It is her eyes that I remember most clearly – jade green, steady and sure.

We spoke for several hours that night, the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. We talked of serious things – religion, children, playing D&D – we spoke of silly things – politics, renting apartments and embarrassing people in malls. She wanted to make green bean casserole for Thanksgiving – I was hoping to not burn the turkey (I didn’t).

I remember her smart-ass comments, her red hair. I remember her tattoos – arm and abdomen skillfully done. I remember the feel of her skin when I rubbed her too-tense shoulders. I remember many little things about our brief time together. But mostly I remember her eyes.

When we had to part, she said, “We’ll see each other again.” I could hear the confidence in her voice.

I would like for that to be true, for us to continue our conversation.

You see, I suspect that sometimes it’s the Rusty things that are special.