This was bizarre! The perfect woman, everything I could have--actually had--wished for sat at the desk behind mine. And I knew her!

Well, I did and I didn't.

I had registered for an advanced computer course offered Wednesday evenings at the local community college. I arrived as the instructor, a burly fellow with short-cropped hair, was taking the roll. I took the only vacant seat in the row of desks closest to the door.

"Hanson, William?" he barked.

"Yo!" I yelped and wished I could swallow my tongue.

Knowing what I'd see if I glanced upwards, I stared at the keyboard before me. My eyes never wavered from the letter "J" until he called her name.

"Haynes, Sandra?"

I bolted upright in my chair and wrenched my head around.

Holy Christmas, it was her! And gorgeous--as gorgeous as I had envisioned she'd become when I began to dream about her twenty years ago.

I'm sure two pairs of eyes--the instructor's and mine--must have unnerved her, as she glanced at him, then me, her mouth a soft, pink "O."

I never believed in fate until that day. She didn't say a word, but the instructor, holding his pen aloft, nodded and slashed something on his clipboard. I knew it WAS her.

She smiled, not at him, but directly at me. I'd have recognized those lips, those eyes . . . heck, I know this is corny, but there wasn't a thing about her I hadn't imagined. No, this wasn't Playmate-of-the-Year fantasizing. On the contrary, swear to God, I wasn't a lust-crazed thirty-year-old bachelor. Yet if you saw my expression--as my instructor most likely had--you would say i was. No, I was infatuated . . . all over again.

How long I spent mooning I have no idea. A student to my right tapped my shoulder and handed me a print-out. Moments later, still in a stupor, I began doodling in my portfolio. I don't remember doing it, but on the bottom-right corner of the yellow sheet I'd printed B. H. + S. H inside a heart.

"Nice!" said the porky female in front of me as she reached behind to hand me another print-out.

"Thanks." What else could I say?

Somehow I managed to concentrate enough to fill six pages with notes. Then our instructor paused, glanced at the clock, and announced we would have a twenty-minute break. Leaving my belongings where they lay, I trotted out of the room and followed the herd to the student union. While most of my classmates huddled around the coffee urn, I scanned the room for Sandra.

She sat at a circular table, gazing at a college newspaper while nibbling at the edge of an empty styrofoam cup. I scurried over and pulled out a chair opposite her.

"May I?" I asked, my manners an afterthought

"Sure," she murmured over the rim of the cup. Her melted caramel eyes mocked me.

She lowered the cup and smiled. What a face! Flawless. Aphrodite, beware!

"Do I know you?" she asked. The words danced off her tongue.

"No . . . well, yeah. William . . . uh, Bill . . . no, you'd remember me as Billy Hanson."

"Uh uh. I don't remember you at all," she smirked, shaking her head.

"It's been almost twenty years."

"I was a girl . . . in grade school."

"I know. Fifth grade at Wharton School."

"That was the year I moved to Madison."

"Right after Easter. We'd just finished the play."

"What play?"

"You remember Mr. Daily, our teacher? Big bass voice. He loved to sing and was always writing little musicals for us to perform. That spring it was about some natives living in the South Pacific. I was the king and you were a lovely island maiden about to be sacrificed to a sea monster. A young native saved you. Tim something-or-another--"

"Scanlon. Tim Scanlon, my first true love!"

"Oh."

"Actually we had only one date. I invited him to a record hop in the gym, but after one dance he spent the rest of the afternoon with buddies lagging pennies against the wall. Were you there?"

"No."

She was beaming now. I was blushing.

"You do seem vaguely familiar," she said.

I tried to swallow my saliva discreetly. If I spoke now, she'd be drowned. I wasn't very successful.

"I do?" The spray only crossed half the table.

"Billy Hanson?"

"Yeah, I sat right in front of you all year . . . until you moved. Daily arranged us alphabetically in September and never bothered to change our seating. Boy, was I glad."

"Oh--why?"

"I had the biggest crush on you."

My candor must have impressed her as she rested her chin on her hand and grinned like a minx. I blundered on.

"At recess I chased you around the school, well, actually followed you. My friend Eddie and I tagged after you and whoever you were with that day. We didn't do much, just spied on you from behind bushes or, if you were sitting on the steps, we ran up and down them a hundred times. In class I always made sure you got the crispest test sheet. Since I had the first seat, I passed them out and collected homework. I always made sure yours had your name on it."

"Did we have much to say to each other?"

"No. You'd only speak to the girls on either side of you."

"Did you ever ask me out or call me up?"

"Once. I dialed your number and hung up before you answered. But I did ride my bike down your street nearly everyday after school. I knew where you lived and had a paper route. Your father never subscribed, or I would have personally placed it on your porch. Once, when you saw me and waved, I crashed into a rose bush."

"Did I laugh or help you?"

"I don't know. Thorns stuck out of me everywhere, but I was too embarrassed to pull them out. I just picked up my bike, my dropped papers, and got out of there."

"Did you ever come by again?"

"A few times, only Eddie was always with me, and he didn't like girls much.

"And I didn't know you liked me?"

"You probably did, but I--I don't think you cared."

"Why do you say that?"

"I talked about you endlessly and bored Eddie to death. One day we were painting his back fence when i suddenly took a brush and raced to his house. He thought I was loco, but went back to his painting. 'Hey, Eddie,' I called. 'Come see.' I'd drawn a huge heart on the wall with the initials B. H. + S. H. in the middle. He just stared at it and threw a tantrum. We had no white paint, so it stayed there until his father came home. Then he got in trouble--big trouble--and the next day he told everyone in school what I'd done. You must have heard."

"No."

"Then we had the play and Easter and you moved."

"I didn't want to leave. I cried for weeks. But now I think of Madison as home."

"When did you return?"

"A little more than a year ago. I was transferred. I'm an office manager in the Corridor near Aurora."

"Long drive to class."

"No, I live nearby in an apartment. Alone."

Most of our classmates were ambling back to class, but Sandra hadn't moved. She continued to study me, her chin fastened to her open palm. Her smile had faded slightly, but I saw question marks in her pupils.

I hesitated only a moment.

"Class ends before ten. Would you be up for coffee or a drink at Bennigan's?"

"Yes," she smiled.

"Really?"

"I drove, so I'll meet you there," she laughed.

Such music! I stumbled to my feet, exhilarated. She reached out and touched my arm.

"What do I call you once we get there? William, Bill, or Billy?"

"Your pick."

She chuckled and I knew which one it would be.

The second half of class dragged, but our merciful professor dismissed us ten minutes early. I sprinted to the parking lot, found my car, and sped out of there. I arrived ten minutes before she did and kept shifting my weight from foot to foot. Twice the bartender pointed in the direction of the restrooms.

What can I tell you about the rest of the evening? When she entered and saw me, she strolled right toward me, her eyes never leaving my face. She laid a hand upon my forearm, and I walked her to a choice table in the corner.

Later, in the parking lot, I stood beside her car as she scribbled her phone number on a cocktail napkin. She assured me she had no plans that weekend. Just call. She even looked as if she wanted me to kiss her, but I didn't.

Nor did I call her.

I dropped the class the following week.

You probably think I'm a real jerk. I'm sure Sandra does. But I knew then, standing beside her car in the parking lot of Bennigan's, I'd never call her. I couldn't.

SHE HADN'T REMEMBERED ME.

I wonder if her pretty mouth still forms a soft, pink "O" when she thinks of "Billy" Hanson, the guy who never calls.