Ruth

Ruth sits at the middle table in the dining room. She is a tall, strong, robust woman who looks like she could have split logs in her youth. Her hair is pure white and her eyes are piercing blue. She has a strong, throaty voice and a hearty laugh. She always wears brightly colored, long, cotton dresses, with flower prints in vibrant colors of purple, periwinkle, or yellow. She grew up in Glen Ridge, a block and a half from my house. And she has a secret,

This week was Ruth's birthday (I don't know her age). And she received a huge bouquet of flowers. It turns out that a man she went to college with (a hundred years ago, she says) tracked her down through the alumni office. He calls her every day. She says she dated him briefly back then, but broke up with him when it got too serious. He's held a torch for her ever since. He wants to come and visit her, but she prefers the telephone. "At our age, the mystery is much better than the actuality could ever be."