Dusk. I'm walking up from the foot of New Brunswick Drive toward the house I lived in through my teens. I'm peering in lit windows, hoping to spot my Soulmate. (As if I'd do a thing, if I did see her!)

Two teenage girls are behind me, one short one tall. I'm uncomfortable that they can see me but I can't see them without turning round. But I can hear them--talk, giggle, then sing a little song: the Brownie, Girl Scout or Campfire Girls theme song.

NEXT EVENING

On the front lawn next door, half a dozen teens gather, smoke... and giggle as they sing, mockingly, half-seen in the dim dusk light:

"Siiiiing Around the Campfiiiiire. Jooooiiiiin the Campfire Girrrrrls."

2020 NOTE

I'd lived there four years. They'd never done that before. I lived there four years more. They never did it again.

Coincidence? Suuuure.

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