Friday at lunchtime, I waited in the parking lot of the high school, standing beside the car and watching the kids on the playground of the adjacent elementary school. I could not prevent myself from thinking that Amber had been in elementary school when I had first met her, and she was soon to graduate from high school.
"Aaron?"
Amber's prompting voice caused me to turn my head to find her already leaning against the passenger side of the car, smiling sweetly in a way which would probably betray our secret love if anyone happened to look at us for more than a second. Prominent against the off-white brick backdrop of the high school, her namesake hair blew in the wind, but she did not seem to notice even as many amber strands obstructed her vision.
"Ready?" I asked.
"I'm ready," she replied, "but are you?"
I sighed. "I don't know. I honestly don't know."
Purposely, I had not spoken with Amber about my reluctance to see her go to college. But I did not need to say anything -- her eyes said as much, and my distress clearly was saddening her at least a little. Somehow, I found the willpower and the courage to smile for her, and all too soon we were driving away, heading toward the highway and to the first college on our weekend tour.
Nearly two hours later, we arrived just as students were going from one class to another. Just like when I was in college, students darted out into the street without bothering to check for traffic as they rushed to their next class, or hurried to greet a friend on the other side of the street. I smiled to myself when I noticed a college girl on a leash, kneeling beside the bench upon which sat her boyfriend as he talked on a cell phone.