He was sitting in his friend’s short green springtime backyard, a lukewarm beer resting in his light grip. Twilight had just passed and the party was at one of it lower points; half of the earlier crop of guests had left for dinner and the other half had become silent due to fatigue and alcohol. The group seated before him was listening to his friend Bill talk about his latest promotion. He had heard the story last week and, being seated a few paces back from the circle, found it easy to ignore.

He was a friend of the birthday boy, with whom he had gone to college, and he was wondering where the girl he was talking to had come from. She was tall, with straight light brown hair, and she was kneeling with one knee on the ground to talk to him. He didn’t remember being introduced, though he was sure that had happened, and he was sure she would be leaving momentarily. Her name was Ruth and her position did not look comfortable.

"I’m from over your way," he said. "I live in the Forest Glen development."

She nodded her head and smiled. She had a pretty, angular face that was very slim. He could see the whiteness of her teeth and tried hard to focus on her, to see her; it was difficult because it was dark and getting darker, and they were not close, not even within arms reach of one another.

"I live on the other side of 226," she said. "I live on Pine Run Street, it’s off of Sunny Brook."

He nodded at the name. It was close, perhaps a two minute walk from his home. He strained to see her in more detail again and then he saw a chair out of the corner of his view. It was provided for her by the brother of the birthday celebrant, all he saw was an arm and a chair. She did not say thank you to the brother, but pulled the chair closer and sat down. He in turn shifted his chair so he could face her. Between them stood the soft yellow lamp that lit the backyard, highlighting the small garden whose flowers had yet to bud.

"I just got back, I’ve been away to Maryland for college," she said. "I was the youngest and the only girl, I have four brothers. Where did you go?"

"I went to Temple," he said. "I did a Journalism major and ended up in computer training."

She smiled, "I did print journalism, but now I’m in computers too."

"Really," he said. "Doing what?"

"Developing web pages for companies. Where do you work?"

"Down in Center City, for American Technical Educators," he said, remembering the job he enjoyed.

"That’s far," she said. "My place is over in Hyde Park, so I just get up around seven-fifty and roll in by eight."

"About an hour," he said and then he felt the need to volunteer more information. "I work at the local paper during the day. I do the training at night, I used to do it full time, but the commute was just killer."

He had taken the job at the paper because it had a short commute and had satisfied his curiosity about professional journalism. Now, he likened his day job to the educated equivalent of picking cotton as he banged out press release after press release with no promise of advancement.

"I’m just trying things now, it’s my first year out," he said. "How am I suppose to know how I want to spend the rest of my life?"

She smiled and nodded, glancing in the direction of the garden and then focusing back on him.

"Yeah, when I was in school I was happy doing print journalism, but when it came time to figure out what I wanted to do I just wasn’t really sure. I knew I didn’t want to work at a newspaper–"

"Good move," he said and thought it would be so much nicer if he could say that phrase to himself.

She smiled at his comment and continued, "Anyway, I met this professor who was doing a lot of stuff in desktop publishing and graphic design, but he hadn’t created the courses yet. He tutored me privately. I was sort of like his guinea pig while he figured out what material he would use in his courses. Dr. Everett was his name. I worked with him on a one of the university’s alumni newsletters. That got me some practical experience before I hit the job market."

"That’s great," he said and finished his beer. "I just lied."

"How do you mean?"

"I mean I just said I knew the programs and basically learned them overnight. I got lucky at the mock training and knew something they didn’t know. They hired me on the spot. I remember it like it was yesterday; I almost had a heart attack when she came back with the offer."

"That’s gutsy," she said.

"Well, it’s not like I had anything to lose. Besides, I’m sure you didn’t know HTML code backwards and forwards when you first started."

She shook her head and smiled and he smiled with her.

"No, I didn’t. Now I’m trying to learn .xml code for some of our newer projects. The job has been a real stabilizing influence on me. It was something that got my interest immediately. Code is like anything else you have to learn; you have to study it and develop your way of dealing with it. I really like my work because there’s always something new and different to learn."

"Yeah," he concurred. "Work sometimes is what keeps me going."

He commented on how they had both pulled off the same thing and she agreed.

He thought about the last year of his life and how he had held no fewer than two jobs at any time. Now, he had three since he was also teaching music on the weekends. Even though he had no desire for more money or material possessions, and he was still interested in keeping somewhat of a social life, he found unparalleled solace in work.

"When I finished school, I had just finished up three years with this guy, and it was very hard. Work was just something to hold onto."

"Three years," he said. "That’s a long time, I had just finished up a year and a half with my first real girlfriend."

"Yeah, he was like my first real boyfriend and I thought we could at least be friends after," she paused and ran her hand through her hair, "but he just won’t."

He strained to see her, strained to examine the expression on her face. Was it the same for her?

"I don’t get it either."

"You just can’t be friends for some reason," she said.

"That’s bullshit," he said. "You can be. I don’t get it. You hear about it all the time."

"Yeah, but I know he can’t. He even has trouble seeing me when it’s not about us. Like, when my grandfather died; he was the one who was supposed to take me to the airport. An hour before my flight was supposed to leave he called up and said he couldn’t make it. He wouldn’t explain why or anything. So I had to get a friend to take me on short notice. Then he called me about a month later and was all apologetic. He told me that he had gotten in his car and realized that he wasn’t prepared to see me then, but now he wanted to work out our differences. I said no. We had already gone through three years with each other and had never made it work."

"It sounds like you gave it plenty of time."

"I thought so. I mean stuff between us was one thing, but the other thing was that he had a gambling problem which had started to affect my life–people calling me up and stuff–and I just didn’t want to be in that situation anymore. It was scary."

He thought of his ex and her problems.

"Don’t blame you," he said. "I don’t believe you can change people. They just go at their own pace so either you accept it or you have to get out. I believe you know from the beginning whether it’s right or it’s wrong. Not to say that along the way things might not go bad, but that you know when you find someone with whom you can make a go of it."

He strained again to see her. There was a veracity in her voice he had not heard in a long time. It was a sincerity in the conversation, which was about code, that made him feel a connection. A feeling he had previously thought he had denied himself the right to. He regarded her smile and he felt her eyes on him, reading him in the soft yellow light given off by the lamp that was between them. He noticed the group had disbanded and that they were alone–the rest of the group inside–save for a handful of people doing shots around the picnic table on the patio. She had moved closer to him.

"Three years is a long time," he said. "We did a year and a half, and after that I was the one who ended up calling her to resolve things. She replaced me in like two weeks."

"Oh," she stiffened a little at that. "That’s tough to take. I hate that feeling of being replaced. There something about it that robs you of your uniqueness. I remember when I heard he had found someone new. It had taken him six months, but that’s when you know. That’s when you know it’s really final."

Henry smiled and nodded. He looked at the rocks which outlined the garden in a circular pattern; some were smooth and some were jagged, but they fit. Laid by human hands directed by a caring eye, which had seen to it they be continuous and integrated together in a connectedness that bespoke of an imperfect symmetry that was necessary to enhance the appearance of the garden and make it a cornerstone of the yard.

"No," he said. "She needs somebody. She was from a broken home and I gave her all the security I could until it was obvious–painfully obvious–that it wasn’t going to work. That was our problem. I watched her go through Prozac, depression, food strikes, you name it. And she told me that one of the things about us she regrets, and blames for the split, is that she resented the fact that I came from a family that was still together."

"Hard to believe, right?"

"Yeah. Now she’s found someone who has the same background she does and has the same views. She told me that he understands her better than I ever could. I guess she’s right. I suppose that sharing experiences and a similar past might help things. I don’t know. I just hope it works out for her. I would help her, give her anything she needed if she called on me, but she won’t."

He was opening up about subjects he had never talked about before. Not with family, nor with his closest friends. He had tried, but it had never come out right and never been understood. But this woman appeared to understand him. She seemed to recognize him on his own level and made no presumptions. She didn’t need to make them, she had walked through the same history.

"Maybe she just doesn’t understand love," she said.

"Or maybe we–" and he stopped at that feeling foolish.

"Or maybe we don’t," she said, saying it for him in a serious and agreeable tone.

He smiled at her, thinking: maybe we don’t. Maybe it’s all just illusion, manipulation, and wishful daydreams. The feeling of comfort had returned. She gestured and their hands touched.

"I like my version better. No matter what they think." She said looking off in the distance and then down at the fresh grass that was at their feet.

Her hands were smooth and he saw his own as complimentary to hers in size and shape. He looked into her grey eyes; her face reflected the soft yellow light that touched her right cheek, the left side remained in shadow. He lay bare his agreement, knowing his face to be one half plain in the light, one half veiled in the shadow. It was warm and they were staring at each other and he could hear one of his friends calling him.

"Hey, we’re going to go out. Want to come?"

He turned his head and said yes. Then he looked at her, and she was smiling at him. And he was smiling too, like they had been caught doing something they were not supposed to.

"Want to go out?" he asked.

"Yes," she nodded vigorously, as though she were trying to shake something off her back. "But first I have to go to the bathroom."

"Me too," he said.

They stood up and walked to the house side by side. When they got in he let her go first and then he went in. He relieved himself and, washing his hands, saw himself in the mirror. His hair was a mess, three separate cowlicks had appeared due to the spring breeze, and his eyes looked tired. He ran his wet hands through his hair to smooth down the cowlicks, producing a refreshed yet pasted look. He took a deep breath, exhaled, and thought about the brother.

He returned to the patio where she was standing in between the brother and another one of his friends from college to whom she was now talking. He walked up to the small group and stood for a moment listening to the conversation. His friend started talking about his new job. She briefly glanced at Henry, but they did not look at each other again for any length of time nor did they speak. Amongst their mutual friends, a coldness had set in between them.

When the brother, whose birthday it was also, decided it was time to go they all said good night, and the brother and the girl left together.

He returned inside where he sat for a spell with the birthday boy and didn’t say a word about what had happened. When the party was over and he had finished helping them clean up he got in his car and headed for home.

He drove past her street and slowed up, looking down it as though there should be something there for him. Then he drove down other streets admiring the fresh cut lawns, the baby flower gardens, and the darkness of the night sky, until he finally went home. The next day he would wake up and think about her; it would not be a happy memory.