going to say eanything? "Like what? "You might tell me what r happened though I can pretty much guess. Or even thank me for helping to get you out of that jam." "Thank you," I say curtly. He laughs softly. We walk along in silence"You know," he says, after what seems a long while, "you're getting a bit old for this sort of thing. I wish you'd cut it out. "Maybe that's what I planned to do," I say. I certainly hope so Why? "I don't know," he says. "I guess it's because I like you and would hate to see you screw things up for yourself. Or other people, for that matter I don't think you feel too good about ragging that woman in here." "I didn't drag her. She followed us." "Whatever," he shrugs. "I'm not interested in quibbling. I just think I bri you should consider putting your flu energy to some use. Other than res stealing makeu."Like what? You figure it out," he says qui m"You're smart. He stops talking, as if trying to catch and hold a thought that keeps slipping at 670 forward and away from him like a st minnow. I look at him picturing how p he might look on a hot summer beach: h white and serious, with a book on his towel, watching the water, the bathers 675 shouting and raging in the water. I think of Susan's harsh pronouncement on his life and still can't don't endorse it. The bell rings. I make out one, two, voices behind us. Then 680 others coming from the opposite 6so others coming from opposite shoulder the doesn't fi direction. The din builds. "Look, I have a class," Mr. Donnelly says now, in a louder voice. "But I'll certain just say in passing that I think it takes familiarmore guts to develop yourself than heart, to The end of his sentence drowns nearby in the growing wave of voices. At three o'clock, I leave the school distan building without books or my coat. Unser unbe 690 The sun is gone, and it is February again. The wind throttles me. I close on, the top button on my shirt draw my harn and begin to walk, blazer closer, thinking with faint guilt, "I won't wait warm for Susan today, I'll call her later." I walk fast, though without destination: of to Lexington, then downtown, not oth toward home. Ten, twenty blocks, and I am less cold; thirty, and the housewives carrying groceries have become working women and men with think briefcases. Under the eerie, bright than fluorescent light Counter restaurant, I stop and order coffee. The first black draft scalds my throat. I cup my hands around the thick ceramic ckly. mug and wait, then look up and into the mirror facing me: I am there with atch long, strong brown hair, wild now around my shoulders a round face. still babyish but possessing a flushed now prettiness eyes dark and direct ach honest(yes!) and alive-looking, with a his certain liquidy sparkle. Outside, I buy the Times. I rarely read the newspaper. But I feel good casually pressing the coins into the vendor's palm. Who knows? There may be something of interest in it, I think, en folding the paper into the offending te shoulder bag, satisfied to find that it doesn't fit completely, that it sticks out. I walk on, and as I walk, I feel a ll certain exhilaration grow inside me, a es familiar quickening of the pulse, the heart, the senses. The lavender of a s s familiar quickening of the pulse, A the heart, the senses. The lavender of a s nearby store awning is distractingly rich. The singsong wail of a passing siren sounds at once acute and oddly distant, as if coming from farther away. Unsettled, I resist the old sensation, unbeckoned this time. But as it stays on, it reveals itself as different a harmless euphoria, gentler and less frantic than the one I have known: The wanting is gone. The man and woman walking ahead of me wind their arms around each other's waist and dip, as one, through a of me wind them other's waist and dip, as one, through a restaurant door. On the avenue, a crowded blue bus sighs to a stop. A lovely, cold evening: I think I'll walk home.