Apr. 22nd, 2008 02:03 pm
Reunion on the quads
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muckefuckI recognised the face immediately; not even the Annie Lennox-length bleach blond hair threw me off. The name escaped me, but--as I confessed to Philippe last night at Big Chicks--that's sadly typical these days. But what really nagged at me was that I couldn't find the context. I remembered that she was an illustrator because I had a strong memory of sitting at a sidewalk cafe admiring her work. Between classes. But classes where? The last formal course I took before Chinese was Catalan at the Instituto Cervantes. One of the other students I occasionally see on the El, but we don't talk because he's kind of a tool, so we parted on cool terms. She saved me when she said, "My lab partner!" The last course I took with a lab in it was...sixteen years ago.
So there it is. A couple years back, I ran into our old prof (who, in her words, "looked 50 when he was 16", so it's not surprising he appeared not to have aged a bit in over a decade) at the opera, but I haven't spoken a word to my old lab partner since graduation day. I'd say I hadn't seen her since then except that apparently we narrowly missed meeting at the Ian Buruma lecture a couple months back. (She sat just behind me, but convinced herself that I couldn't be who she thought I was; I did look at her, but was too distracted to make a positive ID.)
We hugged, we exchanged digits, we laughed, we gave capsule summaries of our career histories. Chances are good that promises of lunch will actually amount to something. She was one of the good ones, so even if all that comes of this is my knowing that she's done well for herself, it will have been a red-letter day.
So there it is. A couple years back, I ran into our old prof (who, in her words, "looked 50 when he was 16", so it's not surprising he appeared not to have aged a bit in over a decade) at the opera, but I haven't spoken a word to my old lab partner since graduation day. I'd say I hadn't seen her since then except that apparently we narrowly missed meeting at the Ian Buruma lecture a couple months back. (She sat just behind me, but convinced herself that I couldn't be who she thought I was; I did look at her, but was too distracted to make a positive ID.)
We hugged, we exchanged digits, we laughed, we gave capsule summaries of our career histories. Chances are good that promises of lunch will actually amount to something. She was one of the good ones, so even if all that comes of this is my knowing that she's done well for herself, it will have been a red-letter day.