This is my symphony

She was twenty-one, page-boyed and wide-eyed. She carried groceries from the car and up the steps to the porch, the winding walks of the campus curving behind her across the street. Her wool knee socks and penny loafers were the campus uniform that fall and rarely did anyone fail to turn and look as she passed, tall. All auburn with legs up to here.

He followed her into the house, the shadow to her light, leather satchel and rolled prints under his arm. His turned up shirtsleeves were smudged with graphite and he was always five-o-clock shadowed by noon. 

It was a time that should have been oh-so-simple, what with Saturday card parties and football games. Rye bread at the bakery for twenty-five cents. The white Plymouth Valiant.

A time now melted away like the frozen custard that dripped down their little girl’s chin and left her sticky with memories.