Vanessa Again Vanessa was a nice young lady when I met her, although she hated being called Vanessa. I did my best to call her Ness, but I found that abbreviation vulgar when I said it, the same way some words just sound wrong even when they're said correctly.

We met for dinner very shortly after she was off work, when she still smelled like the bakery. She was younger than I was, if only by a couple years, but her youth was defined carefully and magnified by her inexperience in the world. After high school, she'd worked at the same job for years, lived in the same place, did all the same things. She was in a comfortable place that she didn't mind being in.

She talked at great length and sometimes it felt like she was only talking because she was nervous. She repeated herself many times accidentally, and each time she seemed embarrassed by it. She didn't have many hobbies to speak of, very few interests, and she hadn't traveled at all. The conversation was, in all honesty, quite dull.

Several months later, we caught up on MSN. She said that talking to me that evening helped spur her into doing something different. (I didn't see how, because I hadn't given much input that I could remember, but I accepted the praise anyway.) She was now living in Holland, working on a farm and saving money to travel Europe. She said that when she returned, she wanted to meet for dinner, and I agreed, with no measure of actual conviction and a truckload of apprehension.

It's been a couple years since we set that floating date, and we've had no contact since. I imagine she's changed a lot in the time that has passed, by the people she's met, by the things she's seen. Maybe she's even Vanessa again.  ¶ 7:57 PM