Peter, Charles and I were jetting our way to Paris. I’d just woken up. I had to *** so badly it woke me up. It was a medical emergency. I stretched and everything hurt, I felt like I was 30.

Peter was sitting next to me, on the aisle, reading. When he saw me stretch, he said, “Hey sleepyhead.” Ok, I didn’t actually hear him say it, we were all wearing noise canceling AirPods. I read his lips. I motioned that I needed to get up and he probably said “sure,” marking his place with his index finger and standing up in the aisle. I saw Charles watching us and I gave him a sleepy smile.

I’d made the Paris trip 20 times, at least, and I carry an indispensable little travel ****** bag. I removed my AirPods and put them in their case to recharge and used Neutrogena cleansing wipes before I splashed water on my face. Then I spritzed my face with Biologique L' Eauxygénante moisturizing mist. Finally, I applied Clinique lip balm. When I was done, I felt human. My watch said I’d slept for 2 hours.

On my way back to my seat I dropped by Charles, one row back from us and across the aisle.
“How you DOin?” I said.
For some reason Charles and I always greet each other like we’re the Sopranos. “I’m DOin’ ok,” he replied, giving me a little toast with his coffee cup, “You slept?”
“2 hours,” I said. I nodded at his coffee cup, and he handed it to me for a sip.
“Mmm” I said, handing it back. “It feels odd not sitting with you,” I told him, because, well, it did.
“Go on,” he said, giving me a little shoo-away gesture. “We’ll catch up in Paris.”
I gave him a gentle, backhanded tap on the shoulder as I left.

When I got back and Peter and I finished the whole seat-hopping bit, I tilted the book he was reading to see what it was. The title read ‘Thermodynamics and Control of Open Quantum Systems.’ I pantomimed a yawn and he smiled condescendingly.

I put my AirPods back in and the annoying, but necessary, jet noise vanished. The little jet on my seat display indicated we had about 5 hours to go, but I had my Kindle (500 books), my iPad (games, apps, the slow Internet), my Nintendo Switch (Animal Crossing and Zelda), my phone and, of course, the movies and series offered on the seat panel in front of me.

Then, I remembered the two Cinnabons and Honeydew melon Boba Teas in my backpack. The flight attendant passed and asked if we needed anything.
“Can I get a large cup of ice, please?” I enquired. She nodded, making a ‘be right back’ finger motion.

It’s not like we have to row this jet. Why do people complain about air travel?

We’re (Lisa and I) back in Athens Georgia (hometown USA), where it’s the halcyon days of summer. The south used to be the home of summer heat - not anymore. Now everyone has their little ‘heat domes’ and temperatures well into the hundreds. Show-offs. In Athens, we creep into the low 90s, some days, between daily thunderstorms. Oh, well.

My parents are here! I haven’t seen them in the flesh in almost two years. Each time I had a holiday, they were off doctoring without borders. Every time I’ve seen my mom this week it seems like a surprise. I’ll walk into the kitchen or see her in the den. I hug her every time (Step too). They seem grayer than I remember, it’s scary and it makes me sad. When I mentioned it to Brice (on facetime), he just nodded noncommittally.

Earlier today, my mom, Lisa and I went shopping for our junior year of college. I don’t actually need anything; shopping was really a chance for us to visit and do what we like the most - malling. I like college gear, the clothes, tech, the odds and ends. College clothes are simpler, more utilitarian than I’d imagined back in high school. I’d brought a trunk of Anna Molinari designer clothes to Yale, but I only ended up wearing those at events.

Being home reminds me of how I’d dreamed of going away to college, especially back in the covid lockdown days. I still dream about college but now they’re stress dreams where next semester I get all the wrong classes, I’m placed in the wrong residence, or my roommates are all gone.

My mom’s still my mom and she wants to know all about Peter.
“How’d you end up with Peter?” she asked.
“Well,” I said, shifting dresses on the store rack distractedly, “we met in a coffee shop freshman year, then I saw him on campus a few times. I was drawn to him,” I confessed.
“How so,” my mom asked.
“I like tall guys and he had an unkempt, scarecrow quality that gave him a.. vulnerability. He wasn’t all muscular or fratty.” I further defined, making a yuck face. “And he obviously needed fashion help (my specialty).”

“And,” my mom prodded me after a moment.
“But he was a doctoral student,” I sighed, “and I was a lowly freshman. I mean, why would he be interested in me?” Mom gave me the side eye. “Sure ***, maybe but I wasn’t looking for THAT.”

My mom and Lisa were shuffling through racks of dresses too, each showing me the occasional standouts for themselves or me. My mom stayed quiet and just watched me. She wanted more but, as if I were still a high schooler, I was inclined to give her the minimum info. She broke me down by eyeing me.

“Eventually though,” I began spilling, “we got to talking and when we talked, he seemed like a person of substance. I mean, he was working on his PhD.” I shrugged, “He’s a serious guy - forthright, no-nonsense, shy and lowkey funny. We actually got ‘together’ at the beginning of sophomore year.” (I’m hoping he’ll come for a visit but I’m holding that for now.)

“Annick told me he’s from California..” My mom followed up, “Have you met his parents?”
“You know,” I leaned into her confidentially, “I’m working on my emotional and behavioral independence.” She Laughed and let it go - for the moment - I have no illusions about that.

Meanwhile Lisa and I are out on the lake early every morning water skiing. Charles is in his element, skippering the boat while Carol (Mrs. Charles) mixes coleslaw and grills bacon cheeseburgers. In the afternoons, we’ve begun studying for a couple of hours.

Lisa & I are both molecular biophysics and biochemistry majors. Our books for next semester arrived the same day we did, and we’ve started to read ahead. Everything about Junior year is extra. Our classes will be full of Biochemistry and biology labs, psychology, statistics, and research for credit class with names like “Quantitative Approaches in Biophysics and Biochemistry” and “Research in Biochemistry and Biophysics.”

I’m already set to continue my hospital volunteering and we’ll need to begin to study for our MCATS (Medical College Admission Tests). Next summer we apply to med-schools!

Of course, my Mom, Mz ‘I know everything about med-school admissions’ has a list of every other conceivable requirement for med-schools, like reference letters and God-knows what else and she’ll drop that list on us, like a ton of bricks, with the least hint of encouragement.

But she gets her hugs anyway.

I want to hold you close forever,
to savor the vivid, fleeting intimacy,
that, like candy, seems gone too soon.

I’m a practical person, so I asked Peter,
“What works better, duct tape or velcro?”

Sure, some things will be awkward, at first,
like walking, thanksgiving dinner with parents,
shopping, bathing and driver’s license photos
but those always **** - let’s accept that.

We’ll live and love - together - without apologies

.

Ok, gimme me your best day, take your best shot at perfection.
Our minds take experiences and press them grape-like,
into the intoxicating liquor of memory.
The vivid ones linger - unaltered - like youthful Internet mistakes forever posted.
Someday to beckon us back, teasingly - like bright, neon signage.
.
Peter’s off again to job interview (second round, in Geneva), he was only here two days but something of him remained behind. Oh, fingerprints for sure - but memories too - like scattered Christmas wrappings - or a poem.

Making him argue with me about something silly, so we can make up.
Stealing his pencil so he has to put his arms around me to get it.
Walking to class a different way, because I know I’ll pass him.
Jogging together or racing him to the top of the climbing wall.
Having him walk me to class even though it’s out of his way.
Playing, “yeah, but have you ever seen one of THESE?”
Driving the countryside to see the changing fall leaves.
He’s weird, I’m weird, our weirdnesses mesh perfectly.
Hearing a love song and thinking, wow, it’s about him.
Watching him work out, study, or talk to his friends.
He’ll call me at 2am and tell me to stop studying.
Making up stories to tell him in silly voices.
When he brings me coffee between classes.
When he picks me up, like I’m weightless.
Stargazing together on chill fall evenings.
When he picks out my outfit for the day.
When we get ready, together, to go out.
Studying at a coffee shop together.
The way he makes me feel happy.
The way he makes me feel smart.
Buying him things, like clothes.
His twangy western accent.
The way he says my name.
Dancing without music.
His exciting otherness.
The way he smells.
The butterflies I feel knowing he’s coming to town - tomorrow.

Our summer fellowships are over! We learned a lot - for instance - how summer’s a lot less fun when you’re hemmed-up, inside working. I mean, we preesh’d the clinical experience, the learning, and especially how good these fellowships will look on our med-school applications - seriously - but there were a hundred rules - aren’t rules incompatible with summer?

Hmm, Ok, let’s see, something poetic..

As the summer sun's blistering radiance waned, shadows,
muscled by sunrays to the marginal edges and corners,
gradually spread, like water - soothing, lenifying and assuaging
simmered nerves with their refreshing, canopied touch.

If sunlight scorched with heat, twilight soothed and gentled,
while varnishing, the dimming world with rainbow, event-horizons,
larger, more inventive, colorful and glorious than any mere mortal art.

Night gradually squeezed, unseen, through those vivid sunset cracks,
and refreshing night-air, drawn in by the last, escaping updrafts of heat,
rustled cooling relief to weary workers seeking the solace of evening and home.

back to unpoetic realities..

When work was finished, we’d retreat from the heat, racing up to the rooftop pool, like two happy porpoises out of school.

Whoever invented poolside food delivery, should win the Nobel Prize for ‘thank you very much.’ We wouldn’t go back to our rooms until it was dark and we’d started to prune.

Now, we’ve a month to relax before our Junior year begins. We got letters from Yale that said, “As upperclassmen..” “Upperclassmen!” We shouted as we danced in hand-holding circles, singing, “Upperclassmen, upperclassmen, upperclassmen, upperclassmen. upperclassmen.”  
We’ve grown so much at Yale.

If you ask our NewsMax, America One fueled, republican congressmen
who won the last presidential election - they’ll pretend that they don’t know.
But hey, these are the guys, the “honest brokers” we can trust, to figure out UFOs.

These republicans disavow Trump’s clear treason. If they refuse to follow those clues,
like video captured by the guilty themselves - how can their UFO “hearings” fail to amuse?

It’s a shrewd political distraction, a republican red-herring, to put vague “aliens” in the news
just when Trump's lawyers are figuring out which prison facility he should choose.

In this circus of misinformation, we’re offered unproven decades of government collusion,
heck, we even have that RFK.jr nut insisting that the alien saucers are full of jews.

Of course, the aliens must be from distant galaxies - in their new breed of flying saucers -
why else would they be turning down so many lucrative showbiz offers?

Will it turn out that the cute, little, ET-guys are here conducting interstellar analysis?
Stay tuned. Have the aliens come to eat us - should we be frozen in fearful paralysis?
Or will our republican overlords, so busy removing our freedoms, decide it’s time to save us?

There’s no long proven, scientific fact that the newer, dumber, Republicans haven’t disputed,
maybe the UFOs were sent back from the future, their mission: study primitive human stupid.