There are certain days, like some ad jingles and the downwind reek of an outhouse, that we remember distinctly, even late in life. On those days, we chose this road, not the other.[1]

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood…

The path of our lives is determined as much by quick decisions as by those we ponder for years.

University of Southern New Mexico, I thought that sunny Sunday morning in June while I was grading freshman/sophomore exams in my TA[2] office. Small town, small school, small adjunct[3]position with a small, married former professor who had the hots for me when she was here. It’s a sure thing. All I’d have to do is say…

I looked down this road and decided that road’s a dead-end that leads to a woman I’d rather NOT lead into. Can this beggar be that choosy? I glanced again at my response…I accept your generous offer…already in the envelope. I would have sent it yesterday, but…

Then I heard laughing and yelling outside. I looked, but I could barely see a boisterous gathering on the Wilson-Schuman Athletic Fields.[4] But I could hear a mass exaltation of a glorious spring day after yesterday’s miserably cold rain and wind.

And I decided to HELL with these unoriginal scribblings! I’m going to join that Frisbee game.

Then took the other, as just as fair…

I had no sooner reached the game than I saw Melanie Hubbard watching from the bleachers. “Hey, Meli! How’ve you been?”

“Curtis! HI,” she called back, sounding relieved. “Am I addressing Dr. Curtis Durand yet,” she asked.

“Wednesday, I defend for the last time.” I watched with her for a moment, pondering which of two questions to pose: want to play, or…“mind if I join you?”

“Let’s walk.” She headed around the exuberant game and offered her hand. I tookhers lightly; she gripped mine.[5] “What brought you up to State during Spring Break?” We had seen each other from across the street as I got out of the car their History Department had sent.

“Job interview.” My handlers had admonished that we were running late, so there was no time for any more than a wave and a quick “hi!”

“Ah.” We walked on. “Dad’s still your advisor?”

“He is. You’re done at State?” Starting in my freshman year, Meli played the role of my companion[6] for the school’s mandatory social affairs, despite our grade difference.[7] And we often hung out when she came home. But before this past December, that was about it.

“Yeah,” she sighed, squeezing my hand. “I am now armed with a master’s degree in public administration.”

“You don’t sound happy.” Despite her hand, I walked with my head level—practicing my scholarly façade—my face like a Stoic statue.

“Should I be?” She strolled slowly, swinging our hands.

Odd answer. “You always seemed cheery.” She was the youngest daughter of the eminent Doctor Albert Hubbard, Jenson Foundation Professor of American History at Crest University, the leading authority on early American politics. Dr. Hubbard was also the curator of the Jenson Collection of early American documents. “And it is what you wanted.”

“True, but my cheeriness was just a clever disguise, my friend.”

“Why?”

She didn’t answer but pulled me closer as we stopped to watch. More ebullient players had joined the fun, running around in shorts and briefs and bell-bottoms and swimsuits; in sandals, running shoes and bare feet; in t-shirts, bikini, tube, and tank tops; with and without undergarments; laughing and running, throwing and catching in the glittering sunshine and gentle breeze.

“They’re having fun.”

“Yeah,” her voice distant.

She glanced down, then up, then around as she walked, not looking at anything. It felt like she had made some big decision. “How’ve you been?”

“Surviving.” At Christmastime, I unloaded on her about Sherry, my girlfriend of over a year. Sherry had finally realized that I would fulfill my obligations to the Jenson Endowment and not follow her to law school in January as she expected. Our breakup was ugly; Meli kept me from drowning in self-pity. Several non-committal non-dates followed. Anything more, we believed, would have been awkward for Dr. Hubbard and the Endowment. Appearances, you know. Crest University is a very conservative institution, you understand.

That, and she had a boyfriend at State.

“You remember Adrian Cooley?” Her voice was hollow. Our pace slowed.

“Yeah.” Professor Cooley, formerly of Julliard, was in the Music Department when I started at Crest. In the middle of the fall semester in my junior year, she left with no explanations offered or given.

“Know why she left?”

“No.”

“She was unmarried, pregnant, and wanted to keep her baby. The Regents invoked a morals clause in her contract.” Crest was a private school with its own governing body—the Committee of Regents, who co-owned Crest University—that functioned as the state board with a similar name and was known to be straight-laced.[8]“Did you ever know Nathan Izzard?”

“Not personally.” Professor Izzard, formerly of MIT, had led the Math Department. In the middle of my senior spring semester, he left the school for unstated reasons.

“His daughter got pregnant, wanted to keep the baby.”

“So…”

“Annie was seventeen; there was no boy in sight. The Regents pitched Nathan out like they did Adrian.” We walked along in silence for a few more paces. “How long have we known each other, Curtis?”

“Since the fall of ‘73, so going on nine years,” I answered; she squeezed my hand. She IS pretty…

“Do you like me?” Easy to get along with…what’s with…?

“I do; a lot.” She’s funny, and a good listen…WHAT? I stopped; she took a step ahead, not letting me go. “Are you in trouble, Meli?”[9]

“Yep.” She didn’t turn. Her voice was but a whisper above the game, but I heard it as if it were thunder overhead.

“Does your family know?” She had a brother and two sisters, all of whom I’d met. Her sisters were married; her brother was in high school.

“Not yet. I just got home last night, trying to figure out how to tell them.” We meandered a little further, turned to watch the game again. There were two Frisbees and at least fifty people—students and faculty—chasing around the field.

“The father…?”

“Steve said ‘so long’ when I told him last week.” She sighed, glancing at me quickly, with a look that said you guys are all alike. “I’m going to keep my baby….”

“Want help?” WHAT did I say…?

“I need help, Curtis,” she said quietly. “The consequences for Dad would be….”

“Yeah. If this place were any more straight-laced, we’d need diagrams to tie our shoes. You’ve thought about this….”

“The baby; sure. This conversation; a lot.”

“How did it go?”

“Me: ‘I need a guy to say he’s the father and wants to be with me.’ He: ‘I’ll be proud to, Missy.’” She sighed, glanced at me again. “One version of that or another. It’s always better than what Steve said. But, sometimes, in my head,” she shook her head, “sometimes he says ‘are you nuts?’” She waited a moment before she whispered, “I was hoping you wouldn’t say that now.”

Am I nuts for taking this seriously? “Nope, I can’t see me saying that.” HAVE I LOST MY MIND?

“That was an odd thing to say.”

TELL me about it. “This is an odd conversation, Meli.”

“I’ll give you that.”

“But your family would know I wasn’t….” Maybe I’ve lost my heart; perhaps NOT my mind.

“They’ll know what I tell them. I’ll tell them we got together at State during Spring Break.”

I’d spent most of my spring break proofreading, duplicating, and binding the final draft of my dissertation for submission[10] right after Easter, and WAITAMINUTE! “We barely know each other, Meli.”

“I know you’re my friend who, moments ago, asked if I needed help with one helluva problem.” She smiled warmly, squeezed my hand gently; her eyes twinged with uncertainty. “And my family knows you.” We walked on, circling the game. “I thought I knew Steve. They didn’t know him at all. Just before Spring Break, we had a big fight; I thought we could fix it after.” She smiled an odd little smile. “It’s not like I haven’t thought about you in those tight corduroy pants.”

 “You remember those?” Not like I haven’t thought about YOU in that bikini—and imagining you in less—often.

“Like it was yesterday.” Now, everyone knows that corduroy was the fabric of the ‘70s. In my freshman year, I owned one pair of brown cords that were too tight that I might have worn twice around the school when I had nothing else clean. I’m no ladies’ man; I never understood how to attract the attention of the opposite sex. “They got every girl’s attention.”[11]

“My family’s never heard of you. This would be very sudden for them. And my committee may not like….”

“Then defend well and help me, babe.” She said help me, babe, with such force that it startled me. “I’ll win our families over.”

“So what’s this ‘Steve’ look like? Could I…?”

“A lot like you. That’s what attracted me to him.”

“Um…I…are there any other candidates for this, or am I the only one?” …CRAZY enough to think about THIS life-altering decision for more than an instant?

“Nobody else, babe.” We walked on for a few steps. “Frankly, you’re the only one who I knew I could trust and who might agree.” She glanced at me with a smile, her eyes still uncertain. “Your voice is the one I hear when I think about this dialogue.” She sighed. “I thought about calling you last night and inviting myself up.” She cleared her throat. “Couldn’t think of an excuse…and it was still raining.” Last night was the thunderous climax to a day of soaking, cold rain with occasional lightning.

“Would I go where you go, or vice versa?” So, I’m thinking…

“My only possible is here, working for the county. You?”

“A couple of promising interviews; nothing’s set.[12]  And there’s a post-doctorate post here I put in for.”

“Then we’ll be here.”

I thought deeply, hard, earnestly, and quickly. She’s my friend/occasional fantasy, and she needs help. Did she actually ask, or did I jump up and volunteer? I can’t remember. But what if I’d just asked her if she wanted to play? Would we still be having this conversation? Probably…

Yet knowing how way leads on to way, 

I doubted if I should ever come back.

God have MERCY on me… “I’ll be proud to, Missy.” OK; I jumped up.

She pulled me close. “Curtis, my dear friend,” she whispered, her eyes suddenly bright. “We could do this one of two ways: sham or real.” She smiled. “I’d prefer real.”

“Me, too. I really like….” How will I support her AND a child let alone ME?

“We’ll need to act like a couple.” She looked around again as if making sure we had an audience. “Let’s make this look like we’ve done it before…please?”

We had pecked lips and cheeks in the past, but this called for more…and she did say please. “Shouldn’t we go someplace and practice?”

She gave me a soft slap on the jaw as she grabbed my face, whispering, “Just pucker, babe.”

“I’ll…” It was soft, tender, just bordering on passion. “…Pretend you just told me we were expecting,” I sighed, her hands around my face, mine around her waist. “Then hold me like I just said I was happy, too.” She enfolded me gently, gratefully. She felt comfortable in my arms—the first time in years I had that feeling.[13]

“We need to talk to my parents.”

“I have exams to grade.”

“Can the exams wait?”

“They’ll have to. I gotta tell you, Meli, this isn’t what I had in mind for proposing.” Not that I’d thought of that much.

“You’re proposing?” She seemed surprised…a little.

“Isn’t that what I should be doing?”

“I guess.” She suddenly looked as if the idea was a revelation. “I didn’t hear that in my dialogues.” She smiled broadly. “Think I didn’t want the bended-knee version of my first-ever proposal?”

“Want me down on one now?”

“Sure.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw at least two people stop and stare at us as I knelt before her, and Meli smiled brighter than the brilliant sun at that moment.

For the life of me, I cannot remember if I asked her to marry me then or not.

But I remember that smile.

Thus ended, to date, the most extraordinary minutes of my life.

***

“Mom; Dad,” Melanie called from just inside the front door of her family’s large townhouse not far from the fields. “Anyone here?”

“Hello,” a voice answered from the kitchen. “Just getting some tea. Would you like some?” Melanie’s mother, Helen, was a mild woman who had made me feel welcome in their home since I first entered it freshman year.

“Um, no, not now, thanks, Mom,” Melanie said, leading me into the kitchen, her hands firmly around my right bicep. “Are you busy?” I couldn’t decide if her death-grip on my arm was to keep her or me from running away.

“A bit. Evaluations.” Helen was an assistant professor of English.[14]

“Can they wait,” Melanie asked as we reached the kitchen. “We…where’s Dad?”

Helen glanced back and forth at us before she set her pencil down. “Your father’s at his office.” She brushed her hair back casually. “This is a we conversation?”

“Yeah, Mom.” Melanie sat at the kitchen table across from her mother; I was compelled to sit next to her.

“Including dead rodents?”

Did I mention that Melanie’s mom was smart?

“Including dead rodents.” And we all knew what dead rodents meant in those ancient days of sacrificial bunnies.

“I’ll call.” It took only a few moments for the call; it would take Dr. Hubbard a few minutes to walk home. “When are you due?”

“January.”

“Seen a doctor?”

“Heath center at State.”

Helen glared at me as I tried to imagine what my part in this conversation should be. “Proud of yourself?”

“I’m damn proud that Melanie thinks enough of me to have me. And I will be proud if you and Dr. Hubbard would accept me.”

That just came out, I swear. Melanie squeezed my arm like she was testing a roll of Charmin.[15]

“Why you,” Helen asked. “You two haven’t spent more than a few hours together, and suddenly…?” She switched her gaze to Melanie, her face betraying a hint of disbelief. “Fill me in on your secret affair.”

“We’ve known each other for years, Mom.” Helen shrugged. “You know about Christmas.” She nodded. “That was when Curtis and I became close; closer than everybody thinks. He came to State on Spring Break; we got closer still. He’s so caring, so funny[16]….”

“Huh,” Helen said. “Tight corduroy pants or not, you really don’t know….” That was the second time in an hour someone remembered those long-before-gone-to-the-thrift-shop cords.

“Mom,” Melanie sighed. “We…”

“Got drunk and slept together?”

“No,” I declared. “It wasn’t like that, Professor Hubbard. We talked this morning, and we decided to do this together. My parents were married nine days after they met.” Mom told us kids that story often.

Helen glared at me again. I think she was trying to decide if she would be angry or not. “Melanie’s father and I knew each other for sixteen days before we said ‘I do.’ He was on furlough before he went overseas in ‘44.” She sipped her tea. “I got the telegram that said he was killed; still got it in my files. They called a year later saying he was alive in China.” She sighed. “Your parents were of a different generation, kids. But Meli, honey, are you sure? You still have some options….”

“No, Mom,” Melanie said, squeezing my arm—painfully—again. “We’re going to raise our baby together.” Her emphasis on our felt uncomfortable—briefly. I was stunned—later—by how quickly I was getting used to this idea.

“Well,” Helen said at length, “you two have known each other longer than we did; better, too, I guess. Curtis: are you going to complete[17] this semester?”

“I hope I am, Professor Hubbard.”

“I think Helen’s more appropriate now, don’t you?” She sipped her tea, frowning in thought. “You live in The Cubes?”[18]

“My place is so small I have to go outside to change my mind. They want me out at the end of July.” It was barely 300 square feet, with a full bathroom smaller than many closets.[19]

“My room’s no bigger,” Melanie said, squeezing again. My hand was starting to feel like a lump of clay.

“We can move some things around here.” Helen could always cut to the chase. “Any job prospects, young man?”

“Three: State, University of Chicago, and the post-doc archivist post here.”[20] I cleared my throat. “My family will be here for a week starting next Friday. Can we, um…”

“You in that big a hurry?” Helen put on an enigmatic grin.

“Wouldn’t the school pitch you out?” I asked.

Helen shook her head. “Not if you’re around, no.” She finished her tea, poured more from a pot. “Sure you don’t want some?” We shook our heads. “We can discuss that.” We heard Dr. Hubbard come in the back door. “Bert, in the kitchen.” She looked at me mildly. “Just tell him what you want; that’s all.”

We both stood up when he entered. “Dr. Hubbard,” I said with more resolve than I thought I could muster, “I want to marry your daughter.”

When I said that, I believe Meli hit the bone.

“I see.” With careful, measured deliberation, Bert placed his hat on an empty peg near the door, his sallow, hollow-eyed face blank. He glanced at Melanie. “How does she feel about that?”

“We want to raise our baby together, Dad.”

My hand might have been turning blue; it did feel cold.

That made Bert stop and glance at Helen. “Indeed.” He turned and reached into a small cupboard by the sink with his bony hands, retrieving an old liquor bottle. “Baby,” he said, pouring a small measure into each of four glasses and sitting down. “That explains your phone call, Mother.” He pushed one glass at Helen, another at me, the third at Melanie. “For each of our children and grandchildren, I’ve shared a dram of this expensive old liquor that was given me by my great-uncle when I married Helen.” He sighed. “Uncle Myron passed away while I was overseas, so he never saw what this old booze has.” He raised his glass. “To your future, children.” He downed his shot—we all downed ours—and then he eyeballed[21] me. “Are you ready for what comes next? Married life is a good deal more involved than just getting a woman pregnant.”

“Yessir,” I answered with confidence I did not feel; my lower arm was numb; Meli’s hands had to have hurt. “We were talking about….”

“Your final defense is Wednesday morning.”

“Yessir,” I answered, instantly shifting from daughter’s suitor to groveling grad student. The latter felt more familiar and a damn-sight safer.

“Drink up. You’ve yet to turn in all your grades.”

“I just wanted to….”

“Turn your grades in by tomorrow morning, Mr. Durand,” Bert said. “Make time for your faculty advisor in your office tomorrow at three. Now, I have important matters to discuss with my family. I will see you tomorrow. Good afternoon.”

Melanie was so surprised that she neglected to see me to the door…though she did release my arm.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was my introduction to my soon-to-be in-laws who, twenty minutes earlier, had merely been my faculty advisor and his wife.

As I walked back to my office—the blood pulsing painfully back into my hand—I reflected on the last half-hour.

As yet the most surprising, life-altering thirty minutes of my life.

***

The first thing I saw when I got back to my office, of course, was that envelope, addressed to Dean of Faculty, Southern New Mexico State University…

Has that road vanished? Meli could find something, maybe, until the baby comes. Adjunct pay might go further in small-town New Mexico…

But…showing up with a bride on my arm and a baby on the way? My only faculty friend is expecting a bachelor…and she might have the power to…

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

No. I take the other road, perhaps a little more fair.

I burned my eloquent acceptance letter—that I’d spent half a day composing—over a candle that my office mate[22] and I kept for power outages.[23]

Then I could go back to grading, with my future path much different than it had been just a half-hour before. But, that half-a-day that I spent composing that acceptance kept coming back to me. I hate to destroy any work that takes that long. After all, I had drafts of papers from high school in my files.

Prerequisite class students— I was gradingtwo sections of American History from 1865—passed almost by default. The timeline part of their exams had to demonstrate that they could place the Gilded Age after the Civil War and before/during the Spanish-American War, at minimum. They also had to match William Seward with Alaska, John J. Pershing with WWI, and Horace Greely with “go west young man” in the matching portion. They also had to correctly answer most of the questions in the multiple-choice part. Finally, the TAs read their short essays and graded them at no less than a B if they made no major gaffes. I plowed through a hundred-odd dull final exam essays on Reconstruction and the Gilded Age, the World Wars and Korea, and one thoughtful, innovative essay on the Cold War by a reentrant.[24] Finding the odd gem like that Cold War essay—revealing a potential scholar—made the tedious work worth our time.[25]

At about 6, my phone rang. “Durand and Martinez,” I answered.

“Hi, honey,” Melanie said. “You free tonight?”

Honey? “As it happens, yeah. I’ll come down to your….”

“Let’s meet you at your place, honey. Call when you’re done?”

“Sure, babe.” Have I gotten THAT used to this ALREADY? THAT revelation was…surprising and gratifying. Maybe I CAN throw out some of those old drafts.

It was nearly 8 before I finished the grade reports. I called Melanie and put the paperwork in Dr. Hubbard’s box. Unfortunately, that late meant I had to grab something edible—if possible—from the Snack Shack in the Varian Caspar Student Union.

With my dinner in a bag, I headed back to The Cubes, where Melanie was waiting at the front entrance. “Hi, babe,” said I, all innocent and that. “I only have….”

“Hi, honey.” She pecked my lips. “That’s OK; I ate.” She had one of those bigger-bag-than-a-purse-tote-carry-alls[26] over her shoulder.

The elevator was quiet, despite the constant sound from the 2nd Floor where the music majors hung out. My 5th Floor was pretty quiet because history grad students—except the three military history majors at the end—didn’t make much of a racket.

I’d done laundry and tidied the place up on Saturday, with nothing much else to do that I wanted to do. Even then, my little hovel wasn’t nearly fit for entertaining she-who-was-to-become she-who-must-be-obeyed.[27] “Excuse the clutter.”

“You know I’ve seen it worse,” she sighed, slinging her bag onto my one empty straight chair.[28] “Did I leave a big leather barrette here New Year’s? With a big stick through it?”

“Um,” I reached in my kitchenette drawer, “this?” She’d stopped at my place on her way to a party at The Pit, the saloon/disco/club under the Union, and talked me into going.[29]

“Yeah,” she grinned. “Thanks! Mom and Dad want to shuffle us into my sisters’ old room. We called them, told my brother when he came home. Surprise, excitement, all the rest of the symptoms.”

“Uh-huh,” I replied. As I politely ate my fries, I realized that this was a done deal, now that others had been informed. But, I heard no dissent in my head. “Can I get you some water? I have orange juice I got Friday….”

“I’ll get it, babe.” She walked ten steps to my kitchenette and downed a vitamin with a slug of juice straight from the carton. She then decamped my (clean) half-full laundry basket from the old recliner (a curb rescue from a couple of years before) and sat down. “This chair’s still comfy. Junior can’t remember if he liked you or not.” Her brother was a big guy who played football. “He doesn’t know you. You need to fix that.”

“Sure. I’ll call my family….”

“Call from our place tomorrow when you come down for dinner.”

Dinner? Huh. I nodded, ate fries, and sucked my milkshake as she scanned my shelves and stacks of paper that included many drafts of older papers. “I’m spending the night,” she finally sighed, stretching her arms and legs. “I think they want to discuss us without me around.”

“OK,” I said carefully. “Do they think…?”

She took a deep breath. “They’re acting like they’re buying the story.” She shook her head. “I think they are. Dad’s not a good actor. Can I use your bathroom?” She nodded to the door next to the kitchenette sink.

“Sure. I just cleaned it yesterday.”

“Good.” She stood and shuffled off her shoes, then shouldered her bag. “I’ll only be a minute.”

I finished my fries and gobbled my hot dog in a few seconds. I switched off the overhead light and the light over my kitchenette sink, leaving my bedside lamp on.

It was the strangest beginning I could imagine for a love scene…if that’s what this was to be.

I was looking for something gauzy to cover the lampshade, just in case, when she emerged, still clad in the same sleeveless and short jean dress that she came in, although she had let down her mid-back hair. “I’m not going to wait around in the buff until you invite me to your bed,” she grinned and flashed a bare hip from under her dress.[30]

Ho-boy. “Meli,” I gulped, moving a stack of books out of my other straight chair by my table. “Let’s just talk, OK? It’s early…”

“And we hardly know each other,” she sighed. She sat…I think gratefully. “Tell me about your family.”

“Mom’s a freelance journalist, prodigious knitter, and seamstress. Dad moved from carpentry to law enforcement while really helping Mom raise us three kids. Mom’s father is in Arizona; I’ve seen him twice in my life. Mom’s brother and his wife work at the Redstone Arsenal in Alabama. They have two girls—my cousins—but I have no idea what they’re up to. Her family’s not on good terms. Dad’s widowed sister lives in Cicero. Sister Karen’s three years older, a paralegal married to a suburb developer in Arlington Heights and has three kids, so I have two nieces and a nephew. Sister Darla’s two years younger than me. She was one of the first women to graduate from the Air Force Academy and is a finance officer in Germany.”

“Other than my sisters and brother,” she said and proceeded to name her four sets of aunts and uncles, eleven cousins, two nieces, a nephew, and three grandparents.

By then, my dinner sat like a rock in my gut. I asked, “do you have a middle name?”

“Holly, after my maternal grandmother. You?” She went to my window and pulled down my window shades. Since my only window faced north and overlooked the woods at the edge of the campus, I rarely used them.

“Harrison, after my father’s oldest brother, who was killed in World War One.” We stared at each other for several moments before I asked, “Want to…?”

“Sure,” she declared, reaching for the zipper on the front of her dress.[31] “We’re either going to work, or we’re not.” She slipped out of her dress as quickly as peeling a banana, stepped to the bed, and asked, “which side?”

“Um…” I pulled my jersey over my head, unable to process…that. Despite having seen her in bikinis and strapless and backless gowns, she was far more stunning in nothing than my imagination ever allowed for. I not-glanced at the slight swelling in her belly that I guessed was the baby.

 “I’m going to guess not the wall side,” she smiled, not waiting for my answer as she crawled in on the wall side while I got my pants off.

So we just laid in bed…holding hands, facing each other. “I know you’re not…” she mumbled.

“I, um, I...” I stammered, entering unfamiliar territory. “I said no sham, and I meant it. I’ll learn to love both of you. I want to marry you. That means…”

“Thanks,” she whispered, suddenly very close to my face. “You’ve made me the happiest woman in the world.”

I could feel her bare chest against mine when she inhaled. I had to scoot my hips away from her to avoid an accident of the messy kind. She was that close, and yes, I was that….[32] “I thought that was supposed to be my line.”

“You want to be the happiest woman in the world?”

“You know what….”

“I know.” She smiled brightly, her eyes sparkling, caressing my forehead.

“You know what we’re about to embark on?”

“I know.” She suddenly looked serious. “I know what you told my father. Want out?”

“No.” We stared at each other for what seemed to be an eternity. “Just…checking.”

She smiled again. “Be sure, babe.”

“I am.”

“Good.”

“I need to ask, Meli: You knew you were pregnant when?”

“I suspected a couple of weeks ago. I knew Wednesday. I started taking vitamins that night. I’ve been careful.”

“Good. You never had any doubt about…?”

“Keeping her?” She scooted a millimeter closer. “No. When I thought about giving her up for adoption, I started having that hoped-for dialog in my head. Your voice kept saying things like ‘I can help’ and ‘let’s go for it.’ So that idea faded.”

I wasn’t sure just what should happen next, but I had to slide back before she bussed me on the cheek and softly held my hand against her abdomen. “Kill the light. Let’s just sleep tonight since I haven’t slept in days. ‘Night.”

“Night, babe.” As she released my hands after a few minutes, I realized that I was utterly exhausted. As I drifted off to sleep, I realized I was deep in like with Melanie Holly Hubbard.

That was a good start.

And so ended the most surprising day of my life…so far.

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

[1] I’m an academic. I use footnotes. Get used to it.

[2] Teaching Assistant. Also book-grunt, grad-hack, and scut puppy.

[3] A salaried, limited contract job, and barely that, with no tenure possible and few privileges.

[4] Named for its biggest donors/sponsors, a common university practice for both inanimate objects and academic positions.

[5] We weren’t strangers, but this was new.

[6] This apparently awkward social pairing was because I was special; of which, more later.

[7] I was born in May; she in late September the same year, and so was a grade behind me …a different kind of May-September relationship.

[8] Because we took no state or federal money, they could dictate the terms of everyone’s employment.

[9] When dial phones still worked and dinosaurs roamed the Earth, young women in trouble were unmarried and pregnant.

[10] I had submitted the first draft in December; got critiqued—not challenged—on it in February and March. Wednesday, I would defend my essay, and they would tell me how I did.

[11] Damned if I know how.

[12] Neither was especially promising, but this was no time for quibbling…and New Mexico was out: no insurance and chicken feed for pay.

[13] Sherry was OK with sex but not with displaying or expressing affection.

[14] As an assistant professor Helen fell behind her husband in the pecking order of academics, who was a full professor. Unlike titles of nobility, neither had any juice with either maître Ds or hotel managers.

[15] For you children who didn’t see the commercials, look up “squeezably soft.”

[16] Intended as irony. History majors can cure insomnia, but they don’t get many laughs. I was no exception.

[17] Defending my dissertation for the last time and being awarded my doctorate would, to an academic, complete my formal education.

[18] The Steuben Graduate Housing Complex, called The Cubes, looked like a varicolored blockhouse designed by Picasso on acid.

[19] The stall shower was smaller than my closet.

[20] The post-doctoral position paid a meager stipend. I had been thinking about it a great deal. It was a road I’d wanted to take…

[21] You know when you’ve been eyeballed.

[22] I shared the office and telephone with another TA.

[23] It happened about twice a semester.

[24] Our name for an older, non-traditional student.

[25] We noted such essayists for observation next semester. If consistent, they would be nurtured and supported. Often, they turned out to be one-trick ponies with a flash of insight.

[26] As a scholar, I couldn’t come up with a definition. As a male in the ‘80s, I didn’t dare call it the wrong thing.

[27] I’d understood H. Rider Haggard’s reference in She. I never thought that term derogatory but, like old man, one of respect in context.

[28] She’d been in my garret several times over the past four years.

[29] She knocked on my door and said, “get dressed. We’re having fun tonight.”

[30] Those things had matching shorts that she had been wearing.

[31] I never understood why those bright brass zippers were so oversized and had that ring.

[32] And you wouldn’t be, brother? Yeah, right.