Waking up in Montpelier. A cool September morning. There’s frost on the windshield. An empty coffee cup on the floor along with candy bar wrappers and a Burger King bag. Some loose fries, cold and stiff.

It’s six o’clock. A rusty truck passes by carrying firewood. Lights come on in homes up and down College Street. Mothers packing lunches. Dads reading newspapers.

I notice a little girl kissing her mother goodbye on the cheek. She jumps down the steps of the porch and skips on the sidewalk, carrying her books. Something about her is familiar. Her face looks like a colored photograph. Bright blonde hair in pigtails. I can’t make out her eyes, but she’s short and chubby. So am I.

Getting out of the car, I lean on the hood. Waiting to get another glimpse of the mother. She comes out on the front porch and shakes a rug. Bread crumbs fly onto the ground, mixing with morning’s dew.

She is tall. I remember my old girlfriend being tall and blonde. The young woman places her hands on her hips and walks towards me. I feel frozen. As if I’ve been caught. We all pay for our sins.

Jimmy? Is that you? She asks. I nod my head. What are you doing here?

Not sure. Driving around the country, and I thought I’d stop here in Montpelier.

It’s been a few years, she says. I had almost forgotten you. You haven’t changed. Still wrestling with yourself?

Yeah. You could say that. I look at her. She hasn’t changed either. I saw a little girl skipping off to school just now. I’m not the….

She laughs. No. I married after you. My husband is the father.

I see. I light a cigarette. 

She shakes her head. Those things will kill you.

Yeah.

How did you find me?

Luck. Pure luck. It’s not like I tracked you down or something. Believe me. I’m  just as surprised as you are.

Yeah, she says. Well, look. I got things to do. You take care of yourself.

You, too.

Bye.

I waved and watched her walk away.