It was the last Night of the Arts at Oglethorpe University that I would attend as a student. I read three poems and one prose piece. Afterwards, he hung around, standing in the pathway to the door, knowing I'd have to pass him in order to leave. I hugged Dr. Taylor, one of my literature/writing professors, talked to her for a minute, then was embarrassed to see that he was now waiting for me, right behind her.

"That was amazing" he said, and tried to hug me. I stood stiff, as if he were a coat I was being forced to try on. His girlfriend stood behind him, like an afterthought. She always had the look of someone who had been watching t.v. all day, eyes dim, mouth slightly agape. I would watch her in the women's literature class we shared, always sure that a line of drool would drip down from her lip in the next moment.

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