Part One

The dog won't stop barking. She kneels down by the small crate and sticks her finger through the grate. The dog is quiet for a few moments, slobbering on her knuckle, but then is bored and barks some more. Because, why not?

She groans and lets him out. He shuffles around anxiously, tail between his legs. I squat in front of him and let him sniff my hand. This is what I had to do back when I visited regularly, just after her dad brought him home. She didn't like him much at first, always felt he was a poor replacement for the dog she grew up with as a kid. But she likes him fine now, just isn't too keen on the fact he makes a puddle when he gets excited.

I reach to pet him. "Don't let him pee," she whispers. "I'm not cleaning it up."

It's just after two in the morning. I'm dropping her at home. She doesn't have a curfew anymore because now we are adults.

I haven't seen her in months. Briefly back in June when I stopped in for my sister's high school graduation.

We had been more friendly back then, for the first time in a long while. More open, at least, about the things that make us different now. And more open, perhaps, about the fact we both wouldn't mind if we somehow worked our way back to square one.

But it had been a very short visit. Enough time to hand her a mix CD I made out of habit. A pathetic habit maybe, but I'll forever cling to the hope it's at least a little bit cute.

She was so sad. I always see her when she is so sad. I seem to be, and this is in no way self-congratulating, the only person who knows what to say to make her feel any better. And while this is a bit flattering, sure, it's also a bit hard to see the little lady you pine for ever so blindly only when she is wiping tears from her face.

(I would love, so much, to be once more the man who gets to see her smile)

But we got along fine. And I went back to Chicago. And we talked more regularly, though still infrequently, on the phone and sent a few innocent letters through the post.

My final innocent letter, just before Christmas, made a rather forward point of stating we should spend some serious time together when both back in Rochester and also that I maybe was ready to stop pretending I don't still think about her the better part of always.

Saturday the 26th, free all day long.

I have no car, so she comes to me. We sit in my basement, talking. She'll be moving to Chicago in a little under a year. Off to grad school. A four year seminary. Out of habit, I hide my excitement. We are pleasant. She brings up Jason, Mr. Jason Gass, the Gass Man, her college ex-boyfriend of two years who allegedly broke it off with her for reasons similar to mine.

It's a little hard, she says. Being with someone you want so badly to be with who just isn't sure.

Well, just give him three years, I say. If he's anything like me, and I feel like he is, just give him three years and he will have no doubts.

You know I'm not much for waiting, she says.

We're quiet for a moment. I rise out of my chair and move to my room.

I have something for you.

She stands. Am I ever going to get a hug? she asks.

I stop, halfway across the room. She cocks her head and waits. I sigh and walk towards her, arms held out. I drop to my knees and we embrace, my head on her belly. She holds me tight until I let go and even then she takes a few moments to release.

I look up at her, still on my knees. Are you getting taller?

Stand up, asshole. She jabs me lightly under my chin. I stand and run to my room. I return with a CD. Old habits die hard.

She smiles and drops it in her purse. You wanna go to the mall? she asks.

Do you wanna go to the mall?

I wouldn't mind. I've got a gift card to get rid of.

Let's go to the mall.

Okay. But no talking to me while I'm driving. I have to focus.

Haven't gotten any better behind the wheel?

What do you want from me? she asks, running up the stairs. I am a woman, after all.