I met Elaine at the rim of a fountain. The water bellowed from the spigot in its ornate pattern.

The fact it was running at all was a miracle for our underfunded university. It was just after

my 845 class on early horror films. No better way to start your morning than with the

dissection of the infernal cauldron, I suppose.

She sat on the edge of the courtyard fountain, with her head buried in a textbook,

a fresh-brewed coffee from the commissary by her hip. Her hair draped to her collarbone and swayed

in the passing breeze. I assumed she was a nursing major by the art on the front of her

textbooks, and the fact that she was always trapped in their pages. I assumed she was a nursing major by the art on the front of her textbooks, and the fact that

she was always trapped in their pages.

I assumed she had a keen mind, top of her class, even by the way she was constantly scribbling

on her notepaper.

I assumed she had a boyfriend waiting for her back home, but I was tired of assuming.

Perhaps it was the way the sun peaked over the clouds or the water playing the perfect

score in the background, or it may have just been the pressure of summer vacation's approach.

Whatever it was, on that morning of May 27th, the frame was absolute perfection.

So I took the shot.

I sat next to her and made some comment about the book she was reading that I couldn't

possibly remember.

She laughed at it, though.

Out of nervousness or pity, she would never tell.

But the laugh offered all the confidence I needed.

We left that morning with a date planned, and then that date with another, and another,

...