When she was alone in the metro or on the bus, when she had no one to talk to, when there was nothing else to think about, she thought of him. She thought of him in that big lecture room, talking about cells and atoms, looking at her sometimes but never for answers. She imagined him appearing out of the crowd that hurriedly got on the bus, wearing a long coat, his glasses slightly out of place, looking for a seat.
She drove off to New York, thinking again, picturing the class and him walking from corner to corner, not sitting still. He never sat in one place; he preferred to walk around. The light turned red and she almost wished to turn around, and go back to the University, find him and tell him that she cared too much. She wanted to tell him that she didn’t care for a cup of coffee, that it was really him she wanted to see, him, the man who told her she was great.
And then rain started pouring, heavily, aggressively. She couldn’t hold her tears anymore so she let herself cry. She had been waiting too long for this day, too many times, too many different ways. She had pictured a sunny afternoon with a cool breeze, the sky a baby blue, and the roads clear, inviting. But this was nothing like that picture.
She drove passively, no longer watching road signs, crying, searching for tissues in the dashboard. By the time she reached the city, she was too tired to think. That night was her first night alone in a big city, away from home, away from Boston and the bittersweet memories.