“Do you remember me?” asked the sly voice on the phone.

I leaned back and spun my office chair toward the window. Put my feet up on the sill. Yes, I definitely did remember Laurie Sands.

“I remember everything about you, Laurie,” I smiled.

***

At college, I used to enjoy the period right before Christmas break. My exams always seemed to finish early, but I had two jobs to help with tuition, and always stayed until the dorm closed for the holiday. I liked the way the resident population thinned out as students went home, bringing quiet and privacy to the place. I liked how the snow would pile up outside and muffle the sounds of the city. And I liked how the post-exam parties were sometimes inflected with abandon.

One year, two of my friends, who would later become individuals Important and Titanic, were having a party that was unfortunately inflected with ennui. They didn’t exactly “throw” this party. It would be more accurate to say they “tossed” it,  weakly.

There was red and white wine. There were crackers topped with sophisticated things that didn’t much appeal to me. There were minor executives of major firms, as well as a selection of students who hoped to make favorable impressions with potential employers.

I was deeply bored.

Then a friendly face appeared. Laurie was my vice president for the campus international affairs club. I admired her. When I could arrange a notable speaker for the club, Laurie would go into a manic frenzy of preparation. I’d never met someone so organized. Invitations would fly out. Posters would appear like magic from one end of campus to the other. She’d speak at meetings of the student union and other student organizations. And each event we held would be packed to the rafters.

I was happy and relieved to see Laurie arrive. Someone I could talk to. After 45 minutes at Morris and Van’s party, I’d listened to all the corporate boasting I could handle. I made my way through the crowd to her, gave her a hug and told her she looked nice. And she did, in a pink sweater, black skirt and black boots.

Laurie always looked buttoned-down and well put together, in a Midwestern conservative way. She stood out among the other students, because she seemed oddly fully-formed. More mature than the rest of us. She was like a younger version of the attractive, self-assured, cheerful parent teacher association president I was convinced she’d become one day.

“I’m done,” she said, accepting a glass of wine. “Psychology was today. I’m pretty sure I aced it.”

“You always ace exams,” I laughed. Laurie had the most detailed studying “system” I’d ever seen. No last-minute cramming for her. “So where’s Stan?” I asked, referring to her boyfriend, who was treasurer of our international affairs club. A good guy. A Mormon, who was as disciplined with the club’s books as he was with his daily running regimen.

“He’s already headed back to Salt Lake City,” she said. “I’m flying out in a couple days to spend Christmas with him and his family.”

We chatted with each other, met a few more of Morris and Van’s guests and tried to fake interest in conversations about the stock market.

“This is killing me,” I whispered to Laurie, as we stood by the dining room table and poured more wine.

“So let’s just leave,” she said. “We’ve made an appearance.”

I looked at my watch. “We can’t. It’s only 9 o’clock.”

“We won’t be missed,” she insisted. “Come on, let’s get our coats.”

I glanced surreptitiously at Morris and Van, then nodded. “Okay.”

It was dark on the street, and fat flakes of snow were drifting lazily down drawing a pretty lace veil over the city. “Hey, have a great holiday,” I said, moving in for a hug.

“Do you want to go get some beers somewhere?” she asked. “I don’t feel like going to bed yet.”

“Yeah, uh… no,” I said, feeling uncomfortable. “Truth is, until I get a paycheck Friday, I’ve got like three dollars to my name.”

She laughed. “Poor guy! Alright, come with me. I’ve got my car.”

Laurie drove us to the liquor store, where she bought a six-pack and a bottle of Kahlua. Then we headed back to the dorm.

We walked through deserted halls, past doors strung with decorations of red, green and gold. My room was dark and chilly. I turned on my desk lamp and cranked the heat. The old register rattled and blasted out welcome warmth.

“Is your roommate gone?” Laurie asked.

“Better,” I said. “He quit. I’ll have the place to myself for the rest of the year.”

“Good,” she replied, digging in her purse. She pulled out a small teal Clinique makeup container, and opened it to reveal three joints. “Ta-daaa!”

“Well… Merry Christmas,” I said, eyes wide in shock. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

She was enjoying my surprise. “’Tis the season, you know. Do you…”

I gestured at the Pink Floyd and Metallica posters on my walls. “What do you think?” I grinned, pouring Kahlua over ice in two recycled jelly jars.

An hour later, we were in a completely different place. We were lying side-by-side on the floor, a pillow under each of our heads. A towel covered the crack under my door. Candles glowed, and an aromatic fog filled my warm room. Stray snowflakes blew in the open window.

My eyes were closed and I was listening to David Gilmour singing so, so crisply on my stereo, but he was only coming through in waves. My heartbeat was loud in my ears. Because I could sense Laurie close by.

I opened my eyes to see her leaning over me. She pushed a curl of my hair out of my eyes.

“You need a haircut,” she said softly.

“Yes,” I agreed, not wanting to say anything more.

“I’m flying to Utah on Thursday,” she said.

“I know,” I whispered. And I shivered a little in the warm room.

***

I raised my coffee cup to my lips, ignored my secretary’s knock on the office door, and listened to Laurie telling me about her good life in Provo. Laurie is a family and marriage counselor. She and Stan have three kids. They all ski. Laurie already has their first three trips of the season all planned out on a spreadsheet. She sounds happy. She hasn’t changed a bit.

“I’m tickled to hear from you, Laurie,” I said. “I’m really glad you called.”

“Well, you know, every now and then…” she began. “Do you ever think about…”

“Yes, I do,” I confirmed. “I do think about it sometimes, and I remember you in high-fidelity detail. I remember you in slow motion, with a soundtrack. I've always been very glad you... happened to me.”

I could hear a smile on the line. “Happy Thanksgiving, Duff,” she said.

“And Merry Christmas, Laurie.”

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