The mid-term grades had just been posted and most of the class crowded around the board trying to see. I was near the back of the crowd and just waited.
"Wow Bob, an 'A'! You must be a genius."
I looked behind me to see Jean, one of the nicer looking women in the class.
"What did you get?"
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I have often pondered the manner in which society has changed in its view of sexual relations over my lifetime.
It is now quite accepted that older people, for example grandparents, still enjoy sex. It has not always been that way. There is no doubt that Grandparents used to to do it back then, but it was simply not acknowledged. Today of course, one could make a date with a grandparent online and be screwing that evening.
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I have this experience to blame (or thank) for all the many years of sexual deviance that followed. But first, a little bit of background.
Like a lot of kids, the moment I turned eighteen, I left home. Only I didn't have college to go to, but a job designing web pages 1,500 miles from where I grew up in Texas. So I packed up and headed to Maryland, where I had already arranged to rent a cheap one bedroom apartment and start my new life.
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I had been with the company for three years and thinking about leaving until I was transferred to a mid-size Rocky Mountain town. For me it was a dream come true; out of the city, fresh mountain air, and plenty of open road to ride my bike. Being 28 I had been into road bicycles since college and I was a weekend racer. In my new environment and with my new job, that had me out of the office most of the time, I could ride virtually whenever I wanted.
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Her plane landed right on time. She had taken a connecting flight from Charles Du Galle to land here in Nice, in the gorgeous sunshine of a summer Thursday in Province. Most of the passengers had disembarked by the time she appeared at the top of the jetway.
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I was always amazed at how someone from my past unfailingly seemed to turn up on opening nights of exhibitions. It didn't seem to matter which city I was in, some old school friend, long lost family member or an acquaintance from the photography fraternity seemed to find the ads for my openings in the small print and turn up to say hi.
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"You are joking. Please tell me you're joking?" I doubted my mother understood the desperation in my voice, but I was disgusted and disappointed. How could she do this?
"I'm not joking Chris." My Mom was still calm, oblivious to reality as usual. "I told Megan to call you. She'll be in town next week and I thought it would be wonderful if you could take her to dinner. It's not like you have this busy social life and you can't fit her in. You're always telling me that you don't get out enough."
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"Seriously, Val, you need to get a hobby or something. It can't be good for you spending so much time alone."
Valerie looked sideways at her friend and smiled.
"I don't mind spending time by myself, you know that."
"I know you say you don't mind, but I still think it can't be good for you."
Like a spy resisting interrogation, Lucinda would stubbornly repeat her point over and over until the opposing party cracked and subjected themselves to her will. Valerie had known her long enough to realise this and accepted that it was just part of Lucinda's individual charm.
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A pit formed in my stomach. I felt like I had been punched. I stared in disbelief at what I had just read in the paper. Under the obituaries, it was all there: her name, her photo and the details of very full life. The memories came back. She was a part of my past; a good part. I reread her obit. I was alone on my back porch overlooking my garden of colorful flowers, native shrubs, and manicured trees. She had sparked my love for gardening.
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"Heaton? Paul Heaton?" My assistant addressed the class of sixth-form boys.
"Here, Miss." The teenage boy nonchalantly raised his arm.
"When this class is finished Mrs. Horner wants to see you in her office. I've already informed Mr. Rotheray that you'll miss his lesson." She handed him a slip of paper and left the classroom.
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