Last Thursday, one of the youngest teachers leaned on the service counter while I was serving mashed potatoes.
“You know?” she said. You'd probably win the title of Queen of Dance today.
I laughed. “Oh, honey. That train passed a long time ago.
“So you went?
"Once.
She smiled. “What was he like?” The question took me by surprise.
Before I could respond, three second-year students began arguing about who had the largest portion of mashed potatoes.
I pointed to the trays. “No one leaves until those carrots are over.
The teacher laughed and left. He forgot the conversation.
Not me.
That morning, after forty years following exactly the same routine, I had opened the small cedar box of the comfortable of my bedroom.
Inside rested an already lacklustered doll bouquet. The ribbon had gone from white to cream.
The tiny flowers had become so delicate that I was almost afraid to touch them.
