“And how was your big weekend?” Maga asked.


“How long was everyone there for?”

“Until yesterday because they got snowed in.”

“I’d heard the East Coast was having bad weather. Did you get a lot of snow?”

“Not really. Only about 4-5″. It was the sleet and freezing rain that caused most of the trouble.”

“Did you take lots of pictures?”

“Not really.”

“Oh, stop. You must have taken at least one. I’ll bet your mom did.”

“Actually, she took the least out of all of us.”

“Well, I’d love to see one.” (There was a lot of stress on that word “one.”)

“We were too busy to take pictures. We were just enjoying being together and experiencing things.”

“But the pictures make it memorable.”

“Isn’t it the experiences that make it memorable?”

“With pictures you can look back and remember it clearly.”

“I mean there are some pictures, but they’re just silly and not that good. Besides, I can remember all the fun things we did without looking at the pictures.”

“Well, I’d love to see one. I’m sure it’ll be a weekend that lives on in your memory.”

(Which is it, Maga? I thought. Will I remember it via my mind or only with my eyes??)

“I’ll tell my mom. She’ll get one for you.”

“She’s going to be so busy with her Wellesley Reunion Book.”

“Is she ever!”

“That’s very important work she’s doing for a big year. 50th anniversary.”

“What year are you on?” I asked.

“I graduated in ’42. You tell me.”

“Uh,” I scrambled, “Math is hard.” I counted fingers (don’t judge)…”67 years.”

“No! It can’t be,” Maga said. “Oh my.”

I pulled up the calculator and started laughing. “Actually, Maga, it’s 77 years!”

“Well guess what. In the last yearbook, my year had been eliminated.”


“Yes! The earliest year with pictures is 1943. I was 1942. I guess there’s not many of us left.”

“That’s terrible!”

“I agree.”

And just like that her argumentative tone on having pictures clicked into place and my heart softened. The rest of the conversation was conducted in gentler tones.

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