Joe Baxter met a girl when he was 12 years old, and he fell in love with her right away. Even though they’d really only spent a few minutes together, he was sure he felt love, and even if it wasn’t love, it was a very strong feeling that must have been like love. Because a decade and a half later he still remembered their short time together. He remembered it well, and he thought back on it all the time. She was so pretty. And she liked him—she genuinely liked him. He was sure of it. That made him happy. It felt like all he’d ever really need.

Their encounter was in Atlantic City, where his family had taken their summer vacation that year. Joe was just finally old enough so his parents let him break away and go on his own for a while, so long as he stayed on the boardwalk. He figured he was only breaking the rules a little bit when he strayed into the carnival, which was adjacent to the boardwalk, basically connected to it.

The sun was setting and everything glowed in a crystal twilight. The lights from the rides and various attractions shined brilliantly amidst the laughter from kids and the smell of popcorn. Joe was all alone, but it didn’t matter; he remained positively joyous in his budding independence. It came to a dizzying crescendo when the pretty girl sitting on a bench happened to catch him looking. She wore blue-tinted sunglasses that sparkled in the sun and her tousled blonde hair drifted beautifully in the ocean breeze. Joe had always been hypnotized by girls, and never more so than at that age, when he might be so stricken he’d stare dumbly and unaware he was held fast. This time, to his great thrill, she smiled back at him.

He gathered his courage and walked over to her, knowing he’d have burning regret later if he didn’t. She watched him approach all the way, her blonde hair afire in the rays of the setting sun. Her sunglasses were mirrored and so in them Joe saw his reflection and the carnival all around him.

She was much older than he was, college-aged or beyond, and this made him sad, knowing he hadn’t the slightest chance with her. He’d be lucky if she even gave him the time of day. But to his great joy, she wasn’t embarrassed to speak with him, nor was she patronizing in any way. She smiled and said hello and she made him feel like he belonged. Joe loved that. Not to mention how each of her glances cast wonderful butterflies all through him, they fluttered and tickled and it all culminated in a giant, goofy grin on his face that he absolutely could not contain all throughout their conversation. She realized this and he could plainly see that it flattered her.

They talked for a while, as the pleasant breeze came from the ocean and the twilight turned to night before finally she said she had to go. Joe awkwardly tried to shake her hand, saying that it was good to meet her, but she giggled and hugged him instead.

Do we know each other or something? Joe wondered, feeling the sights and sounds of the carnival spinning around him. She still wore those mirrored sunglasses, even though the sun had set, and in them Joe could see himself.

She smiled, without the slightest hint of uncertainty, letting him know the answer was yes. Then she kissed him once on the forehead. Her kiss made him feel both happy and sad—happy she did it, but sad he was too young for it to be any more than that.

“Be strong,” she said, her last words to him.

His mind scrambled trying to come up with a response, until finally he said, “Yes, ma’am,” in a way that was both joking and serious. She giggled in response.

Then she left with a wave and disappeared into the crowded boardwalk.

* * *

Joe Baxter stood on the sidewalk, just outside of the barroom door, the smoke from his cigarette glowing ghostly under the streetlights. It was a summer night and the air was comfortable. He exhaled a large cloud, and it hovered around him in the still night, while his mind drifted lazily back to the woman he’d met that day in Atlantic City. It didn’t make sense to still think back on her, so many years later, in what was by description a very innocuous encounter—yet he did anyway. He didn’t seem to have any control over that.

Joe stood a shade over six feet, with a wide frame. He had a warm but rugged face that was usually at least a day or two unshaven. Usually no one was quicker to smile and say hi than Joe, even when times were tough, but on this night his expression remained grim. He brought the cigarette slowly to his mouth and then took another long drag.