm. Then I felt something warm and moist by my ear. I abruptly came fully awake and quickly turned over. In the dim light I could make out Beth's face.

"Beth!" I exclaimed.

"Shh!" she admonished, putting a silencing finger to my lips. "Surprised?" she whispered.

"Shit yeah!" I whispered back. "What's going on? Where's Paul?"

"Paul's with Maureen. Don't worry. Maureen says her parents are heavy sleepers. And they've done this before, so they know the ropes--and how to keep quiet, which is what you need to learn to do while I ravish you."

"Ravish?" I inquired.

"Ravish," Beth confirmed.

"What did I do to deserve this?" I said, and kissed her deeply.

"Just being you is all you've ever had to do for me," Beth replied.

"Beth, I want you so badly right now I can taste it. But I wasn't planning on this. I don't have any condoms."

"We'll be ok," she replied. "My period is in a few days and I'm regular like a clock. It'll be ok."

"OK, if you say so."

I kissed her again and she pressed her body against mine and kissed me back fervently. I had a pounding erection already and wanted nothing more than to plunge into her moist warmth and disappear forever. But I was also afraid of being inadequate. I had never slept with a woman before, although I'd spent endless nights fantasizing about it, secret afternoons reading about it in porn mags, and trading what was probably bogus information with my guy pals. I became anxious.

"Beth?"

"Yes?"

"You know, I've never done this before. I don't want you to be disappointed."

She placed her hands on my cheeks.

"Silly boy. Nothing you could do now could possibly disappoint me. Do you love me?"

I had never actually said those words to her, though there was no doubt in my heart that I did. But there was something so momentous about saying that, and I had just somehow been reluctant to cross that line. But no longer.

"Oh Beth, I love you so much! You make my heart leap, my pulse quicken, my . . . my. . . " Those sentiments pretty much exhausted my poetic vocabulary at that moment.

"I love you too, Robbie. I think you're the kindest and most wonderful person I can imagine."

She wrote those words to me at later time, as well, and I have often marvelled at them. When I first heard her say them, I was thrilled and delighted. Later, I wondered if I deserved them. Later still, I realized that neither I, nor anyone else could really deserve such unreserved trust and tender feeling. And now I understand how completely I failed to appreciate the rarity of such deep sentiment. But that is a story for another time.

"Beth, have you ever, you know, done it with someone else before?"

"I had a boyfriend who wanted to try, but I wouldn't let him. He was older than me, in college, on the tennis team. He was handsome and sexy and basically a nice guy, I guess, but I never completely trusted him, I guess. Something always held me back. But nothing's holding me back now."

At that she gave me another long deep kiss.

After a while I disengaged from our embrace.

"Beth?"

"Yes, Robbie?" There was a hint of vexation in her tone now.

"I've heard that it's . . . the first time, that it can hurt you. I don't want to hurt you."

"Nothing you could do could hurt me, Robbie. Because I know you do it with love in your heart."

"I've heard it can be messy, too. That there's blood sometimes. We can't hide that."

"For a horny teenager with a willing girl lying next to you, you sure worry a lot!" She tweaked my ear. "But actually, I've thought of that, too. That's why. . . " She reached down beside the bed and dramatically flung her arm in the air. ". . . I brought a towel. A nice thick towel. My towel, that I can do with what I want." She waived the towel over our heads.

"Now, any more questions? Perhaps you'd like to ask about your algebra homework, or discuss politics?"

"No ma'am, I promise! I'm done. Maybe we could get back to that part of our conversation where you used the word 'ravish'."

"Excellent suggestion, young man!"

With that she raised herself up a little, put one hand on each of my shoulders, pushed me flat against the bed, and plopped down on top of me, kissing me furiously.

I reciprocated, exploring her back and buttocks with my hands. In the process I gradually raised up her long nightgown to expose her legs, butt, and lower back. She raised herself up and finished the job by pulling the gown over her head and threw it on the floor. Sitting astride of me she tugged on my t-shirt and I helped her pull it off. Then she leaned back and with her hands behind her back started pushing back my pj bottoms. I leaned forward to help her and kicked off the offending garments.

With she sitting, in effect, in my lap, and I in a half upright position I hugged her to me tightly. No experience I had before, and damned few since, can compare to the feeling of holding a naked, desirable and desiring woman against your body for the first time. I could feel the mounds of her breasts pressed against mine, her coarse pubic hair brushing against my pelvis, the muscles of her stomach almost vibrating against mine. As I hugged her I could feel her ribcage flex with the increasing pace of her breathing, and feel her hot breath against against my neck. We crushed our bodies together, relishing our every nerve tingling against the other.

Beth grabbed my hair and pulled my head back.

"Now!" she both commanded and begged.

We rolled over as Beth grabbed the towel and arranged it under her. I started to lie down on top of her, but she put her hand against my chest.

"Wait," she said. "I want to touch it."

She pushed me upright so that now it was I who sat astride her hips. My penis pulsed with lust. She raised her head to look at it, then stroked it and my balls for a few seconds.

Then she fell back against the pillow.

"OK," was all she said.

I lowered myself over her and kissed her. Lifting my hips I reached down to feel between her legs. I put the flat of my hand against the top of her pubic hair and slowly slid my hand downward. Her hair was damp and as I explored with my fingertips it felt hot and slick. I found an opening and inserted a finger. Beth inhaled sharply.

"Now," she implored.

I angled my hips to bring the tip of my penis to the opening. Guiding it with my hand I felt the moist heat of her desire. Once I had found the opening I began gently pushing in. When the tip was fully engulfed gentle pressure no longer made headway. I paused, afraid of injuring Beth.

"Don't' stop," Beth whispered. "Just. . . don't' stop."

She kissed me and leaned forward a little to put both hands on my buttocks and pulled me forward.

I pushed a little harder, but still met with resistance. Then I made a sudden short thrust and felt something give way. Beth gasped.

Holding her breath she nodded, then exhaled and said, "Keep going."

I entered her fully with little trouble and began slowly stroking in and out. Her warmth and closeness enveloped me. I leaned my head against her shoulder and felt her soft breath against my face. After only a few strokes I could feel my penis sort of tingle and felt pressure begin to build below my balls. I could feel the head of my penis expand and the sensitive skin underneath the head felt like it controlled a string tied to my guts and each wave of pleasure tried to pull a little bit of my insides out.

"Beth," I croaked. "Beth, I. . . "

She stroked my hair and said, "Shh, don't worry. Just love me. Just love me."

"Oh Beth, I do, I. . . "

I felt something growing in my loins, like someone was blowing up a small balloon inside of me until finally it had just one place to release its pressure. I thrust one last time as my insides exploded out of me. I gasped as successive convulsions squirted out every last bit of me. I collapsed on Beth's chest and just lay there for a few moments as she stroked my hair. Once the intensity of the moment had ebbed, I began to sense my embarrassment. Once I was fully inside of her, I probably hadn't even lasted a minute. Some lover I was!

"Beth, I'm sorry. That was pretty. . . I'm just sorry that for your first time. . . I'm not much of a lover, I guess."

"Oh shush, you're being silly. I almost came just from seeing how turned on you were. I couldn't imagine having a more passionate and tender lover. You're everything I could possibly want."

Then we kissed for a long time before drifting off to sleep.

I awoke sometime later on my side with Beth spooned against my back. I could feel the regular pulse of her breathing and felt her breasts push against my back. I raised myself up a little to look at the lighted clock on the night table between the two beds. 3:12 it read. I lay my head back gently on the pillow, but my stirring must have awakened Beth, because she began to nuzzle my ear as she wrapped her arms around me. She slipped one arm under my head and with her free hand she began to rub my chest and stomach. Blood rushed opposite directions through me, flushing my cheeks and my penis. She reached down further and fondled my dick and balls. I was quickly rock hard. I could hear Beth's breathing quicken, as did mine. So it was I experienced one of a man's great pleasures: having a woman reach in desire for your manhood. As a simple, unpremeditated act, few other sights, sounds, or actions can do more to elicit a man's virility, nor to confirm it.

As pleasurable as it was to be fondled in this manner, in this position I was unable to respond. I turned to face Beth and kissed her fiercely on her lips, then gently on her nose, eyes, cheeks, and ear. As I kissed her neck I fondled her marvelous breasts. We had petted many times on our previous dates, but to feel her breasts' full shape and texture unfettered by clothes or awkward positions was a revelation. She had beautiful, sensuous breasts, full and pendulous, but pleasingly shaped with dark areolae and, when aroused, pronounced, alert nipples. I suckled these remarkable nipples and with one hand I stroked her stomach, and then the coarse hair of her crotch. My fingertips found her dampness and explored in and out of her pussy. I had heard some of the more experienced guys talk about the magic button, a woman's clit, which was the center of her pleasure, supposedly, near the top of her slit. I had wanted to ask Beth about it, but I was afraid I would sound too coarse, too forward. But I let my fingers slowly draw her wetness from her opening up between her lips and found her button. I slowly massaged it as I continued to suckle first on one breast, and then the other. Soon Beth began to moan and gyrate her hips. Since what I was doing seemed to be working I just kept on doing it, occasionally dipping my fingers back down to her honeypot to replenish the lubrication. Her obvious pleasure was getting me very excited, too. I could feel my hardon grow. Beth began stroking me on my back and butt, and then fondled my balls and dick.

Then she reached across the bed with one hand and grabbed the stained towel wedged against the wall and placed it under her. I knew her meaning and kissed her as I positioned myself over her. This time I slid in easily and felt her enticing warmth surround me. Our love making was in sync now as she met each thrust with a rotation of her hips. We settled into an easy rhythm and I could feel the sensitivity of my penis increasing at a manageable pace. In the dimness I could just make out Beth's eyes, sometimes closed, sometimes gazing at me. I saw a faint glisten of sweat from her chest and neck, even though the room was now rather chilly and the covers had been thrown back.




Reflections from the Snow



Beth's breath quickened as she pushed her head back against the pillow and thrust her chin up. The room suddenly seemed much brighter and I glanced out the window to see that the clouds had broken to reveal a bright quarter moon. In the reflected light I could see the veins in Beth's neck throb even as she thrust more urgently against me. I increased my pace to match hers. I could feel her pussy contract around my penis as she moaned, "Oh, oh, yes!" and tossed her head from side to side. I thought I still had a ways to go, but seeing her lust thus culminated brought me quickly to the brink. As Beth's gyrations began to ease I came to a head and spurted inside her, then collapsed on top of her.

We lay panting, melded together for a while, with Beth's arms wrapped around me. When her breathing had eased she pulled my head so that my ear was by her mouth and whispered, "Yes, lover," then kissed me. We fell asleep.

We were both startled awake by a light tapping on the bedroom door. The door slowly creaked open a bit. We held our breath and my heart was in my mouth. To my immense relief I saw Paul's face peek around the edge of the door.

"It's time," he whispered urgently as Beth and I both let out an audible sigh.

I looked at the clock: 4:30.

"OK, give us a minute."

The door creaked closed.

Beth dug around in the bedding for her nightgown and slipped it on. She dug around some more and extracted a very sorry looking towel. She leaned over to kiss me.

"'Till tomorrow night, lover." She slid out the door and I could hear her bare feet padding down the staircase.

Paul walked in, slightly stooped over to avoid bumping his head and looking a little disheveled. He sat on the edge of his bed for a moment, then sniffed at the air.

"Warm in here," he observed, then slipped under his covers, turned his back to me and fell promptly to sleep.

The following night I had difficulty getting to sleep I was so excited at the prospect of Beth visiting me again. Yet fatigue ultimately overtook me and I was again pleasantly awakened by the feel of Beth's warm breath on my neck and soft breasts against my back. We made love with little conversation, and although I lasted longer than our first time, I don't believe I satisfied her. We drifted off to sleep in each other's arms. I came awake to the sweet taste of Beth's kisses and the gentle touch of her hands on my body. My fatigue must have been more pronounced than I was aware of, for despite our increasing passion and excitement, I couldn't seem to get hard again.

Beth was determined to extend our passion, however, and I was soon the grateful recipient of her hot, wet kisses on my chest, nipples (which was more arousing than I ever imagined it could be), stomach, and finally my cock. She first tenderly kissed it up and down the length of the shaft while fondling my balls. Then she licked me up and down. I began to swell. When she took my dick in her mouth fully I experienced a sudden rush of blood to my groin and I completely hardened. As wonderful as it felt to have Beth suck me, I wanted to be in her, so I pulled her up to me. Between kisses she whispered, "See, you just needed a little jump start."

She kissed me while sliding her pussy up and down my stomach. The scratchy feel of her coarse pubic hair was oddly arousing and I could feel the faint trail of moisture her pussy left on my skin. She gradually slid down further until I could feel my dick against her pussy. Beth reached back and guided my hardon into her opening, then wiggled her hips as she sat back a little more to bring me fully into her. The low ceiling prevented her from sitting completely upright atop me, so she leaned forward placing her hands on either side of my head. As her wonderful tits dangled in front of me I fondled and sucked them. I could feel Beth grind and rotate her hips, exploring the way my cock felt inside her. She finally settled into a regular movement that swiveled her hips down and forward, then up and back, which seemed to rub the head of my cock against a certain spot on her insides. Her breath became heavy as she increased the pace and I could feel her pussy start to clench down. Since Beth was in control there was little I could do to postpone the orgasm I felt building. Beth had laid her head on my shoulder and was really working it. As I hugged her to me I just hung on for dear life and tried to keep the rhythm. I could feel the pressure building and building and building. As I reached my peak I let my held breath out with a whoosh and gasped for more. Beth just kept on grinding. I tried to keep up as best I could, but I began to feel the life flow out of my cock. Then, with a series of "Ah, ah, ahs," Beth abruptly stopped her movements, arched her back and shuddered for a moment before dropping back onto me. She began to giggle.

"What's so funny?" I asked, my ego a little bit bruised.

She must have detected the hurt in my voice, for she kissed me extravagantly.

"Silly!" she said, after letting me come up for air. "Who wouldn't laugh a little when your lover just gave you the most intense orgasm imaginable?"

"The most intense imaginable?" I repeated.

"Yeah, that's right. The most intense imaginable. I felt like my whole body was being squeezed through a keyhole."

"Is that a good thing?"

"It is when the keyhole makes you feel like that!" she said.

"Any more small spaces you'd like to be squeezed through? I've got a few minutes."

"Hmm, as appealing as that sounds, I think I'm squeezed out for tonight. Tomorrow?"

"Your wish is my command."

"I like the sound of that," she said sleepily, sliding off to my side and resting her head on my shoulder. "I like that a lot."

We contentedly dozed in each other's arms until Paul evicted us before dawn.

The following day was one of mixed emotions for me. On the one hand, I was eagerly anticipating another night spent in my lover's arms. Beth was so warm and tender and sensual. I had no idea how wonderful sex could be with someone you felt so strongly about. On the other hand, I knew that tonight would be our last night together. We were leaving the following day and once we got back home we would probably never have another opportunity for such intimacy. I wanted to make that last night memorable.

That last night at the ski cabin I truly did have trouble sleeping in anticipation of Beth's last visit. I eventually fell into a fitful sleep that was disturbed when Paul got up around midnight, much earlier than the previous nights.

Once he was out of the room I sat up in bed in anticipation of Beth's arrival. Sure enough, a few minutes later the door quietly opened and Beth slipped into the room. As she approached the bed I stood to meet her. She surely must have noticed that I was wearing no nightclothes. Standing by the bed I took her into my arms and hugged her tightly against me, then gave her a long but gentle and sensuous kiss. As we broke our embrace I took her nightgown and lifted it over her head. I admired her naked form as best I could in the very dim light coming through the small window, street light reflected off the snow. I drew her to me again and turned her so that her back was against my chest. I nuzzled her ear and kissed her neck while fondling her breasts and running my hands down her stomach and crotch.

Beth began to shiver: The room was quite chilly. I gently pulled her down to my bed and slowly pushed her onto her back. I lay atop her and pulled the covers over us. We hugged and kissed this way until we were warmed. Then I began kissing her down her body: her chin, neck, breasts, stomach, until finally I had slid down to her luxuriant pubic hair. I rubbed my cheek against her hair while I stroked her thighs. I heard her breathing quicken.

I slid down further until I could smell her musky womanness and feel her dampness. I had often imagined the experience of tasting a woman with equal parts wonder and disgust. But intoxicated as I was then with her womanly scent there was no trace of the later--I was wholly aroused and eagerly licked her pussy lips and tasted her sexual essence with exhilaration.

I explored her pussy with my tongue until I finally came across her clit and heard a sharp intake of breath as I lightly suckled it. As I licked and suckled Beth's hips began to undulate. She grabbed one of my hands and guided it to her breast, which I kneaded as I sucked and licked. She grabbed my head with both her hands and pulled me more tightly to her, all the while rolling her hips and panting with increasing urgency.

I had become tremendously aroused by Beth's passion and felt my cock growing hard beneath me. Beth's movements became increasingly frantic, then abruptly stopped and I felt her hands guiding my face away from her pussy.

I began to pull away but heard her exclaim in an urgent whisper, "No, don't stop. Just keep doing what you were doing, but lighter and slower."

I obeyed, lightly running the flat of my tongue every so slowly up and down her clit. Beth removed her hands from my head and clenched the sheets. I heard short, sharp intakes of breath as her back arched spasmodically. I glanced up to see her mouth open in a rictus of pleasure.

I kept on lightly massaging her clit until Beth abruptly grabbed my head and pulled me forcibly against her so strongly that I couldn't even really move my tongue but just pressed it hard against her. Beth's hips bucked for a few seconds then I felt her entire body relax as her hands fell to her sides and her head lolled to the side.

I slid up next to her and Beth hugged me against her, burying her head in the crook of my neck. I thought I detected faint laughter, then quiet sobs. Perhaps it was both. But then she kissed me passionately and as I stroked her face I could feel the dampness of tears.

"What's wrong?" I asked with alarm. "Did I hurt you?"

Then she did laugh. "No, silly! That was just too incredible. I can't quite believe it is all."

She kissed me deeply for a long while, then pulled back and looked into my eyes. She reached down and felt my still hard penis.

"Take me, lover."

We made long, slow love and fell asleep in each other's arms. Sometime later I awoke spooned against Beth's back, realizing that she had reached behind her to fondle me. I in turn fondled her breasts and pussy. Beth then lifted her upper leg and folded it back over my thigh while reaching between her legs to guide my dick into her. I slid into her from behind this way and slowly stoked into her. Soon I heard her breathing increase until she gave a few short pants and tensed her body, then suddenly relaxed. I slowed my pace, then stopped, still hard and unfulfilled.

Only a few moments later, still semi-hard inside her I felt Beth clench her pussy around me, quickly bringing me back to full hardness. I thrust more urgently and Beth quickly climaxed again, as did I soon after. I fell asleep still inside her.

I was awakened by someone shaking my shoulder.

"Robbie, Robbie, wake up!" I heard an urgent whisper. "It's light out."

I looked up to see Paul standing over us.

"I tried knocking, but you wouldn't wake up. You've got to hurry!"

Beth was stirring now. Paul exited the room to give us privacy.

"I'm sorry lover, but we have to part now," I whispered into Beth's ear.

She rolled over and kissed me as she gazed longingly into my eyes.

"OK," she assented, then kissed me urgently one last time.

Beth reluctantly rose, pulled on her nightgown and padded out of the room. Paul entered and hopped into bed, staring anxiously at the ceiling. Listening intently we heard the creak of a door cautiously open and close. Paul let out a whoosh and turned over in bed. Just a few minutes later another door opened, less cautiously and footsteps audibly stomped into the bathroom and closed the door loudly. That was close!

After a final day of skiing we returned to the cabin to pack up and were back in Reno for a late supper at Denny's. The Dahls dropped me off at home around 9. My parents came out to thank them for inviting me on the trip and helped carry my things to the house. I could only manage a furtive peck on the cheek to bid farewell to Beth amid all the hubbub. I wistfully watched her face disappear as the Dahls drove away, already yearning to spend just one more night with her.

We were only able steal a few more furtive hours of intimacy together for the rest of that semester. Seeing Beth off at the airport in May was the most difficult trial of my young life. We promised to write, to contrive a way to be together again, but the sad fact is that I never saw Beth again. We corresponded for about a year but our letters gradually became less frequent (and since I'm experiencing that rare bout of self honesty, I'll confess that I was the primary slacker in that regard) until they ceased all together. We moved on.

I downed the last of my third scotch and reached for the chaser, still untouched. It was flat but I drank it anyway. 'What if?' I wondered. What if I hadn't so cavalierly let Beth go? Would she have been the one? Would I be with her still today? Had I wasted my one chance to be with someone who would love me unconditionally, despite my myriad faults? Or was the pure fire of young love just an overload of hormones and naive idealism, doomed to be extinguished by the relentless stream of time, necessity, and ennui?

I considered ordering another drink but rejected the idea when I noticed the wind picking up outside and the snow beginning to fall more heavily. The occasional pedestrian struggled past the window, bowed against the wind and clutching their coat close. Time to get home, such as it was.

I threw three tens onto the table and grabbed my hat and coat. As I stepped out of the bar a gust of wind whisked the hat off my head and a few feet down the sidewalk. I lunged after it, almost knocking over a woman walking past. I crushed the hat onto my head and mumbled "sorry" without looking up. As I turned away and walked hurriedly toward my subway stop I could sense the woman still standing on the sidewalk behind me, then heard what was perhaps a sharp intake of breath. But maybe it was only the wind. I kept walking into the cold Boston night.