They were handed out in class, posted to walls, and mailed to our homes. The pamphlet was full of vague language and typos, and included a five-step guide to knowing your partner. Step four was something like, Ask lots of questions about you’re partner’s family and step five was something like, Meat your partner’s family and make sure your a appropriate amount compatible.  The pamphlet was followed by a letter from the Superintendent. He apologized for the typos, but they were in a hurry and simply getting the message out was his top priority.

“She must hate the heat then,” my dad says.

“I don’t know. She’s really not much of a complainer,” I say.

“Sounds like a good catch.”

I’m backing out of the driveway, all packed up, already gave my dad a big hug, when I finally see you in your front yard. You’re lying on your back on an orange and purple towel. You’re naked. All that hair you used to keep all over your body is nowhere to be seen. If only Randall were here! I put the car in park and saunter onto your property. You know someone is coming because my figure messes with your sun. Once I get closer, I can see you’re in a skimpy tan bathing suit, nearly the color of your skin. I come within a towel’s length of you, and then you sit up. You flip up your sunglasses, and I can see your eyes have sunk further back into your head. 

“The Lazarus boy,” you say. I can tell you really want to remember my name but not necessarily so you can use it. As more of a memory test. “How’s your pops?”

“I’m sorry,” I say, but it comes out more like a question, as though I was asking you to repeat yourself.

“He’s a good guy,” you say, as if this isn’t a given.

I feel awkward standing over you, which must be obvious because you pop up and invite me in for lemonade. I’m silent too long to say, “No thanks, I better be on my way,” so I follow you inside.   

“It’s pretty much just me here these days,” you say, then leave me in your living room.

While you’re in the kitchen cracking ice out of a plastic tray, I move around lightly on your dull pink carpet. There is a fireplace, a couch, a coffee table and a pair of puffy blue chairs, one of which is occupied by a set of binoculars. Not a single photo. Binoculars though—this is too easy—Randall would have a field day!