“How are the students? We got a decent batch this year, right?” As if Jake’s question is a trigger, I see her in flashes, as if my consciousness has clicked snapshots of her without my knowledge. Impish, wild, violet-colored eyes. Loud, uninhibited laughter. Smoke threading out of her pouty lips. The savage, dark curls that never seem to stay still. Her purple fur coats—who wears fur coats, anyway? Her voice that digs up the buried words inside me. Merciless words. They make me forget I’m not a poet anymore.”