I just put on the sweatshirt. There is always just one sweatshirt… one that fits just right, isn’t too new or too worn. One that works in summer or winter.
I pulled it over my head and straightened it out. I looked down at the left sleeeve, as it rode a few inches further down my arm than the right one. The sweatshirt was brandnew when Anita pulled on that sleeve. She yanked the end past my hand, twisted it up, and pulled me aorund by it.
I think about her when I pass the FBI Headquarters in the J. Edgar Hoover Building. She was getting her degree in Criminal Justice, and going on to the FBI.
By any definition, she was beautiful in every sense of the word.
I can’t believe I can’t just walk down to the Hoover Building to see her. Can’t you all see that it’s perfect, that’s obviously the way it was meant to be?
She’s out of reach now. Another airplane in another time… but the same result.