WARD RICKER

A strange feeling came over Tom as the young woman walked into the classroom. He watched her take a seat on the other side of the room. He wasn't sure what it was, but there was something about her that aroused his interest. His eye caught hers for just a moment. Then she turned away without expression and sat down to await the start of the first night of class.

However, as the professor started the class, Tom found it hard to keep any interest in what he was saying. His attention kept drifting over to the young woman on the other side of the room. Was she familiar? He didn't know. At first he thought she was. Then he decided it was just his imagination, but his mind kept coming back to her. There was something about her. He couldn't place it, but there was something about her that held his interest.

It wasn’t that she was particularly attractive. She was slightly short and thin, with medium length dark but not quite black hair. She had on a pair of new looking jeans and a yellow pullover top. She was sort of cute, perhaps, but that was not what kept his attention. No, it was something else. Something that made his mind go back through all its channels to see if he could recall what it was. If Tom had been a believer in reincarnation he would have sworn he had known her in a past life.

Throughout the class she looked straight ahead, her eyes glued to the professor, except when looking down to take notes. If Tom thought that there was something familiar about her, she apparently did not recognize it. At the end of class she grabbed her books and immediately exited before Tom could make up his mind whether to approach her or not.

The week between classes was hectic for Tom. He was working hurriedly to finish a porch he was building for an old fellow in the town where he lived, because Mrs. Cutting was anxious for him to start an addition onto her living room. Mrs. Cutting used to be a neighbor of Tom when he was growing up in Huntsville. She moved away while Tom was still quite young. She had moved to Springfield recently, where Tom was now living, and when she had heard that Tom was in business she called him when she needed work done.

Tom remembered how his mother was happy when Mrs. Cutting moved away. Tom never understood the seeming animosity his mother felt toward her when he was growing up. Tom remembered walking past her house as a child. She would always wave and give him a friendly smile. Indeed, everyone liked Mrs. Cutting. She was a widow. She had married a Navy man when she was young. They had only been married a few years when her husband was killed in a freak accident while flying. Tom was but a baby at the time. It wasn't until Tom was older that he heard about rumors of an affair between his father and Mrs. Cutting. Tom didn't know the truth of these rumors, but he then understood his mother's feelings.

By that time Tom's parents had divorced. Whether or not the rumors about Mrs. Cutting were true, it was generally known that Tom's dad was not known for his fidelity, and that was one of the main reasons behind the divorce. Tom lived those last couple of high school years with his mother. He visited his father, who moved to a town about an hour away, and outwardly they got along well, but Tom didn’t really like him very well. Call him old fashioned, but he couldn't help but harbor a silent resentment over the way his father had treated his mom.

Tom had continued to see his dad after high school, but only infrequently. He came to feel ever more distant from him and finally stopped. On his last visit, his dad had taken him to a bar and introduced him to some drinking buddies. As the evening progressed and his father had more and more drinks, he began talking more freely. Tom felt very uncomfortable and then even angry as his father’s loosened tongue started reminiscing about some of the women he had known while he was married. Finally, his father was telling about one particular woman he referred to as "Tessie", a nurse he had met in a bar in Apton. The details of his story got rather colorful, and Tom’s anger intensified. He left the bar and never saw his father after that.

The next week in class the woman sat in the same place, and Tom continued to look over and wonder about her. The more he thought, the less he was able to come up with any theory to explain his feelings. He became sure that he had never seen her before, yet at the same time felt like he had. Once again at the end of class the woman left immediately.

"I've got to talk with her," Tom said to himself on the way home. "It may just be my imagination running wild, but I feel like I should know her."

The next week Tom started working on Mrs. Cutting’s project. He tried to absorb himself in his work and his studies, but found it difficult to get the young woman out of his mind. He decided he would make a definite attempt to talk to her at the next class.

He arrived early and took a seat next to where she always sat. She arrived slightly late and gave Tom a quick glance as she sat down. He thought maybe he also saw a hint of a smile, but then again figured it was just his imagination. She sat as always through the entire class, though, and never took her eyes off the teacher except to write notes. She had a very serious expression, and Tom got the impression that she was not used to smiling.

At the end of class she quickly grabbed her books and got ready to hurry out, but this time Tom was not going to let her get away without as least an introduction.

"Excuse me," Tom said as she turned to leave. "I've been wondering ever since this class started. You look kind of familiar. Have I met you somewhere before?"

She looked at him and responded abruptly, " I don't think so,” and immediately turned to leave again.

"I'm Tom Bickford," he shot out quickly and perhaps a bit clumsily.

She looked at him again as if not sure what to say or whether she wanted to say anything. At this point Tom noticed a mole over her right eyebrow. It was rather cute, nearly round, with an indentation that made it almost heart shaped.

Being somewhat impatient and seeing her hesitation, he probed, "And you are...?"

"My name is Mary," she responded, again abruptly.

Seeing that she really did not wish to talk, he just said, "I'm sorry. I just thought you looked familiar. It's probably just my imagination."

He then kept quiet as she again gave perhaps a hint of a smile, turned and left.

In the next class he moved back to his original seat, not wanting Mary to feel like she was being pursued. He still kept looking over and wondering if there was anything real behind all this or if it was just his imagination. A couple of times she did look over and catch his eyes, though, but quickly looked back to the front without expression.

The next class, Mary was slower to leave than usual. Tom caught up to her at the door, where she turned to acknowledge him. Once outside the room she spoke to him.

"I'm sorry if I seemed unfriendly when you talked to me a few weeks ago. Sometimes I'm just not in a very talkative mood."

"That's okay,” he responded. “Sometimes I feel that way myself. We all have those days."

This time a real smile came to her lips, somewhat withheld, but this time definitely a smile.

"Did you say your name was Tom?"

"Yes. Tom Bickford."

"I'm Mary".

"It's nice to meet you, Mary. How do you like the class?"

"Oh, it's okay, I suppose. Just have to do it if I want that degree after my name."

They talked for just a couple of minutes, and Mary said, "Well, I need to get going. Nice to meet you, Tom," and she left.

After that they started talking at each class a little bit. She seemed friendly enough now, and finally Tom felt comfortable enough to ask her out to eat, hoping that if they could sit down and talk over dinner he might be able to find a reason for his feelings.

At first she seemed hesitant when he asked her, but after a moment she said, "Well, I guess that would be okay."

"How about before class next week?" Tom suggested.

"Ahh … yeah, I guess that would work,"

"See you then."

.

In the restaurant they were seated at a small table in the rear. Small talk ensued after deciding what they wanted from the menu. They talked about the class, about his work and her work, about hobbies and about all the things people talk about when first starting out. She worked as a teller in a bank in Springfield. She had been there about six months, but was planning on leaving and moving on to something else.

"So you grew up around here, then" he asked.

"Huntsville."

"You have brothers and sisters?"

"One brother. He's younger than I am. Actually, he's my half-brother."

"Do you see him often?"

"Yes. I go to my mom's house frequently. He's there sometimes. He's a teenager now, so you never know if he'll be there or not. We get along well, but he's at a stage where his friends are more important than his sister."

"And your father?"

"Oh, I don't see him." With that a troubled look came over her face.

"Oh, it's the same way with my father. I used to see him up until a couple of years ago, but things aren't going well between us anymore."

He hoped that world make her feel better, but it didn't seem to help. He wasn't sure what to say next. After a moment of quiet, she looked over at him and volunteered, "You're lucky you have one. I never knew mine."

Once again, Tom wasn't sure what to say. He thought about his own father and wondered if perhaps he should try to reconcile and see his dad again. "No. Not going to happen," he thought.

Coming back to the present he said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring out painful memories."

"It's okay,” she said. “My mother met this guy in a bar, let him talk her into bed, and now I'm here. I've never met the guy. I don't think he even knows I exist. Whatever differences you have with your father, at least you have one."

Tom felt her depression at talking about the subject and decided he had better talk about something else."

"So what are you going to do if you leave your job at the bank?" he asked.

"I don't know" she replied, "I think I might take off. I'm tired of living here. I may move out west somewhere and start a new life."

"Won't your mother and brother miss you?"

"Yes, they will, but I think it's something I have to do. Actually, relations with my mother have become rather strained. She has always been a good mother, took care of me well and all, but we aren't actually all that close. She's done her best for me, but I was, after all, an unwanted child."

"Well, whatever you do I hope it goes well for you."

"Thank you. I hope things go well for you, too."

By this time they had finished eating, and the waiter brought the bill. Tom still had no idea why he might have thought there was something special about her, but he was at a loss as to what to ask and figured at this point that the whole thing was just his imagination. They made a little more small talk and then prepared to leave. Mary started digging into her pocketbook looking for some money.

"Please, allow me to pay for the meal," Tom offered.

"Oh, I don't mind," she said.

"I insist. I did invite you out, after all."

"Well okay, if you insist", she said, shoving things back into her pocketbook. With that she thanked him and left the restaurant.

He put the money on the table for the bill and went to find the men's room. When he came back to the table to pick up his jacket he noticed something on the floor. He bent over and picked it up. It was some kind of a billfold used to hold credit cards, photos and the like. "This must have fallen out of Mary's purse," he thought. He took it with him so that he could return it to her at the next class.

Mary was absent at the next class. Tom didn't know where she lived, so he couldn't return the billfold to her at home. He figured he would give it to her at the following class.

Mary didn't show up for that class either. Tom asked the professor about her, who said he hadn't heard anything about her. When she was absent again the following week he began to worry. He asked the professor once again.

"Oh yes, Mary Davis. I was told she dropped the class."

"I have something that belongs to her, do you know how I might find her?"

"I don't have any information like phone number or address. You could try the registrar's office."

Tom went to the registrar's office the next day. "My name is Tom Bickford. There is a student in one of my classes named Mary Davis. She hasn't been there for several weeks, and the professor says that she has dropped the class."

"Yes."

"I have something that belongs to her and wish to return it. Would it be possible to get her address or phone number or something?"

"I'm sorry. We are not allowed to give out that kind of information."

"Of course not. I understand, but I think she wants this. Do you know if there is any way I can get it to her?"

"I’m sorry. I don’t know what we could do to help," the man responded. Then a look of recognition came on the man’s face. "Actually, I do remember her. She stopped and said she was dropping all her classes. Said something about heading out west, I believe. I suggested that she might want to finish the semester before she left, but she didn't seem to care."

Tom left the office not knowing what to do. There was no way to return the billfold if he didn't know where she was.

On his way home Tom looked at the billfold beside him on the seat of the car. He hadn't opened it to look inside, considering it to be personal and that he shouldn't, but now his curiosity was getting the best of him.

At home he set the billfold on the table. He looked at it. He opened it up. Inside were mostly photographs. The first was a photograph of a woman Tom took to be Mary's mother. Then a picture of a teenage boy, probably her brother. Then there were a few of pictures of other people, perhaps friends. The last picture showed the first lady, noticeably younger, dressed in a nurse's uniform and holding a small girl on her knee. The little girl had long dark hair and a heart shaped mole over her right eyebrow. As he looked at the picture he noticed a name tag on the uniform. He squinted and held the photo up into the light. Finally, he made out the tiny letters: "Tessie".

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