Saving Elijah

classes?"
    Had he? I always assumed he had a full load of classes. But I'd never actually seen him walk into any class except Grunwald's. And now that I thought about it, I'd never seen him write a paper, or study for a test, or even refer to another class. All he ever did was read—maybe not for class, after all—and write.
    "Last semester he was in my poli-sci class. With Professor Murray Grunwald."
    "He wasn't registered for it," the policeman said. "He wasn't carrying anything that would help us get in touch with his relatives, there's nothing in his apartment. Didn't even have driver's license. Do you have any idea where he was from?"
    I told them I didn't have a clue.
    The police came back one more time a week later. They couldn't identify him, they said, and since no one had come forward to claim the body, they asked if I wanted to take possession of it for burial. I told them I was sorry, I couldn't.

    *    *    *

    I spent the rest of the school year in a major depression, but I didn't want to call Dr. Lowe because then I'd have to tell my parents, since I didn't have any money to pay her. I finally went to the school counseling office, where I saw a tall, hulking young graduate student named Lloyd, who tried, though we never really made a connection. Nevertheless, I somehow managed not to flunk out.
    My spirits began to lift a bit that summer, when Julie and I got jobs at Camp Pequot. I didn't go near a male all summer long, but in the fall of our sophomore year I started dating a pre-med student named David Lester. He was a redhead, too, strapping, serious, rather sweet, and kind of dull. And Julie fell in love.
    He was the perfect guy, she kept telling me and our sophomore roommates, Sally Weiner and Alicia Parker. "Adorable, really. Fun and funny, and he isn't always stoned." She looked meaningfully at me. "He doesn't have to smoke pot to have a good time. And he respects the fact that I can't." There was just one problem. "My mother's gonna kill me if I marry an Irish Catholic." She was already thinking marriage.
    Oh, and he was sexy, too, an amazing kisser. And a great body, he was an athlete, a swimmer.
    I didn't meet this paragon until she'd been dating him for a month. She brought him to a bar on M Street one night, to a table where I was sitting with Sally and David. Julie had her arm draped around his waist. He was adorable. And I recognized him.
    "Hey, didn't we meet once last year?" he said when she introduced him.
    "In line at registration."
    He nodded, flashing his contagious smile. "I remember. You were dropping things, I was doing my Sir Galahad routine. How'd I do?"
    "For a male chauvinist, you got an A."
    The smile again, this time with dimples. "That's fantastic. Brings up the old GPA. Definitely in need of some help in that department." He shook David's hand and helped Julie find a seat.
    "Isn't he the greatest?" Julie said when Sam and David went for a round of beers.
    He was.

    *    *    *

    Over the Christmas break, Julie and Sam, David and I drove up to Ellington, Vermont, for a skiing week with Sally and her boyfriend Greg. The six of us rented a cabin. Sam was the only real skier among us. Tom Galligan had taught Sam and his brothers and sister to ski when they were just toddlers, and had taken them skiing five or six times a year since then.
    Sam skied with us in the mornings, then went off by himself to do more challenging terrain after lunch. Early in the afternoon of the second day, I made a wrong turn off the Great Eastern run and ended up at the bottom of the Needle's Eye run. Sam was in the lift line.
    "Where's everybody, Dinah?"
    "I lost them, I'm afraid."
    "Needle's Eye is perfect today. Want to try it?"
    "I can't ski with you," I said. "I'm practically still snowplowing. You're an expert."
    "Expert compared to what? Besides, I saw you ski and you've got great potential. Sounds to me like those guys told you I was a bully. Not guilty!" He pulled his ski hat down over his eyes, made a dopey lopsided face with his lips.
    I laughed.
    "See. I'm perfectly harmless."
    I looked up at the steep intermediate run.
    "It's really not that hard," Sam said. "And it's nice and wide. I can give you lots of pointers. I'm very good on giving pointers, just not so good on getting them."
    We took the lift up together. He skied in front of me, sometimes backward, coaxing, helping me with my form. About midway down I started to feel comfortable and picked up speed, cruising at a