Was She Just Another Nicely Packaged Pain Delivery System?

I had been burned too badly to believe in love. And yet, believe I did.

I was 67. She was 67. Knowing as much as she needed to know about white wine, she had not joined the class until the talk turned to reds. I had been there through the talk about whites and the sessions on bubblies. Now I was ready for red.

I had joined the class to help an ailing and mostly housebound friend who needed stimulation, thinking the outings would be good for her, but on this night my friend was sick, so I went alone.

After entering the school building where the class was held through an unfamiliar door, I became lost within seconds in the maze of corridors that students somehow negotiated every day. I wandered, becoming more and more distressed at every false turn, looking for but not finding the room in which the wine class was held.