“Speed it up, old man!”

The spiral staircase ahead of me was pissing me off for a couple of reasons. First, it was narrow and long, and I was getting dizzy climbing it. Second, I didn’t know how many flights of stairs it actually constituted, being a spiral. The pamphlet from the hospital said I could resume sexual activity when I could walk up two flights of stairs comfortably.

And mostly, it was because the voice calling me an old man was my own, inside my head. I felt like an old man, and at 54 years of age, maybe I really was.

The summer had been one of change. I had been practicing law for nearly thirty years, and I needed something more to keep my mind alive, so I signed up for a university course at my alma mater, something completely unrelated to law. I was going to study psychology. Just for the intellectual challenge. That was the first change, going back to school 29 years after graduating from law school.

Then three days after enrolling and paying for the course, I found myself at the hospital. Some chest pain and a twenty minute drive to the emergency department led to my admission. No heart attack thankfully, but unstable angina, and an angiogram. Five days after arriving, I was discharged with three stents in my main coronary artery, a referral for cardiac rehab and an information sheet telling me what I could and couldn’t do.

Like sex. “As if,” I thought. The direct quote was “Patients should refrain from any sexual activity for 48 hours after discharge from hospital, and should only resume when they are able to walk up two flights of stairs comfortably.” The stairs were one thing, but sex? My wife hadn’t touched me for the past five years. Not an embrace. Not a kiss. Not even a gentle touch on the arm. Well, sleeping out on the sofa made that a bit hard, and I guess it was my choice. But there hadn’t been any of that even when we shared a bed, not for several years anyway, so the sofa was a nice compromise. Keep the family together and I wouldn’t have to share a bed with her – I wouldn’t have the constant reminder that sharing a bed was only that. Sharing a bed, and not sharing anything else.

I made it to the top of the stairs, and yes, while slow it was comfortable. No chest pain. No panting or shortness of breath. Chalk up victory number one for the old man.

More pressing challenges were in front of me, though. The sex would have to wait. Even though I had spent my three undergraduate years at this university, I was lost. The building seemed more manageable back in the 1980’s, and I remembered being able to navigate my way around without any trouble. Now it seemed as though I was lost in a maze of late nineteenth-century wood panelling and stained glass inside a building that looked like something out of Harry Potter. Beautiful, but confusing as hell. And that was pissing me off too, with the sound of the chimes from a clock tower half-way across campus penetrating these old walls to tell me that it was 2:00 p.m., and I was not yet in the classroom for the start of my first lecture. It was Tuesday, the day after Labor Day, and I was back at school with no clue as to where I was.

I stopped mid-corridor and pulled the orientation map out of my backpack – Room 212-M should be close by, assuming I was reading the map correctly. Just turn around, walk about 20 yards toward the other staircase and it should be there. A quick sprint down the hall and I found myself gently opening the door and sneaking in as the professor was writing her name on the smartboard at the front of the lecture hall. She didn’t even notice me as I found a seat at the back and pulled out my laptop. Changes once more! My last time around, smartboards were the stuff of science fiction, and I took notes with a pen and paper. I was now safe in the twenty-first century, I had a seat, and I was about to catch a whiff of strawberries.

I hadn’t looked at where I was sitting down when I walked in. I looked for an empty seat and simply made my way there and sat down. Only after I had my laptop out did I notice the young woman immediately to my left, and only after a minute did I smell strawberries. Probably her lip gloss, or some kind of body spray, but the sweet smell of strawberries was definitely coming from that woman.

That was another change. Three decades earlier, I would have called her the girl sitting next to me. And truth be told, compared to my 54 years, she was a girl, probably no more than 19, sitting in a first-year introduction to psychology class. But times had changed. She was not a girl, but a woman.

But I was so caught up in trying to be a student again and not to fuck up, that I didn’t really look at her. I focused on the professor’s words, frantically taking notes using my two-finger hunt and peck typing method (mental note to just bring paper and pen next time), and soon the fragrance of strawberries became just the normal background atmosphere. The woman next to me was just part of that atmosphere too.

“I know that I’ve given you a lot of new information,” I heard the professor say. “That is going to be the way it goes for the first semester. We will be covering a lot of territory, so being here for each lecture is key. We are going to cover things that aren’t in your textbook too, so being here is more than just key – it is essential. I want you to find someone next to you and exchange email addresses and phone numbers, just in case. If you miss a lecture, you are expected to contact your new friend and get notes. I also want you to plan on meeting up with your new friend at least once each week, to review the material and to discuss it. There is no better way to make sure you understand what you are learning than to try to teach it yourself, so do some role play with each other, and review and teach one another. That’s all for today – I’ll see you again on Thursday, and do try to be on time.”

That was yet another change. I think I had made it through my undergraduate years being anonymous. It was, after all, the largest university in the country, and while I had made some friends, my time in the classes was rather disconnected and most definitely anonymous. Now I was being told to make a new friend, and to see them weekly.

“Hi, I’m Julia.” The smell of strawberries was my first introduction. And now there was a name for the woman beside me.

“If you give me your cell number, I’ll text you my email address and then you’ll have my number too.” A voice and an invitation too.

“Good thinking,” I replied. “Thanks.” I gave her my number, and she punched it into her own phone and a minute later, I had a text message with her email address and her number showed up on my display.

“What’s your name, Dude?” I assumed she meant me, even though I’d never been called "Dude" before.

“Alex,” I answered. “My name’s Alex. Nice to meet you, Julia.”

“Later,” was all she said, as she packed up her own laptop and put it in her bag, walking off past me, obviously rushing to another class.

But this was my only class, and I was in no rush. I was finished for the day and I took my time, watching Julia walk to the front of the classroom and out the door with all of the other students. All of the other young students. I was an old man, probably a decade or so older than the professor too. My hair was still mostly brown, but the grey was beginning to set in, and there was a nice bald spot growing at the back of my head. My beard was mostly grey too. When I sat down, my belly was not unnoticeable under my shirt. My age was in full view of my fellow students. Only my stents were hidden away, and thankfully my cardiological history was not on display.

Julia. The other students. They all seemed much younger than I had remembered being when I went to university so many years ago. Political correctness aside, she really was just a girl in my eyes. She was probably only a year or so older than my own child, who was still in high school. I didn’t remember any of the girls I knew back then smelling like strawberries. They certainly didn’t have cellphones back then, and getting a girl’s phone number was a whole ordeal. That meant something in my youth, when a girl gave you their phone number. It meant that you were supposed to call them. It meant that they expected you to ask them out for a date.

It didn’t mean role playing and reviewing psychology notes.

Julia disappeared out of the door, and my thoughts returned to the present. It was time for me to leave too, and to start reading my textbook. It was time to drop into my office for the rest of the afternoon, and worry about doing some work so I could pay for this course.

Tuesday was done and I had survived the stairs and the class, and then Wednesday had come and gone, and I had done my readings. A day at the office and in the evening dinner by myself, a salad and grilled chicken. That was another change. Heart healthy eating. I could manage the stairs without discomfort, but giving up the fried foods and carbs was another story.

I lay on my sofa on Wednesday night, in the dark, as my family slept in their rooms. It must have been close to midnight when my cellphone vibrated and caught my attention, as it sat on the coffee table next to me. I picked it up.

“Hey Alex. It’s me, Julia. Did you do the reading?”

It was her. The strawberry girl. Thankfully I knew how to text – I wasn’t that old.

“Yes. I did them right after class on Tuesday. How about you?”

“I just finished them now. I had some other shit I had to read for some other classes.”

“Cool,” I replied. Somehow I knew instinctively that using the word “cool” was not really that cool. I think she may have suspected that I wasn’t part of her demographic.

“Dude, nobody says cool. LOL.” Yes, she was on to me.

“You caught me. I guess the disguise didn’t work.”

“Whatever. You wanna study tomorrow after class? Psych is my last lecture for the day, so we could hang afterwards and go over things if you have time.”

Psych was my last lecture too. My only lecture. And I had nothing booked at work afterwards.

“Sure,” I answered.

“Cool, LOL” she texted back – she was clearly playing with me. “I’ll see you in the back row tomorrow. Night.”

“Night.”

I tried to visualize Julia after I put down my phone. I hadn’t really paid much attention, except for the strawberries. She was probably around my height, as best as I could tell, and she had long brown hair, tied back in a pony tail. Beyond that? I’d have to wait until the next lecture and pay closer attention, I told myself. I closed my eyes and fell asleep to the sound of my wife snoring two rooms away behind a closed door.

Thursday morning came and I did a few loads of laundry before heading out to class. Fresh socks. Fresh underwear. A looser shirt to cover my belly. Jeans instead of business casual. I could almost pass as middle aged, and I didn’t feel so old. I was hoping Julia wouldn’t think I was being too obvious in that quest. I wanted to fit in a bit better.

This time I was early, and after taking the same seat as before, I was able to watch as Julia walked in to the lecture hall. The same pony tail, but now I saw her face. Hardly any make-up, but she was young and didn’t need it. She was beautiful. Glasses. Yes, that was right! She wore glasses the last time and she had them on again. And a lavender t-shirt, and now I remembered that it was red the last time. And black leggings, with purple sneakers. She had a nice figure, not skinny but not heavy, but I wasn’t one to comment either way.

“Dude, you made it!” she said as she sat down beside me. Strawberries sat down beside me too. I’d have to find out what that scent was from.

“Why? Did you think I wouldn’t? I got a midnight invitation to study. I always show up when I’m invited.”

“I don’t know…maybe it was past your bedtime and I kept you up, and you needed to sleep in.” She laughed when she said that.

“Don’t be fooled by the grey hair. I’m sure I could outlast you and most of your friends.” I couldn’t believe that had come out of my mouth.

“Big words, Dude. We can test that theory later.”

I wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but for the first time, I found myself imagining more than just psychology study and role play teaching with Julia. I looked at her hoping for some visual cue, but she was already setting up her laptop and looking away from me.

I don’t remember much of that lecture. I took notes, but I was on auto-pilot. After years of going to court and taking notes while I spoke, that kind of multi-tasking was second nature for me. This time, I was thinking about Julia’s words and trying to put them in a context. I knew that she couldn’t have meant anything by it – probably she meant that she’d see if I could stay up and study after dark. Or something like that.

The lecture ended, and Julia turned back to me.

“My roommate is out tonight, staying over with her folks. You wanna come by my place to study? It’s quieter than staying in this building.”

I wasn’t sure about this. It seemed so fast. Going back to Julia’s place. The roommate is away. And I am old enough to be her father – damn, that’s the first time that thought entered my head.

“Only if you wanna,” she said – I think she sensed my hesitation. “We can go to the study hall downstairs if its easier for you. But it’s three flights of stairs, Dude. You up to that?”

“Stairs are fine,” I answered. “I did at least two flights on Tuesday, with no discomfort.”

That was awkward. If only in my mind.

“Whatever. If you…” I interrupted her.

“You’re right about it being quieter,” I said. “Let’s go to your place.”

“Cool,” she replied. And I think I saw her wink when she said that.

We walked together across the campus, talking about the class, and making fun of the professor’s little quirks. Like the way she drew happy faces instead of using other punctuation on the smartboard. And the way she would use hand gestures as she spoke, looking like a helicopter at times when she raised her hands above her head.

Julia’s residence was an older building, probably built in the 1940’s. I remember the fund-raising emails I had received from my alma mater about a decade ago, as they planned on renovating the building and making it accessible and co-ed. I think I had pledged $50.00. It was now time to see my dollars at work.

She led me to an elevator inside the front doorway and we went up to the fourth floor. We were strangely silent as we walked together down the hallway to a door about halfway down on the right, and Julia took out her key and opened the door for me, gesturing for me to go ahead of her. She closed the door behind her and put her bag down on the floor next to the entrance, under a series of hooks on the wall. The living area was small, with a table and two chairs, a small futon and a floor lamp, and not much else that I could see. An open kitchen was on my right. There was a door leading to what looked like a bathroom straight ahead of me, and then two other doors to either side of the bathroom, which I assumed led to the two bedrooms. Cozy, and very basic.

“I’ll be back in a second…I just need to go to the bathroom,” she said. “Have a seat on the futon. Right back.” She walked away to the bathroom and I heard the door lock.

I sat down and sank into the cushions. I’m not sure how people sleep on these – it was an odd combination of being too firm and too soft at the same time. My back would be a mess, even worse than sleeping on my sofa at home.

I heard the toilet flush through the closed door, then some water running for around a minute. I then saw Julia come out, and quickly walk into the bedroom to the left, closing the door behind her. I sat quietly, my mind thinking of nothing in particular, just trying to be patient and also to be appropriate. She’s close to a third of my age, for God’s sake – I need to be appropriate.

And then her bedroom door opened, and Julia walked over to the futon and sat beside me. She was now in a white tank top with blue cut-off shorts and she was barefoot.

“I hope you don’t mind that I changed,” she said. “My feet are killing me and I hate wearing shoes, and it was getting a bit hot today for those leggings.”

“No,” I answered. “No worries. It’s your place – be comfortable.”

“Take yours off too, if you want. Unless you think your feet smell, Dude.”

And so I did, and I surprised myself by also taking off my socks, glad that I had trimmed my nails on the weekend before.

“Cute feet. Especially the grey hairs on top of your big toes.”

“I’m thinking of coloring my hair,” I said with a touch of sarcasm. “What do you think of blue with purple streaks?”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” she interjected angrily. “I think the grey is hot.”

With that, Julia leaned closer to me and ran her fingers through my hair. On my head, not my toes.

“I kind of think all of you is hot too,” she whispered to me. “I thought you were hot when you snuck into class late on Tuesday, and sat down next to me.”

“Thank you…I guess. But you do know that I’m old enough…”

“...to be my father? Dude, I’m not stupid. I know you’re old. My grandfather is 62, so I know what old is all about.”

“I’m not that old!” I protested.

“And if you were, who the fuck cares? You’re pretty hot. I’ve fucked guys who are probably older than you. Maybe some guys who are probably older than my grandfather too.”

“How old do you think I am?”

“I don’t know. Forty. Forty-five maybe? Does it matter? How old do you think I am?”

She thought I was forty? No, she’s not stupid, but she has no clue how to guess age. And I found that so damn sexy.

“I would guess maybe nineteen…or maybe eighteen…?”

“Twenty-two. I took a few years off after high school to work. But I like that you think I’m younger. It kind of makes it kinkier, Dude. Like the whole schoolgirl fetish stuff.”

“I’m not into that kind of stuff,” I said, even though I had watched some fake schoolgirl porn with a colleague once.

“That’s what every guy says. It’s okay if you want to fuck a teen. Just like it’s okay that I want to fuck older guys. Whatever floats your boat, right?”

Julia was still playing with my hair with one hand. With the other, she was rubbing my chest through my shirt.

“Why don’t you lose that shirt too?” she asked. “It’s hot and I can tell you’re sweating. I don’t have the air conditioning turned on in here…it makes me shiver.”

Julia didn’t wait for my answer. But she was right – it was getting warm in there. She took both hands and used them to lift my shirt up over my head, pulling it off and tossing it onto the floor.

“So much better, right? Oh fuck, that’s so cute…even your chest hair has some grey in it!”

“Yeah, I guess I’ve got grey pretty much…”

Julia again interrupted me.

“I’m going to lose my shirt too…I think we should be even in that department, don’t you agree? Unless you don’t want me to. Unless you don’t think I’m pretty.” She pouted a very fake pout, and I knew she was playing with me now.

“I think you’re very pretty, in fact. But I didn’t come over because…I mean…I think you’re…ok, what I meant is that I hope you don’t think I came over here to take advantage of you. I thought we were going to study?”

“We are going to study, Dude. I need to maintain a good average to get into grad school one day. But I want to do this…you know what I mean? I don’t think you came back here to fuck me? And I didn’t really plan on any of this either…not until I saw you again in class today. Like, on Tuesday I thought you were hot when I saw you…maybe more cute than hot…but when I saw you today sitting there in the same seat, I looked at you and then I knew you were really hot. And sitting next to you all class, all I could think about was, should I or shouldn’t I? Should I even try? Would you even find me pretty? Would you think I was too dumb or young, or would you think I was a slut if I tried anything? My head was all over the place.”

All the while, her hands had returned to my hair and to my chest, all the while she was talking she was touching me and even in the heat, I felt goosebumps as she touched me, circling my nipples and occasionally touching my earlobes.

“That’s so sweet…the way you’re getting goosebumps. Are you cold? Are you nervous?”

“I’m not cold, that’s for sure. Nervous? I feel like I did when I was a teenager, on my first date, waiting for my first kiss. Hell yeah…nervous is an understatement.”

“So let’s not wait for that first kiss, Alex. Why don’t you kiss me?”

I couldn’t answer. I leaned over and took Julia’s face in my hands, and pulled her close to me, gently, and pressed my lips to hers. Strawberries! It was lip gloss, and I had my answer to my first question.

I kept my lips pressed hard against her lips, and I had my second answer too. She was beyond pretty. She was beyond beautiful. She was delicious. And my answer was yes. In my own mind, it had been so long, that I wasn’t sure that I’d remember how to kiss. Or if I’d remember what it felt like to want to kiss someone this way, hard and intense. The answer was yes.

I felt Julia’s tongue pressing against my lips, and she parted them and found my own tongue waiting. She grabbed me at the sides of my head too, and pulled me in closer, as if we could be any closer. She snaked her tongue into my mouth and we kissed like two lovers who were reunited after being apart for far too long. In my case, it was partly true. It had been far too long since I had kissed anyone, since I had felt the intensity of this kind of connection.

We kissed for what seemed like hours, but I really had no sense of time. It was probably only a few minutes. When we finally took a break from our kissing, Julia leaned back and looked at me, and said, “You still haven’t answered me, although I think I have a suspicion what you’ll say. Do you want me to lose my shirt too? Shouldn’t we both be even in that department?”

Julia didn’t wait for me to answer her. She pulled her tank top off, and she was not wearing a bra underneath. I looked at her with wonder, and not because she had the most beautiful breasts, with a gentle upward curve to them, and small pink nipples standing erect atop them. It was not because her skin looked as smooth as a baby’s skin, her breasts so pale and firm. It was because I could not believe that just under an hour earlier, I sat beside her in a lecture hall, a stranger in so many ways, and now I was half undressed with her in a university residence, and it seemed like this was the only place in the universe where I was supposed to be at that moment.

“Do you like ‘em?” she asked me, cupping both breasts in her hands, and jiggling them up and down. “They don’t bite…and I’m not crazy about you biting them either, but you can touch them if you want. Or maybe lick them and suck on them. I know I’d like that.”

“Julia…I…are you…?

“Yes, I’m sure. And no, it’s not some daddy thing with me. I date guys my own age too. I had a boyfriend for two years, and he was six months younger than me. It doesn’t matter what age. If I like you, I like you. And I don’t know why it was so instant, but when I saw you Tuesday, I liked you. And even after kissing you and seeing your wiry, grey toe hairs on those stinky feet of yours, I still like you.”

‘Julia, I like you too. But…”

“Oh fuck, here comes a ‘but’…what did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything. You just don’t know anything about me. You know I’m older…I’m 54. And the stairs? I just had a heart procedure, I had cardiac stents put in…The stairs? I’m not supposed to have sex until I can do two flights of stairs, you know…that’s what is happening here. I’m a 54 year old man with a medical history. And I’ve got a full-time job when I’m not at school, and you don’t even know what I do for a living. And the kicker? I’m married and I haven’t even been touched by my wife in over five years, and I sleep alone on the sofa every night while she has our bedroom and while my kid sleeps in a bedroom between us. And there’s so much more that you don’t know, right? Lots of stuff. Lots of shit. You don’t get to my age and not have lots of shit. Lots of baggage. That’s the ‘but’ that I’m talking about.”

Julia was silent and expressionless as she watched me rant about myself and all of my baggage. After I finished, she leaned in closer to me and rested her head on my chest, holding on to my shoulder with a free hand. She just lay upon my chest and breathed slowly. And she answered me.

“Dude, I saw the ring on your finger…I figured you were married. I told you I’m not stupid.”

Julia heaved slightly, as if stifling a tear. Her hand caressed the side of my face.

“I’m going to stop calling you Dude, because I can tell that makes you feel weird. I’m right, aren’t I? So, I’ll call you Alex from now on. Alex…I’ve got more shit stored up in my twenty-two years of my own life than you can accumulate in most lifetimes. If you want, we can talk about that now…I can tell you about how my uncle, my dad’s brother, has been hitting on me since I turned eighteen. About how he accidentally flashed me his dick when we were swimming on a family holiday, and how he accidentally leaves me dirty text messages and then says he thinks his phone has a virus and he’s been hacked, so it isn’t him doing it. Or maybe we can talk about the two years of counselling I had after all that. Oh, and we could talk about the time I went out when I was nineteen and met some friends at a bar, and someone slipped that date-rape drug into my drink, and then I was left naked in a hotel hallway after…after…well, I don’t even know what happened to me. We could talk about my older sister killing herself two years ago after her husband left her for his secretary, and how I was the one who found her when I went over to pick up the keys to borrow her car. We could talk about all that shit…the shit that I’ve collected for tender moments just like this when all I want is for you to hold me and kiss me again.”

It was my turn to sit there silently and expressionless. It was my turn to listen.

“Alex, we’ve all got shit. There are days I’m a mess, and there are days when I get through the whole day without any of that shit entering my head. When I saw you in class on Tuesday, none of my shit was in my head. You know what filled my head? All I could think about was how cute you were, sneaking in late to the first class of the year. All I could think about was how hot you were. Because you are hot, Alex. Maybe not twenty year old, thinks he’s king shit kind of hot, but decent and handsome and smart kind of hot. You’re hot in that way when you’ve got a back story and still you get your shit together and put your pants on and go to work or school. You’re hot in a way that makes me want to run my hands through your grey hair and know that every grey hair has a story behind it, and not a story about hurting people, but maybe you’ve been hurt. Like I’ve been hurt too. And that hurt wants to hold on to your hurt really tight, right now, and to kiss you again and feel the good things deep inside of you come out. The things your wife doesn’t know are still inside of you. And the things I felt when you sat down beside me in class.”

“You still smell like strawberries, Julia. That’s what I felt when I sat down beside you.”

“Shit, Alex…that’s what I wear all the time. It’s the cheapest lip gloss at the drug store, but I love the taste…”

“And I loved that smell. Before I knew your name, you were Strawberries in my mind.”

“And?”

“And how can I want anything but to hold you now too, Strawberries?”

“If you get to call me Strawberries, I get to call you Dude.”

“Deal.”

“So we’re good? We’ve both got shit. And none of that shit matters right now, okay? You call me Strawberries, or Julia, whatever is good, and I’ll call you Alex or Dude, and we’ll just hold each other like we are now? We’ll just hold each other and not let go?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No…I don’t want to just hold you. I want to kiss you again and taste those strawberries. I want to hold you and to kiss your breasts and to make you feel all the shit disappear because your mind is on how good it feels to have me suck on your nipples. And I want us to lose the rest of our clothes…because I want to taste all of you, because as much as I love strawberries, I think I’ll love all of you too.”

We undressed each other, one piece at a time, slowly savoring every new discovery between us. We walked naked together to her bedroom, awkwardly moving as one unit as we held each other while we walked, not wanting to separate our bodies from one another. I tasted sweetness more beautiful than strawberries when I slid my tongue between her pink labia, tasting her wetness and inhaling her fragrance. And when she came, her legs clamped my head tightly, and I felt her shaking as her hands gripped the bedsheets.

She moved over me, kissing my body, kissing my chest and moving down until she took my hardness into her mouth, and she jokingly called me Strawberries and Old Cream after she swallowed when I came in her mouth.

And then we lay together for a while as she played with me with her hands, until I was hard again and could enter her. While she played with me, I touched her and couldn’t get over how smooth and sexy she felt. It was taken back to my younger days, and the feeling of just how new and incredible it was to feel a woman in such an intimate way, to discover what made her excited and what would make her reach her climax.

I entered her, and we didn’t stop touching one another until late into the night. We moved from one position to the next, sometimes fast and rough, and sometimes slow and almost imperceptible in our motion. But always together.

By midnight, we got up from her bed and turned on some lights. We were sweaty and sticky and looked like we had completed a triathlon, and we were exhausted. But we moved to her futon and sat naked beside one another, pulling out our study materials, and reviewing the lessons we had learned in class. She pulled out a pizza box from her refrigerator and we shared some cold, two day old pizza while we studied.

I stayed until two in the morning, and after showering and getting dressed, I kissed her goodnight and walked alone to the parking facility, got in my car, and drove home. Everyone was already asleep, and I quietly changed and crawled under my blanket on the sofa. I fell asleep with the memories of the past few hours swirling in my head.

That was five years ago. I remember all of this as I lie in bed next to Julia, in the apartment we now share. She is working on her graduate degree, and I still take one class each year, hoping to get a bachelors degree in psychology before I turn 70. My child is grown and still lives with my ex-wife, and she and I are happier now as friends and not as roommates.

Julia and I still have shit in our lives, and that will likely never change. We’ve had five years to talk about it and we now share the load with each other, and it makes it bearable. I still remember that first time together as the day I truly went back to school, and learned the most important lessons, about how to love myself and someone else, and how strawberry is my favorite flavor.