It was a windy Saturday afternoon. We hiked down the side of the hill to the little pools of water where there were tiny crabs, starfish, and other crustaceans living out their days. The breeze was cool, and walking outdoors over the craggy rocks brought the blood to my cheeks. Kneeling to get a better look into a lively pool, he pointed out the various animals and told me about them. I felt a swell of affection and admiration for him in my chest. He turned to me and pulled a stray strand of hair out of my face. In the dwindling sunlight, the breeze quickly turned to a cold wind. We made our notes and began to head up the hill again.

Walking back to his car, he asked if I was hungry. My better judgment said to tell him No. I told him Yes.

We got Chinese take-out for dinner, and ate it in my bedroom while we watched one of my old movies, maybe Casablanca. His phone rang twice, and he ignored it. It rang a third time, and he turned it off. After we ate, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

“I thought you never bought them. I thought your girlfriend hated it,” I said.

“Well, she does. But if I feel like smoking, I’m gonna smoke. Besides, she doesn’t know.”

“Oh.”

I wish I could tell you exactly how it happened—that his hand brushed my leg accidentally, or that he reached out and grabbed me by the shoulders—but to be honest, I don’t remember. What I do remember is groping wildly at his belt buckle while he grabbed handfuls of my ass as we rolled into and out of dominant positions on my futon. His undershirt was as soft and cottony as I’d imagined it. It smelled the way I imagined, too, like fresh laundry and men’s deodorant.

There were many afternoons of this. I’d skip my next class to have him in my home for an hour or two. He would spend the night once a week. I didn’t know how he pulled it off, until one time I caught him on the phone saying that practice had gone late and he was going to stay at his buddy’s place tonight. I didn’t care. I was so completely smitten with him that it didn’t matter to me how his promises to break up with her never got real.

For our second report, we went to the Long Beach Aquarium. We held hands like a boyfriend and girlfriend. He was affectionate, sneaking up to kiss me on the cheek. I couldn’t have been happier.

Finals had me nervous, but he assured me that I was doing a fantastic job. We had the best study sessions I’ve ever known.

He got an A, and I got a B. Not perfect, but I was satisfied.

We talked and spent time together even after school was out for summer. But that was my last semester at Cerritos, and I transferred to a Cal State for Spring. Tim had a few more units to go at the city college. With a whole new set of classes and finally entering my major, my life was full. I stopped returning his messages inviting me to band practice, parties, movies. I stopped asking how things were with her, hoping to hear that she was finally out of his life for good, that I didn’t have to feel like a mistress anymore.

It just fizzled out.

About two years later, I saw him on the Cal State campus. I was walking to the parking lot, my head in a book. He skateboarded right up to me and stopped short, making me jump. We exchanged hellos. He looked amazing. The chucks. The glasses. The arms, tan and firm as always, just begging for my touch. He had apparently switched his major, I don’t remember to what, when he transferred to the school. Marine Biology just didn’t interest him the way it did before. He said he’d been having lots of fun, still playing in a band, but enjoying it much more since he’d become single.

“Oh,” I told him. “Good for you. I finally got roped, myself. Been living together about a year.”

“Oh,” he said. “Good for you. Are you happy?”

No. “Yes.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah, well, I gotta run, I’m gonna be late for work,” I said, even though I was already late and I didn’t really care.

“Ok. Can I call you sometime?”

My heart leapt, even though I willed it not to.

I’ve found that, like memorizing and regurgitating facts and figures, it is impossible to make myself remember hardness. To remember not to give in. I reminded myself of the tears like the picture on a flashcard. And then I remembered the rest, remembered the longing and sadness, the definition of my time with him.

I remembered the right answer.

“I don’t think so.”