Two bottles of wine clank together in my otherwise vacant shopping basket at Family Fare. I am staring at a can of coconut milk, wondering what to do with it. I turn to leave the aisle and in front of me is an older Romanian man; my favorite language professor at Hope. I remember sitting in his class years ago, wracked with nervousness that he would call on me to actually speak Spanish, which I was very bad at.

I stare at him for a second, wondering if he knows who I am.
“Hi,” I smile, “do you remember me? Lucy, from Spanish…”
“Of course I remember! How are you? What have you got there?” He looks into my shopping basket of wine, raising his eyebrows.

He reaches out to give me a hug. I used to see him walking around the campus when I worked on grounds keeping crew during the summers. He would often stop nearby and motion for me to turn the mower off, wait for me to remove my earmuffs and goggles and then give me a hug and say it was good to see me before waving and going on his way.

“So what is new in your life?” he asks.
“Well…not much really just climbing the ladder, I guess.”
“Ahh…Aren’t we all?”
I nod.
“Well, when you’re rich and famous don’t forget us all, ok?”
I can only laugh.

He waves and walks on with his shopping cart, and I go to turn the corner towards the checkout when I hear my name.
“Lucy?” He stops as if just making the connection between a name and a face, and wags his finger at me. “I will not forget you.”

Luciana, 27