Caroline wore her stars-and-stripes maxi dress and made the peace sign to passers-by as she walked barefoot on the thick grass. She would be meeting Eric by the snow cone stand. This was kind of like a date, but not exactly. They had sat next to each other in Nineteenth Century Russian History and debated the advantages of socialism. She understood the poverty of the peasants from reading Chekhov and allowed as how a revolution was impending even after the serfs were freed. Eric asserted that it was only the beginning of a necessary and radical, perhaps bloody change, but for the greater good.

People sat on benches and blankets on the grass. Some of them listened to portable radios. The news was important to Caroline. How was Nixon doing? Watergate. He was a villain in this. Poor Pat. Look who she married and the pain it brought her. But elation too. When her fine young husband was elected to the California legislature. That must have put her over the moon.

Caroline found the snow cone stand in Evergreen Park and waited for Eric. To her, snow cones all tasted alike but she liked the look of green on this grassy, fully-leaved day. A pair of children got up from the bench where their parents were sitting and ran to the stand. The little boy held his sister by the hand and ordered green snow cones for both of them. He lifted on his toes and paid the man at the counter. His young sister reached for the cone and dropped it. She wailed until her brother gave her his own snow cone. The counter man gave the boy another cone. Tears glittered on the girl’s eyelashes. She smiled and held her snow cone in both hands. There was a green stain on her skirt from where the snow cone fell on it, but the little girl looked majestic and satisfied. She could have been a princess of Russia, Caroline thought.

The world gleamed with dewdrops, fresh rain, and heat. All green things were humid, swollen, puffed up with jiggling life, perspiring. She felt wetness on her forehead; maybe she was herself shining. July was the hottest month here in Illinois, and in Pittsburgh too, where she grew up, well, everywhere she had ever been.

“Sorry I’m late,” Eric said. “I had to go back to my dorm. I forgot my car keys.”

“Are you driving somewhere?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I mean maybe. We might.”

Caroline liked that he included her in his plans. She liked the curl of his hair, the smile in his eyes, the high school class ring he wore, which was a bit dumb but also loyal and proud. She thought he was perfect. She would teach him to open the door of the car for her. It was gentlemanly and even if this friendship never turned romantic, he would take this politeness with him.

“That’s a pretty dress.”

“I sewed it.” She pinched the skirt out at the sides to display it. She gave him a mock curtsey.

“Smart and graceful,” he said. He reached for her hand, but she had turned away to brush the hair out of her eyes.

When she saw his hand extended, she put her hand in his. It felt dry and warm and strong. Her mind conjured up images of their hands wrinkling happily together over the decades. She shook the romantic, foolish fantasy away. They did not know each other and she was imagining them as eighty-year-olds, sharing their lives to the grave.

He asked her what kind of snow cone she wanted. “Green.”

“Me too,” he said.