Her eyes widened for just an instant when she recognized me. "_Bob._" "_Hello, Rosebud._" "_I knew you'd be here. I knew._" "_It's been a long time.... I think I was trying to forget._" "_Don't,_" she said. "_Don't ever forget._" * * * * * Sun drenched me, and I was rocked back into time. "Hey, you pushed me!" I shouted at her. "Yes," said a faint voice, and then, "I'm sorry," the little golden-haired girl said. I sat up. Mother was going to be mad at me again, I knew. I wiped the seat of my pants with my hand, and then stared at the muddy hand with interest. "Look," I said to her, and showed her my hand. When she stepped forward to look closely at it, I pushed it at her, and smeared mud onto her face. Then I laughed.... * * * * * My laughter faded, blending with hers ... and then ... and then we were no longer standing separately in the sun. It was a dark night, the air fresh and cool to my skin, and the leaves of the trees which stretched over us rustled with a faint wind. I laughed again, a soft girlish sound that brought discomfort to the boy's face before me. "Your mother says. Your father says. Don't you ever say anything for yourself, Bob?" "Look, Rosalie, I'm sorry. Maybe I just don't think the way you do. My father says sex at our age is just another escape from reality. You've got to face yourself as an adult first. He--" "Your father is a bigger nincompoop than you are!" I shouted at him. "I thought you said you loved me. I thought you had some _feelings_ buried under that so-called rational mind of yours! Or does your father say you're too young to _love_ somebody?" He tried to say something, but I was right. He pressed his lips together and looked away. I was almost enjoying it now; with deliberate coolness I buttoned up my tunic, feeling the soft fibers on my skin. "How long does it take to love somebody?" I said, but my voice was beginning to tremble. I turned away from his still figure in the night, and began the slow walk back along the path to the house. Tears stung my eyes, and spilled onto my cheeks; I started to run through the dark. I slammed the door when I ran in, and went directly to my room. At one end of it was a small studio, where an easel was lit coldly by a fluorescent light. Almost blindly I began beating my fists on the still-wet canvas, blurring and then ripping the nearly finished portrait of a young man. * * * * * I was crying quietly when the low, calm voice stopped me on the street. "Just a moment, Miss." I felt the sudden skip in my heart which signaled danger, and when I turned I saw the light green uniform of a proctor in the vague street light. My eyes were still blurred with tears. I couldn't make out his face. "I'm sorry, but I'll have to ask you a few questions."