On an Edge of Glass

              Ben: Here’s a thought to get you through.  Try to think of a food that does NOT go well with either chocolate or cheese.  It’s impossible.
                                Me: ??
                                Ben:  Come on, play along…
                                Me: Okay… how about BBQ?
                                Ben: BBQ sandwich topped with cheddar is delicious!
                                Me: Ha! Peanut butter and jelly?
                                Ben: Hmmm… I think you can successfully add chocolate to that combo.
     
                   And we go back and forth like this until my parents take notice and want to know why I’m staring at my phone with a goofy smile plastered on my face.  I brush aside their interest and start talking about law school again.  As always, Columbia does the trick as the ultimate distraction.
                  Friday drags.  I do make an effort to be semi-social by meeting up with some high school friends for lunch near Capitol Hill.  In the afternoon I walk around the National Mall and attempt to amuse myself by watching tourists take cheesy photos in front of the pale marble of the Washington Monument.  I take a picture of myself near the Air and Space Museum and send it to Ben.  He responds with a photo of himself practicing on his cello.  But the angle of the shot is bad, and it’s really just half a mouth and a nose. 
                  When Saturday rolls around, I’m glad that I already planned to head back to school a day early.  I leave after lunch, and by late afternoon I’m standing in the middle of an empty house with my powder blue rolling suitcase beside me. 
    A pair of Payton’s black patent leather flats lay on the floor by the refrigerator like she kicked them off and forgot about them on her way out the door.  Ainsley’s silk-lined winter coat is draped over a hook solemnly waiting for her return.  
                  Edging down the hall, I peek into Ben’s room just because I can’t seem to help it.  Maybe I simply want to get the idea of him back.  The blinds are open and diffused amber sunlight skips and shimmers across the floor planks.  On his desk, casting a glow over pages of music notes, I see that he left a small lamp on.  I cross to it, taking in the crumpled shirts and pants shed near the closet like he couldn’t make up his mind what he should take when he was packing, and I lean in to examine the charcoal drawing tacked on the wall over the bed.  It’s of a simple two-storey wood framed house outlined by a thick copse of trees.  I wonder if that is his home in Asheville.    
    Flipping off the lamp, I let me eyes fall shut and inhale deeply.  The air smells like him and I breathe it in again.  There’s nothing that I’d like to do more than stand here sniffing like a lovesick fourteen year old for a bit longer, but I resist the urge, and—with a final fleeting look—I head to my own room to unpack. 
    An hour later , I’ve abandoned any thoughts of being productive for the rest of the day.  I’m bundled up in a heavy sweater and a beanie, and I’m sitting on a bench in a small park a little more than a block away from the house, where the road dips into a steep hill and the traffic lights thin out into open road and rolling country. 
    Here, in this square of space, sinking light bobs in and out of the bare tree limbs, sliding across the pages of the open book in my hands.  It’s a cheesy romance novel that Mark gave me at the beginning of the term and swore that I would love.  The story is typical:  average girl meets mysterious boy but somehow supernatural powers get in the way of their love.  Much teen angst ensues.
    Unable to concentrate on the plot or characters, I’m staring out—at two little girls heading home from the playground.  Their hands are engulfed in brightly colored plush gloves.  On the other side of the park, an elderly man is walking his dog up and down the sidewalk.  I send Ben a zoomed-in picture that I snap of the dog, who happens to be wearing a cable-knit sweater and a coordinating hat.
    Ben: Nice.  I have a set just like it.  Where are you??
    Me: At that small park off Hinsdale.  I think the dog’s owner knows that I took a photo of them.  Now