“So, I’ll miss you,” she says, hugging me.
She has great boobs.
Better than her ass which is still pretty good.
Which is a bonus because she isn’t that pretty.
They aren’t so big that hugging her just presents one big boob-squish, but two distinct boobs presenting themselves individually
against my chest, which makes this really enjoyable but eventually I have to signal that I want the hug to stop.
It’s been fun to watch the interactions and de-constructing the group dynamics.
It never gets old, even though it gets repeated over and over, with a new group every week.
They start as strangers, although I suspect the Internet mitigates a lot more of that these days.
Then the week happens to them.
And they happen to each other.
I’ve seen the friendships, the fighting, the fucking.
Sometimes all three with the same couple of people.
Every week’s the same, more or less.
I’ve been a spectator at so many of these things now that I bet I could run them if need be.
Not the fucking or fighting part.
The actual seminar part.
Valerie walks me down to my truck.
“You coming back next year?” she asks.
I shrug and say, “Who knows?”
Lot of stuff can happen between now and then, so why limit my options?
She seems to get this all instinctively and doesn’t press for a definitive answer.
Weird that we might be saying goodbye forever though.
The road curves away to the right and then back again as you pass the lake.
There’s a strange feeling in knowing that I will probably never see this road again.
But I guess that’s like most things.
You do them for a while and then you stop doing them and then you start doing something else and then that new thing takes over and becomes your new life.
And that’s what happens.
I’m already half way home before I realize that I forgot to wash my hands and now they still smell like maple syrup.
I take one hand off the steering wheel and sniff my fingers.
It’s deeply satisfying to still smell that, even though I realize that it’s going to cause a mess on my steering wheel.
Months later, I realize I haven’t thought about Stony Point in weeks.
In the middle of the pandemic, I drive up to see the place.
It’s obviously closed now, as the university is shut down for all but on-line learning and research.
Odds are the station never re-opened.
I drive up the road to where the station is.
Sure enough, the parking lot is almost empty.
I want to go into the Main Hall, but stop myself.
I don’t work here anymore.
I haven’t worked here in two years.
It’s interesting to look around and remember how it was, now that it looks so desolate.
They haven’t painted this year and it’s already peeling in a lot of places.