She stood there anxiously waiting. She had heard the rumors, knew he would be there. As she stepped behind the tree she saw him drive up in that old beat up car of his, announcing his arrival two miles down the road. Despite its appearance, she had always loved that car, even that hot July afternoon after they went swimming. They sank back into the car, and found the fan belt was breaking, so they drove home, with it screaming all the way.
They had spent three summers together, laughing, playing her old radio with the seventies humming, as they made love on the picnic blanket. They drank wine, he often read poetry–it was a college love affair thing to do. Being drama students, it all fit, romantic meetings, poetry, fantasies played out.
She hadn’t seen him for a couple of years; it seemed a lifetime. She was still there, now a librarian at the college. He had left soon after graduation, trying to make it as a songwriter. He enjoyed little success but had a fairly happy life. He had never forgotten her. He decided to meet her again, and slowly drove to their old meeting place.
She hid behind the tree for a moment, unsure what to do. He came prepared. He had a blanket, some wine, and the book of poetry. He carefully put everything in place and patiently waited for her to show herself. He knew she was there. Even the soft breeze held her favorite perfume. He sat to wait.
She stepped out, admiring the setting and then slipped quietly beside him. The affair continued as if time had stopped.
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