Unforgettable memory I

　　I work in a bakery on Saturdays. It's a decent job, I guess. I love how the bread smells, fresh and warm ou t of the oven. I have to wear a blue uniform, and I alw ays manage to get flour all over it by the end of my sh ift. Most of the people who come in are nice, unassumin g types. Occasionally, though, we get your garden-varie ty weirdo. Take last Saturday, for instance.

　　It was almost 3: 30 and I was just cleaning up arou nd the store — wiping the counters, spraying the glass cases — when this man came into the empty store. He was n't very tall, and he had dark hair and a thick Greek a ccent when he opened his mouth to order a birthday cake for the following week. I took the order, asking what c olor frosting and what name to write on top.

　　When I was finished, he leaned his forearm, which w as very hairy, across the counter and bent his face rig ht next to mine — so close that if I just inched forwar d our noses would touch. I didn't know quite what to do , so I didn't do anything. He lowered his eyes to about my midsection, opened his mouth and asked me, all bedro om eyes and Greek accent and about 45 years old: "Are y ou in love?"

　　I remember thinking, Uh-oh, and then, for lack of s omething clever to say, just smiling at him, and then k ind of spacing out and forgetting he was there. I saw m yself on a winter night two months ago with Paul. He an d I decided to go ice-skating at the lake near his hous e. We walked down without talking, our skates tied over our shoulders and bouncing slightly against our backs, holding hands through our gloves. We skated and laughed and fell down on the hard, snowy ice for a while, the s ky a strange red color over our heads, the air cold and at the same time not cold, until we got tired. Then we danced together, holding each other with our whole bodi es touching through layers of sweaters and jackets, our breath coming warm out of our mouths. I thought I loved him. The thought was so sweet, so real in my mind, that I could hardly bear it.