Saturday afternoon, June 12, North End, Boston

Jake

At some point during lunch, a cold front washes over Boston, dousing the North End with sheets of rain. When we leave the shelter of our quaint Italian bistro, the storm has already passed, but a cool mist still hangs in the air. It’s not even late afternoon, but the overcast sky has an evening feel.

We cut through the cobblestoned side streets, joining the throng of tourists en route to Faneuil Hall. Most of the short walk passes in silence.

There’s not much left to say.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” Jess asks when we reach the Government Center T stop. She reaches out to take my hand, squeezing once. All I can think to do is shake my head.

“You look tired,” she says, fine worry lines radiating from the corners of her eyes. “Please don’t drive home right away.”

I tell her I plan to visit Josh Carpstein – an idea that just came to me – and she nods her approval. “That’ll be good for you,” she murmurs. “Tell him I say hi.”

With that, she touches her lips to my cheek. “Don’t worry,” she promises. “Everything will work out in the end. You’ll see.”

A short T ride later, I find myself alone in Harvard Square, a ghost haunting scenes from another life. This is where Jess and I fell in love, and every street corner, archway and wrought-iron gate slaps me with another vivid memory of that magical time. When I step into the courtyard where we first kissed, I can almost feel the softness of her lips pressing against mine.

I squint into the cold haze and make out the distant outline of Lamont Library, light streaming through the reading room windows.

I close my eyes, imagining I’m inside one of those cozy rooms right now. I picture the neat rows of desks, each with its own ornate reading lamp. I imagine that I’m sinking into the plush cushions of an oversized library chair.

I feel the rush of hot air against my skin. Hear the hissing of the radiator at my feet. Smell the musty scent of old paper and dust.

That’s when the memory starts to replay, as fresh as a movie scene…

I crane my neck to get a better look. She’s sitting with her back to me, a few desks away, but it’s definitely her: the girl from student health services.

“Hey,” Josh whispers sharply. “We’re not here to check out chicks. We came all the way out here for a reason, remember? We’ve got Step One in a few weeks. Focus!”

“Yeah, but I think I know her.”

Carpstein turns his head to get a better view. “Sure. You wish.”

“No, really. She came in to health services with her boyfriend last week. He had some kind of sports injury, and she was so…” When I search for the right word, the first one that comes to mind is approachable. “Anyway, she seemed sweet. That’s all.”

“Oh yeah? Well then I’d better check her out.”

Before I can stop him, Carpstein stands up, stretches his arms with an exaggerated yawn, and then strolls right past her. After completing an awkward lap around the room, he returns to his seat, wearing a broad grin.

“Okay,” he reports. “She’s a hottie. What’s the deal with the boyfriend? Is she seriously attached?”

I punch his arm, hard enough to make him yelp. A couple of nearby students glance up from their books, shaking their heads in annoyance.

“How the hell should I know? I was getting his medical history. What was I supposed to ask? So are you guys serious?”

Josh pouts, weighing the options. “Well, you could go over to her now.”

“And say what?”

“Ask about the boyfriend. You know: ‘How’s he doin’?”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“How do you know if you don’t try it?”

“I just know!”

Our neighbors give us a couple of “sssshs” that are loud enough to get health services girl’s attention. She glances in our direction, then faces forward again. I can’t tell whether or not she’s recognized me. Certainly, this isn’t how I want to be remembered: as one of those annoying guys who wouldn’t shut up in the library. I return to my study guide, but Carpstein won’t let it go.

“Dude,” he whispers loudly. “Just go over there. What’s the worst thing that can happen? So she blows you off. No big deal.”

I ignore him, but he’s persistent. “Hey! She’s looking over here again.”

I resist the urge to turn and see if he’s right. “Just drop it, Carp. She probably won’t even recognize me and besides, she has a boyfriend.”

“So? Sometimes you just have to give it a shot. You’ll never know what would’ve happened if you don’t go over there.”

I wave him off, shuffling through a binder until I find my study guide, and then set my stopwatch. “I’m starting a timed test now,” I announce, “so please shut up.”

We pass the next half hour working in silence before Josh gets up, rubbing his eyes.

“I’m fried,” he announces. “You wanna get some coffee?”

“No thanks. I’m just going to finish this last set of questions. Then I’ll head back to Longwood.”

He shrugs. “Suit yourself, workaholic. Next time, remember to bring a sleeping bag.”

With Josh gone, it’s much easier to focus on studying. I’m about to wrap things up when I notice, out of the corner of my eye, that health services girl is standing to gather her books. I hear her chair scraping against the floor, then the soft sound of footsteps approaching. She walks by me slowly, then pauses. Turns. When I glance up, she’s standing next to me.

“Hey,” she says, eyes sparkling with recognition. “Aren’t you that med student?”

I smile and nod, groping for something intelligent or witty to say, but nothing comes to mind.

“Jake, right?”

“That’s me,” I finally manage. “Otherwise known as ‘that med student.’”

She laughs, rolling her eyes in a way that’s too cute to describe. “Well then, med student – guess I should give you some follow-up on your patient. Turns out you were right. Chris just had a sprained ankle. The swelling went down after he iced it.”

“Thanks for the update,” I reply, my heart racing. Don’t say anything stupid! “I’m glad he’s feeling better.”

“Don’t mention it.” She leans over my shoulder to get a better look at the pages on my desk. After reading a couple of lines, her lips curve into a playful frown. “Yikes. No wonder I never considered med school.”

“It’s not for everyone,” I blurt, kicking myself for sounding too condescending.

She doesn’t seem to notice. “Yup. You can say that again. I think I’ll stick to the humanities. That’s more my thing.”

“So you’re into what sorts of subjects?” I ask, ignoring the angry hushing and grunts from my neighbors. There’s no way I’m voluntarily cutting this conversation short.

She plays with her hair as she considers my question. “Mostly history and poly sci. I’m…” She nibbles on her lower lip. “I’m pre-law.”

“Hmmm. And you consider that to be part of the humanities?”

“Very funny. I should’ve known better than to admit something like that to a guy who’s training to be a doctor. But seriously, some lawyers are pretty decent. We aren’t all cut out to be ambulance-chasers, you know. Some of us actually want to help people. My dad’s firm does a lot of international human rights work, and I’m thinking of going into environmental law.”

“Glad to hear it. Because I’d hate to go up against you in front of a jury.”

She cocks her head to one side. “Oh? And why’s that?”

“Well… you just seem like the kind of person who could win almost anyone over to your side.”

“That’s sweet of you to say, but you don’t really know me. Hey, I could be the bitchiest person in the world.”

“I doubt it.”

“How do you know?”

Our eyes meet, giving me all the proof I need. “I just do.”

“Well that’s funny, considering you don’t even know my name.”

“That’s true,” I admit.

“It’s Jessica, but the way. Jessica Ames.” She holds out her hand.

“Nice to meet you again, Jessica,” I say, wondering if this handshake will be the last memory we share.

“You too, ‘Jake the med student.’ Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Over the next week, I come back to Lamont as many evenings as possible, setting up in the same study room, waiting and hoping, but Jessica never returns. Late on Friday evening, I finally give up, gather my books and head for the elevators. A few minutes earlier and our paths would have never crossed, but as it turns out, the timing is perfect. When the elevator doors slide open, she’s standing right in front of me.

“Hey!” she calls out, smiling in that heart-melting way of hers. “Fancy meeting you here. Coming or going?”

“I was just going out for some coffee.”

“Want some company?”

I tell her I’d love some.

“Great! Just let me set down my stuff and I’ll be right back.”

Tires splash through standing water, spraying my face with a gritty mist. The passing blare of a car horn jerks me back into the present.

Were those really memories from this lifetime?

It’s hard to believe.

As I make my way back to the Harvard Square T, I’m pounded by a new set of memories. These ones are freshly minted, and they hammer me mercilessly, a rapid-fire sequence of accusations. Each one lands another vicious blow.

Drifting apart.

Emotionally distant.

Just stopped trying.

Only going through the motions.

Tired of fighting.

What’s best for the kids.

And then, the final, harshest judgment: It’s just not working.

As I leave Harvard Square, all I can think is: What good are all the warm and fuzzy memories now? Who cares about our early conversations, all those intimate talks that went deep into the night? Why should I waste time thinking about our first kiss, the one that happened in the courtyard outside Thayer Hall, the way she slowly brushed her lips against mine?  So what if we made love through the night less than a week later? In the end, what remains of those lazy Sunday strolls through Cambridge and the Back Bay? The blissful summer getaways to the Cape and Vineyard? The skiing weekends in Vermont, or in later years, those magical trips to Tuscany, the south of France, and the Greek Isles?

All the cuddling. The promises. The sharing of dreams. Philosophies. Aspirations.

Bullshit. All of it.

I close my eyes, feeling the grief seep back into my life.

Like a vein of poison, rushing straight to my heart.

*****

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