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Whenever I'm in Philly, I like to return to my alma mater, the Museum of Art (BFA, 1951). It has very pleasant memories for me, not only for the happy years I spent there as a student, but also because it is one of the most prestigious museums in the world. There are always old-friend exhibits to revisit, as well as ever-changing new and exciting ones.

On my most recent visit, I wandered slowly through a room full of Van Goghs, admiring some of my favorites. After a few moments, I noticed someone near me who seemed to be matching my moves, step by step. I tried to ignore what seemed to be merely a coincidence, but the shadowing continued for several minutes. I sneaked a peek at the person, a model-slim, very elegant, well-dressed woman who could be any age from 35 to 70. Other than matching my every move, she seemed to be studiously ignoring me.

Then, it happened. As if accidentally, she brushed up against me. I could smell her expensive perfume. More intrigued than startled, I looked into her face. She smiled, and it was a vaguely familiar smile, and said, "Don't you remember me?" She was so striking, I reached back into my memory, hoping to remember an affair, even a one-night stand, with such a lovely creature.

No matter how much memory reaching I did, I couldn't think of where I had met her before. In my most articulate, cool manner, I said, "Uh, uh, well, sure. Yeah, I remember. It was in, uh, Paris in '63. Oh, no, er, Rome in '71? Oh, yes, of course, you and I, er, we, er, you know, at that Las Vegas trade show in '84."

She laughed so loud, all the other art admirers in the room shot angry glances our way. She then grabbed both my shoulders, held her face almost nose to nose, and said, "No, no. Unfortunately, we were together at none of those places. We were students here 50 years ago."

I should have had a sudden attack of deja vu, and recalled some after-class romancing with her. But I was still clueless until she said, "You were a big-shot senior, an old student of 25 here on the GI Bill after the war. I was a little freshman and we worked on a painting restoration project together for a month. You never even tried to hit on me." She told me her name.

Then I remembered the pudgy girl with glasses and an ever-present smile for me. She was right. I never did give her a tumble back in those days, just bossed her around like the self-important senior-in-charge I was. We both laughed and talked of old times. Then, she invited me out for a drink, for those good old times she said, at one of the bars near the museum we had patronized during our student days. We spent some quality time together before we had to go on our separate ways.

Next time I visit our old Alma Mater, I'm hoping she will be there. Then I'll surely remember her.

Learn more about this author, Ted Sherman.
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