Last night I went out for drinks with an old sort-of friend Terri, who was a year ahead of me in the art program at Oberlin. I always thought she was the coolest artista there. To my eyes, she had this ability to casually throw together some paint and an intaglio print and magically have it become amazing. Of course, I had something of a crush on her, as I seem to do with everyone I get to know, although at that time I hadn't quite realized that I fall in love with everyone for a short while as I become friends with them, so it still seemed vaguely dizzying and out-of-control when I talked with her. I really didn't know her that well. It's possible that I think we were better friends than we really were because I was crushed and paying particular attention to her paintings for signs that maybe things would work out between us. I was really pretty pathetic, but I like myself when I think about what I was like then. I fell in love a lot. What it may have lacked in dignity it more than made up in fun.

I lived in town during the summer because I was working full-time on the local ambulance. Terri had already graduated, but she lived nearby, so we ran into each other sometimes. One time we went out together and ended up going to play putt-putt. I love putt-putt; in high school my girlfriend and I played putt-putt instead of going to the prom. It's so forgiving, you know? It doesn't demand to be taken seriously -- in fact, you can't really get too wound up in it the way you can with just about everything else in life. You just pull out a putter of an approximately correct length and select your favorite color ball and go. At night the lights are always this sodium-bright daylight that makes everything else around you fade into darkness, like you're playing putt-putt on a little island in an inky nighttime sea.

Anyway, we played putt-putt, and it was okay fun but somehow not what I'd expected. At the end I just thought "well, there it is." It's always a little sad when I realize I'm over a crush.

I called Terri up -- maybe I'm on some sort of mission to reconcile all these old relationships, because it kind of bothered me that Sam Walker died before I could ever tell him that I still remembered what he said about learning to draw -- and we chatted for a while. She's working on her Ph.D.. Like, I believe, everyone I know. All I have is my college degree and I can't even imagine going back to school ever again. It makes me feel like I've missed some essential instruction that all my peers received. Was it when I was living in West Africa that they got these visits from career counselors telling them to go get all these advanced degrees?

I had decided I would tell Terri what a great artist I always thought she was, because she should know. In the spirit of those things you don't want to regret not saying when you die. I also decided not to to bother telling her about the crush. I mean, there's a long list of people I'd have to contact about my onetime crushes if I was really being fair about it. Besides, it just makes things weird. I was not actually interested in sounding out the possibilities of having an affair. Confessions of onetime crushes are, in this flawed world, declarations of love or war. That all pretty much came to a close in the white-lit island of the putt-putt place.

So I made my abridged confession: I admired your art, it was so great. Are you still doing it? Um, no, not really. She gave it a good try but ultimately felt the most successful artists are those who go into it independently wealthy. I felt a little sad about that. I thought maybe I'd touched a nerve, but she seemed pretty well-adjusted to the changes that had gone down over the last decade. I'd wanted to see what she was working on -- some new painting. Last June I went to see my old Peace Corps friend Doug play a concert in Maine. He'd been planning it for a year and it was amazing. People don't blowout impress me all that often, but he stood up alone on stage with a few instruments and sent me to dreamland. Sometimes in the works of others you see the incredible possibilities available to you. Three months later I had the first draft (sloppily born but alive) of my first book, and he'll always get a measure of credit. It's hard to find people you can admire.

Terri and I met for drinks in a basement spot on U Street. She looked nice. She still seemed like someone who told the truth a little more than most people. I think she was so perplexed by the idea that I'm a firefighter that she asked few questions about it. That's unusual; most people are very curious, which I appreciate. It's easy for me to talk about and I'm not embarrased about the fact that I love it. When I told her I was also now a Lieutenant, she just covered her eyes and shook her head. But I didn't mind. I realized that it's easier for me to talk about life and death and fear and suffering than about the more mundane stuff of chitchat. I miss talking to people about things that matter. I'm tired of yacking to keep up appearances. So I just talked that way you can when you haven't seen someone for a long time and may not see them again soon. I think she did too. It was nice.

I like my friends, but it's been a while since I really fell in love with any of them. I'm not sure what to do. I'm long overdue and afraid I'll be overwhelmed when the ridiculous crush someday comes.