for a bottle of chili sauce or vinegar the household could always ultimately use, but no actions if she didnât elicit them more unguarded or venturous than that.
Next doorâs the corner candy store I go into to get the afternoon paper for my dad. Heâll gripe Iâm only tossing good money away by buying such a rag but read it from beginning to end including the larger ads. Sheâs at the magazine rack in back, scanning the magazine covers while gnawing off the chocolate remains of an ice cream-pop stick. I open the paper Iâll buy, look at it as if checking a movie timetable, say huh-huh, and nod while folding the paper in two and pore over the many choices of my favorite candy brand. Sheâs taking a magazine off the rack. Thereâs a flavor Iâve never seen anywhere before called pink grapefruit. She slips the licked iceÂcream stick into a back pocket and turns a page. And tangerine, which I think I had in the sour-fruit assortment and found either too tart or sweet. Sheâs coming front to pay for the magazine and I feel which of my pants pockets has the change. Her bell-bottom white denims have brown buttons for a fly. She isnât carrying a shoulder bag but extracts a wallet from one of the two breast pockets of her denim workshirt. Sandals Iâve never seen, woven colorful cloth for a belt thatâs half-tied, but hair, face, expression and walk all the same. Everything else the same. âExcuse me,â I say, âbut would you mind if I took a brief look at the table of contents of your magazine?â
âIâm really in a rush and theyâve plenty more copies back there.â
âItâs just because they are in back and out of the way that I asked, though I donât see why I should be such a laze. Thanks.â
âSure.â
I go to the back.
âA dollar,â the proprietor says and she pays up and leaves. I find the same magazine, one I could always read, good author in it and poet Iâve mostly liked, many reviews, elegant ads for places and goods I could never afford, pay for it and the newspaper and pinkÂgrapefruit candy and wait for my change. Her voice is deeper than I thought itâd be, unaffected, without regionalism or unpleasant twang, pitch or tone and she did seem in a hurry and genuinely sorry she couldnât help me out.
Sheâs at the corner in front of the store waiting for the light to change. Trafficâs heavy with lots of zipping cabs, cars, buses and trucks booming downtown one-way. âJudy,â I say. She turns and looks. âNow I know.â She points to her chest as if saying do you mean me? âYou see, I used to teach at 54.â
âWhat?â
âThe junior high school there.â
âThat long white brick building?â
âYouâre Judy Louis, arenât you?â
âNo.â
âBut you answered to the name Judy before.â
âMy nameâs Judyâthough Judith, never Judyâbut not Louis. Youâve got to have me mistaken for someone else.â
âShe graduated two years ago. Iâm a sub there and had her class many times. I think it was an SPâa special class for gifted students.â
âNever went there. And gifted I surely never was. I even thought your school was some kind of factory or warehouse or even a prison of sortsâI had no idea. Iâm missing my lightâexcuse me.â She steps off the sidewalk as the light turns red, stays by the curb with her back to me, waiting for the light to change.
âNaturally it must seem silly my pursuing this, but itâs still inconceivable to me how much you look like this girl.â
âI hate being compared to anyone else. I donât do it to others, but since I donât know you you wouldnât know that. Iâve also got to be a lot older than this girl if she was still in grade school two years ago. Thereâs the coincidence of our