Barbara didn’t remember who I was, so I told her and said, “Maybe we can get together sometime.” And she said, “Why? I still don’t know you.” And I said, “But I told you. We went out together in high school once. I kissed you. You don’t remember that?” “No, I don’t. I have no memory of that at all,” she said. “It was quite a beautiful kiss as I remember it, but it’s gone, or at least one half of it is gone,” I said. “Good-bye, I don’t want to talk to you anymore,” she said. She picked up her purse and left. I sat there thinking things over. I didn’t really know her any longer. She was a different person. I got up to leave. Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and it was Barbara. “I remember you, you were short and had braces,” she said. “I grew quite a bit,” I said. “Yes, you did. And you’re really quite handsome,” she said. “Well, thank you. It’s not something I tried to be,” I said. “How I remembered you I’ll never know. You were just a squirt of a guy,” she said. “Well, it was still me. I was just in a different package,” I said. “That’s one way of putting it. It was quite a different package all right,” she said. “But it was me, I promise you,” I said. “That kiss was the silliest I ever had in my life,” she said. “It was sacred to me,” I said. “We should try again,” she said. “No, that was the only kiss I had for you in this lifetime,” I said. And I walked away swinging my old knapsack on my back.