Free Our First Love by Anthony Lamarr

when she walked in the Grand Ballroom and sat at a table near the door. Until that moment, it never occurred to me to associate the orange and green Rattler umbrella she carried at the cemetery with FAMU’s school colors and mascot. I thought I was dreaming, so I felt for the tape on my eyes. I was awake which meant she was real. After five months, I couldn’t believe I was actually looking at her.
    I was sitting at a table across the ballroom from where she was seated. Dr. Alexander and Dr. Phyllis Sneeds, a journalism ethics professor, were sitting at the table with me. They talked constantly as we dined on a catered lunch of steaks, baked potato, greens salad, and chocolate cake. Their back-and-forth banner during the president’s address didn’t bother me, because I couldn’t hear them or the speech. I was too busy taking her in. I knew I wasn’t going to mention her when I gave Caleb the details of our day, but I still asked myself all the questions he would ask if I did include her.
    How does she look?
    She’s a Halle.
    Monster’s Ball Halle or Jinx Halle?
    Jinx.
    Her eyes?
    Alluring. Soft brown.
    Hair?
    Mid-length. Silky straight. Dark with subtle highlights.
    What was she wearing?
    A beige, fitted turtleneck sweater and a brown skirt that hung halfway over her knee-high tan boots.
    Who was she sitting with?
    Two nice-looking, middle-age women. I assumed they’re professors since it was a faculty luncheon.
    What does she teach?
    I don’t know, but if I had to guess, I would probably say she teaches something in political science or business.
    Then, for some unknown reason, I would blurt out, Caleb, man you should see her smile!
    He’d clear his throat, take his time sitting up in Dad’s recliner, and ask nonchalantly, Her smile?
    Yeah, her smile. It’s really something to behold.
    Finally, he would ask the question that plagued me the entire luncheon.
    What’s her name?
    Her name?
    Yeah. Her name.
    Damn. That’s strange. I’m coming up blank. What is her name?
    You’re so full of shit. You didn’t ask her.
    I was going to, but after the luncheon, she was busy mingling with some of the other professors. I guessed she already knew them. When they were done talking, she walked across campus to the School of Business faculty parking lot and got in her silver Pathfinder and drove off before I could ask her .
    And then…?
    Then I walked back across campus to where I was parked, got in my car, and drove home.

CHAPTER 9
    It was a Monday morning three years ago.
    Life went on as usual outside.
    There was no mail so Vernon, the mailman, looked toward the front window and waved as he drove by.
    Across the street, joggers and most of the hikers zipped by Mr. and Mrs. Retired Walker, who held hands as they took their daily stroll on the meandering trails at Myers Park. Caleb and Nigel moved into the red brick house on Circle Drive six years ago, and since then, Caleb has watched the couple grow older and walk closer to each other. He didn’t know their names, but after several weeks of seeing them almost daily, Caleb christened the couple Mr. and Mrs. Retired Walker.
    A much younger couple, both doctoral students at Florida State University and new residents of the Myers Park neighborhood, played a frisky game of twenty-one on the basketball court. On the tennis courts, two bureaucratic housewives played their weekly game of tennis while their nannies tended to the toddlers on the playground. And a park worker sang to himself as he circled the baseball field aboard one of the maintenance department’s new riding mowers.
    Several blocks from Myers Park, the trading floors opened in downtown Tallahassee as lobbyists and lawmakers began doing business over brunch and Cuban cigars during their mid-morning session break.
    A few blocks farther north, in the Sentinel’ s newsroom, Nigel conducted a phone interview with the Springtime Tallahassee Parade