I saw her from across the room, a ghost from my past. Gently disengaging from the group I was chatting with, I moved to her side and touched her lightly on the arm.

"CeCe, is it really you?"

She looked at me quickly, smiling as recognition came.

"Looney! My gosh, it's been twenty five years! How are you?"

People were turning to see who I was talking to.

"Yes, CeCe, it's me. Nobody's called me Looney in years, though. It brings back good memories."

She had taken my hand and hadn't let go. People were suddenly very interested, I was well known here. Pulling her gently along we came to a couch and sat down.

"A lot of memories for me as well. Did your life go as you plan? Did you get the rich husband and houseful of kids you wanted? Is that why you're here? Bringing another legacy to your old school?"

I was smiling, but I guess some of my questions brought back some old pain.

She looked uncomfortable for just a second and then spoke.

"Yes and no. Yes and no, and yes. My life pretty much went to plan until last year. I did get the rich husband and had four kids. That's why I'm here, My second child, Marie, will be a freshman this year. Then last year my husband traded me in for a newer model. We've been divorced for about six months now. I can't complain, he was very generous. I can't even say I didn't see it coming, and realistically I wasn't too upset when it ended. We had twenty years of happiness, eight of comfort, and two of indifference. But enough about me. When we parted I came back home.

Do you have a child here also? Is that why you're here?"

We were at a meet and greet for parents of new students. Sort of a way to reassure them they weren't wasting the enormous amount of money it took to put a child trough college. I did have a daughter here, but that's not why I was there. I was actually dean of my department.

I sort of told a half truth. There were reasons, reasons that went back 30 years.

"Yes, my youngest is here, an art major. Not very practical, but she loves it."

We talked for about thirty minutes. Just before I left to mingle just a bit more I asked if I could take her picture. I was still in contact with some of our old friends. I showed her some pictures I had of some of them. She was nodding along making comments.

"I can't believe he went bald! That can't be her real hair color. Her husband looks handsome. Oh my, is that really Amy? She looks almost like she did thirty years a go. Some of us sure aged gracefully. What's she doing now? Is she married, any kids?"

Again, I didn't tell the whole truth.

"Yes, she been married twenty nine years to the same guy. Two kids, boy and girl. She became a teacher, still works in the local school system. I think she's happy, but who knows for sure. I know her husband can be a bit irritating at times."

She gave me a card with her numbers on it.

"When you see here, give her this. I'd love to see her again. And yes, you can take my picture. But loon-I means James, be kind when you talk about me. I know how I look-"

I stopped her. "You look great. Besides, I still see you as a twenty year old, your hair in that french braid you liked so much, that great rack, and tight jeans."

She laughed but had tears in her eyes.

"Oh, Looney, I hated that braid. I wore it that way for you. I haven't been in jeans for years. I don't think they would look so good on me now."

She had always been a big girl. In college she had weighed about 170, but she was almost six feet tall so she carried it well. Now, if I had to guess, I would say she had gained a hundred pounds, at least. She still carried it well, she had always had presence.

I hugged and kissed her goodbye, again watched by the whole room. I mingled a bit more, fulfilled my obligations and headed for the door. She was leaving as well.

She had a young girl by the hand. She was almost a carbon copy of her at twenty.

"This must be your daughter. You can't deny those genetics."

I shook her hand as CeCe introduced her.

She introduced me as am old friend from school, asking her if she remembered her talking about me, the one she called Looney. Her mouth flew open.

As I turned to put on my jacket she had one more comment.

"Do you still have that old Sportster? Still got the tattoo?"

"Believe it or not, I still do. Hardly ever ride it though. Got a nice Ultraglide I ride when it's fit weather. You remember what the winters are like up here. The tats still there, but awfully faded now. Goodnight, CeCe."

I got my SUV and drove home to my wife. I definitely had a tale for her.

It was 1992. I was twenty-one, single, and having a good time. I dated and bedded women, but had not found 'the one'. To be honest, I wasn't really looking either.

I had a good job that I enjoyed. It paid well, so I was able to indulge myself with a few toys. My pride and joy was a 1975 Sportster. It was fully chopped, with a twisted girder front end, nine inches over stock. Five spoke mags and American Eagle white letter tires, rectangular headlights, teardrop gas tank, and a gleaming black paint job. I kept it spotless. It was a girl magnet.

I knew as good as my job was I didn't want to be a factory worker for the rest of my life, so I took night classes at the local community college. I got an associate degree in three years going part time. After graduation I looked around but couldn't find anything better than what I had so I stayed put, working overtime and trying to save money. I had a vague plan to save enough to quit and finish my four year degree at a good college.

There was an old fashioned dance hall in my county

that had been in operation for as long as I could remember. Alcohol laws were strange in my mid southern state. This was a dry county, so the place couldn't sell beer or liquor. It did have a 'brown bag' permit, where you could bring your own. Liquor could be on the table and you bought mixers from the club. If you had beer, it was labeled and put into a cooler and you were charged twenty five cents a can for 'cooling fees'. Anywhere alcohol flowed there was a chance folks could get rowdy, so they kept an off duty deputy, still in uniform, as security. It had been the same guy for thirty years. He was now in his early sixties and was strictly a reserve officer, used for such things as directing traffic during major county events.

It also had one of the best grills in the area, and one of my first jobs as a teen was as a busboy and short order cook. It was an education I would have never gotten working at a pizza place or teen burger joint. You got to see and hear a lot cleaning the tables in the hall. Drunk women would make comments or rub body parts while their men would have a good laugh. If they knew how many serious offers I got they wouldn't have laughed nearly as hard. I wasn't really a virgin, but two brief encounters on the backseat in the dark were the extent of my experience.

My sexual education began in earnest when I was eighteen. One night the owner came to me and asked a favor. One of his regular couples had too much to drink and needed to be driven home. Another couple had ridden with them and the wife was to be the driver, but they had met friends and left them. The deputy wouldn't let them get behind the wheel and I was the solution.

My parents were friends with the owners, that's how I got the job. I usually didn't get home until one thirty in the morning and my mom almost always stayed up, sleeping on the couch, until I got home. I would wake her, and knowing I was home safe, go in to bed. I knew if I took them home it would be after three before I in.

It was just before midnight and my boss said if I would take them now he would pay me my full time and I would still get home almost on time. He also said he would tell my parents about it the next day. Well, I knew they had an almost brand new Lincoln Town Car, and I would probably never get another chance to drive a car that nice, so I agreed.

Barb was in her middle thirties and attractive in a hard sort of way. Her husband Bob was in his late fifties and owned the local Ford dealership. I guess you would call her a trophy wife.

We pretty much poured Bob into the backseat. Barb got into the front because she didn't want a drunk flopping all over her for 45 minutes. She sounded pretty angry when she said that. We had just hit the interstate when she began to talk to me.

She didn't like her life. Oh, they were rich, she got every thing she wanted but affection. Once Bob married her he pretty much ignored her. If she hadn't told him to take her out at least once a week or she would get someone else to she wouldn't even get to dance. She told me she wanted to go to some of the upscale clubs, gosh knows they could afford it, but he was in a rut and the little dance hall suited him just fine.