Home delivery service in rural California was standard during the Covid19 pandemic, and Amelia was grateful for it, especially when the delivery boy was so attractive. Tall. Muscular. Light blue eyes framed by dark curly hair – a guy her granddaughters would call hot. 

More significant is that this young man sparked a deeply rooted appetite in Amelia, something she hadn't felt in years, a hunger otherwise locked tightly away in her memories. Primordial hunger. Lust. She smiled at these thoughts, happy that she could still experience sexual arousal at her age. She was waiting outside for him the next time he delivered her groceries. 

"Please! I'm so grateful to you," she said, her surgical mask hiding a grin. "Will you accept a tip?" He nodded, wiping a ten-dollar bill with sanitizer before putting it in his pocket. He refused her invitation for coffee, but from within the safe interior of his car, he dropped his mask and flashed her a smile. Wham! There it was again! How could this simple gesture unleash such intoxicating nostalgia? What Schopenhauer called wille zum leben, life's vital compulsion to mate, biological assurance human life would continue. 

Married twice with many lovers in between, Amelia was well acquainted with lust. She'd discovered it at puberty when she gained a bad reputation for allowing boys to go "too far" while making out. She knew she was the subject of gossip, but it made no sense to her. How could it be that female sexuality pleased boys but also unnerved and frightened them? Why the ambivalence? Why should girls who "liked it" be labeled sluts? She carried these thoughts with her into adulthood and resented how men defined women's sexuality. What saved Amelia from disgrace in high school was her grade point average. She graduated valedictorian of her class.

After a brief career as a fashion model, this tall, stunning woman with auburn hair and green eyes stopped merchandising her physical charm and devoted her time to education. People don't expect beautiful women to beintellectually brilliant, so Amelia quickly earned a reputation as the dazzling "scary smart" redhead. Her phenomenal memory for taxonomy astonished her colleagues as she worked through the biological sciences to a doctorate in botany. Name any plant. She could identify it according to the eight hierarchal levels: species, genus, family, and all the others. 

Biology helped Amelia understand how high levels of certain hormones in some women make them sexually promiscuous. While her girlfriends were looking for love, she was often predatory, looking merely for sexual satisfaction, a good scratch to satisfy the itch. Eventually, she fell in love and married, but the marriage didn't make her happy since her husband never learned how to please her. Yes. Amelia was well acquainted with lust, but she'd laid it to rest long ago. Or so she thought.

***

His name was Kory, short for Konrad. He was twenty-eight and a medical student between his third and fourth year. Unfortunately, this is all Amelia could learn in snatches of conversation when Kory allowed himself to linger in her rose garden. He never asked her anything personal but limited his questions to fertilizer, pruning techniques, and the cool temperatures of northern California, retreating shyly into silence whenever she tried to change the conversation to more intimate topics. 

Then one day, Kory mentioned something that changed everything. His medical school had just notified him thathe failed pharmacology, a requirement for advancing to the final year. He needed to give up his delivery job immediately to study for a make-up exam. "Please! Don't quit! I'll help you!" Amelia said, offering her scientific credentials. "Bring your books. I'm a good teacher." 

Kory was skeptical, yet Amelia saw how his perception of her had shifted. No longer a fragile, inept old woman whose groceries he delivered, she was now a competent source of biochemical knowledge that Kory needed to learn. He accepted her invitation and agreed to some pandemic ground rules to avoid contamination. Perfect. They could be with one another without risking infection. To sign the contract, they knocked elbows. The next day he brought his books. 

Dr. A, as he now called her, was an impressive teacher. She was also intimidating, especially her knowledge of medicinal plants, data she'd collected doing fieldwork in Costa Rica. Oblivious to Kory's feelings, Amelia was exhilarated. Tutoring him would allow them to spend exclusive time together while she gave him something he needed.

The old lady and the young man became an odd couple, seeing no one socially outside their shared bubble of self-quarantine. As the relationship evolved, their conversations moved from pharmacology to nutrition and eventually to food preparation when Kory stayed for dinner, cooking with Amelia in her kitchen, standing as far apart as possible.

At first, their stilted dinner conversations concerned genetics and molecular chemistry. Then one evening, Kory casually mentioned that he'd been an English major as an undergraduate. His only science courses had been the standard prerequisites for medical school.

"So. You're a reader. Who's your favorite author?"  

"Abraham Verghese."

"Who?"

"A doctor who writes novels. He's my role model. He wrote Cutting for Stone. The Tennis Partner. My Own Country."

"Never heard of him. British?"

"American. Born in Ethiopia."

"What about the American classics?”

"I like Melville, Faulkner, Hemingway, and T.S. Eliot - although he's more British than American. I fell in love with poetry when I first read Eliot. Have you ever read The

Waste Land? No?" Amelia smiled at Kory's enthusiasm. "You should. But as much as I like Eliot, he’s not my favorite poet."

 "No?"

 "Not really. The one who speaks to me the most is a woman.

 "And who's that?"

 "Emily Dickinson."

 "Dickinson? Remind me. What does she write about?"

Amelia was faking familiarity, and Kory was happy to be the knowledgeable one for a change. "She is known for questioning the nature of death and immortality."

Amelia bristled. "Death? Isn't that just a little pretentious in someone so young?"

Kory ignored her sarcasm. "Did you know she was also a botanist?"

Zap! A surge of jealousy. "Recite one of her poems for me. Not about plants and not about death. Choose one about love." She was prepared to coax him, but it wasn't necessary.

 Kory closed his eyes.

"Wild nights – Wild nights! Were I with thee. Wild nights should be Our luxury!"

What? Wild nights? Amelia felt herself blushing, but Kory continued: "Futile – the winds – To a Heart in port – Done with the Compass – Done with the Chart! Rowing in Eden – Ah – the Sea! Might I but moor – tonight – In thee!"

Kory opened his eyes.

"Bravo!" Amelia clapped her hands. "You have a nice voice for recitation." She picked up her iPhone and snapped a photo.

Kory was magic, possibly the most compelling young man she'd ever known. Amelia loved these evenings, basking in his presence, yet she longed to hear him say something personal to assure her she meant something to him. What exactly did she want to hear?

An acknowledgment of attraction? Not likely. Not even possible. Age mattered, and Kory was younger than her oldest grandchild.

She forced herself to let go of the fantasy, admitting that her obsession wasn't so much with Kory but with the buzz he gave her, the hunger he evoked. Falling asleep that night, she focused on that amorphous sensation. Hunger started with a prolonged bout of kissing …  intensifying … as a musk-scented pheromone triggered an ethereal gaze in the lover's eyes. Amelia had always craved that expression, the one musicians get when they shift into another consciousness, lost in the sound of their instruments. She wondered about Kory's body when he was aroused. How did his eyes look? How did his skin smell?

Music was important to both of them. Kory introduced Amelia to John Coltrane, Miles Davis, and Billie Holiday. Then, when it was her turn, Amelia explained the differences between Bach, Beethoven, and Brahms.

"You're so rational. I bet Baroque is your favorite period," Kory said, hoping that he sounded sophisticated.

Ouch. His comment pinched her. "I am, but I'm also romantic. You don't know that about me. I'm an emotional woman. I feel ... very deeply ... about many things."       

"But do you really find Baroque music emotional? I mean ... it seems pretty intellectual to me."

“Not if you listen carefully."

"Did you ever see the film A Star is Born?" Kory asked. “The new version, the one with Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper?" Amelia made a face. "The song, Shallow? No? I guess you don't know it."     

“You guess right."

"They sang it together at the Academy Awards and ... it was ... I mean ... just amazing! It blew everybody away."

Kory’s enthusiasm irritated Amalia. "What was so amazing about it?

"The way they looked at each other!"

This disappointed Amelia. She thought teaching Kory about classical music would give them something to share. Now he was showing his age, preferring popular music. Lady Gaga, Kory? Really?

"I use music to escape," Kory said. "And you like music ... for healing."

"Healing what? Am I wounded?"

"Wounded? No. More like ... someone craving comfort. Never mind. Tell me more about Bach."

How did Kory know that Amelia wrestled with an intolerable sense of vulnerability? Knowing well that people her age die in their sleep, she had grown fearful since her last birthday and found healing comfort in her favorite composers.

Rachmaninoff was one, but not his piano concertos. She loved his Vespers, choral music featuring bass voices. Did anyone else recognize the sexual power in these singers of Russian Orthodox music? Amalia wondered about this as she searched the internet for the Vespers' best version. When she found it, she gave the link to Kory so he could download it to his iPhone. After a while, he convinced her that he liked this liturgical music, a far cry from jazz yet undeniably appealing. Amelia was thrilled. In Vespers, they had a new bond.

The tutorials continued. Amelia used Kory's pharmacology textbook to organize her instruction, applying her expertise in taxonomy to shape her lessons. At the end of a formal review, she asked him to link medicines to their possible side effects. Kory had taken to wearing a surgical mask during these lessons and tilting it like a cowboy tips his hat whenever he responded correctly.

"Right!" Amelia would shout.

"Much obliged, mam!" Kory would say in an exaggerated western accent, pulling on the elastic bands and tipping the mask in Amelia's direction.

"I need to give you a nickname," Amelia said. "You call me Dr. A. One day soon, you'll be Dr. K., but until then, I think I'll call you ... what? I know. How 'bout Cowboy?"

"Cowboy? I don't even know how to ride a horse."

"Ah, but you smile like a rodeo king! See! You're doing it right now." She held up her iPhone and took a selfie.

 "What did you look like when you were my age?" Kory asked.

"How old do you think I am?"

"I'd say... you're close to my grandma's age."

"And how old is Grandma?"

"Seventy-one."

Sweet! To Kory, she looked ten years younger than she was. Amelia dug up an old color photo of herself and gave it to him. 

"Hey! Dr. A! You were a babe! How tall are you, anyway? Much taller than Grandma."

"I used to be five-ten. I think I'm a little shorter now."

"Your eyes are still the same color. I bet you had a lot of boyfriends."

Finally! A personal remark. "Yes. I've had many boyfriends. I like men." She smiled, waiting for more. But Kory was silent.

"What about you? Many girlfriends?"

"Not many," he blushed. "I was sick as a child. Asthma. I think it robbed me of self-confidence."    

This was Amelia's cue. "What you need is an older woman. Someone to teach you how gorgeous you are!" She waited for a response, but Kory was silent. "Older women can teach young men about sexual pleasure. There are cultures in parts of the world where this is standard procedure. Older women, younger men? You can see the advantage in that, right?"

Kory stared at his shoes. Then, after an excruciating silence, he politely excused himself, leaving a discouraged Amelia alone with her thoughts. If only she were forty years younger. She looked for the photo - the younger version of herself - but it was gone. Kory had taken it with him.

The next time they were cooking dinner together again, Amelia decided to take a risk. "Remember when you said I seek comfort?" she asked. Kory nodded. "I've thought about it. I think I'm afraid to die. I've had a wonderful life. My work ...  all the people I've loved …  I don't want to leave."

"Am I one?" he asked. "Do you love me?" 

"You must know I do."

"Do you think you know me?

"Not as well as I'd like."

"I want you to know me. Being known by someone you love is the only protection we have against existential loneliness." 

Existential ... what? Loneliness? Amelia stood up and moved closer to Kory. "Well? What about me, then? Do you love me?"

"Of course, I do. But I worry you wouldn't love me if you really knew me.

"Is there something about yourself that you want to tell me?"

Kory walked around the room. "I'm worried I'm not smart enough to be a good doctor. I know you believe in me, but I worry about my capabilities. I worry that someone will come along that I can't help, and the person will die ... before they're supposed to."

***

When the pandemic began to decline, the market suspended home delivery except for the elderly. Amelia qualified but couldn't bring herself to use the service because she wouldn't know the driver. Without warning, Kory had quit his delivery job to return to medical school. He came to say goodbye, but she wasn't prepared for this sudden departure.

“Thank you," Kory said, still standing six feet from her. "Thank you for everything. I'll miss you."

Amelia could barely speak. She wanted him to hug her. Instead, he knocked elbows, climbed into his car, backed down the driveway, tooted the horn, and disappeared. Just like that. A banal ending, a stomach punch.

Three days later, he texted. "Passed pharma—ninety-six percent! Couldn't have done it without you!" plus three little hearts. He was swamped, he said, sending out applications for an internship while trying to keep up with his new courses. Looking ahead, he needed advice on a residency. Pediatrics? Gerontology? She could well imagine Kory as a baby doctor, but gerontology? Why would he want to work with old people? 

"I can't advise you," she texted. "Follow your heart!" She expected an immediate response, but none came. She texted again and then a third time, including a smiley face with heart eyes. After two more weeks of silence, she thought about phoning him, but her attitude mutated from humiliation to cold rage. Why should she be the one to reach out?

Kory wasn't thinking about her. He was shallow, self-absorbed. In a peak of anger, Amelia changed her telephone number and email address and promised herself never to contact him again. Then, she deleted all of Kory's photographs from her iPhone. That night a sharp chest pain woke her up. "Damn you, cowboy!" she screamed into her pillow. "Now you've done it! You've broken my heart!"

She wrote Kory a letter, tore it up, wrote another, and then one more, both of which she crumbled and shredded. When she read obituaries about former colleagues, she envied them. She needed to tell Kory this, but nothing she wrote satisfied her. Sharing her thoughts with the person who produced them would not console her, but then she thought of an alternative. She went to her local library and checked out books of poetry by Emily Dickinson.

"I'll tell you how the Sun rose –A Ribbon at a time –The steepless swam in Amethyst. The news, like Squirrels, ran –The Hills untied their Bonnets –The Bobolinks – begun –Then I said softly to myself – "That must have been the Sun!"

Amelia liked this poem. She thought of Barbara Kingsolver and how she and Emily could have been kindred spirits. It was easy to understand how the nineteenth-century poet had also been a botanist. What puzzled her was how someone who loved nature could also be so morbid. Why did Emily write so extensively about mortality?

"Because I could not stop for Death – He kindly stopped for me. The carriage held but just ourselves. And immortality."

Amelia spent the whole afternoon reading Dickinson's death poems. Then, as it happens when it does - epiphany! The poet’s ideas about immortality weren't just about Christian eternal life in heaven. They were also about earning the right to be remembered. This idea turned Amelia's thinking inside out. Didn't Kory deserve to be remembered? He did. But did she? What was he thinking of her now that she'd erased him? Did Kory think she'd been disingenuous? Not worthy of his affection? He wasn't the one to end their relationship.

These thoughts went through Amelia's mind as she re-worked a jigsaw puzzle and listened to "Kory's music." Under his guidance, she'd developed a genuine appreciation for the sounds of a tenor saxophone. Now, she was listening to John Coltrane's "In a Sentimental Mood" and sentimentally remembering high points in their conversations.

"I use music to escape. And you like music to get comfort."

"Much obliged, mam!"

"Hey! Dr. A! You were a babe!"

"I worry that someone will come along that I can't help, and the person will die ... before they're supposed to." 

Another truth! Why hadn’t she seen it before now? Kory had been talking about her. His comment was code for: "I can't love you the way you want to be loved, and I'm afraid it will kill you before you're supposed to die?"

Months passed. Kory's absence absorbed her, but she found strength in her memories. Grieving for their companionship, she continued to hope that she would one day hear from him. And then it happened.

A letter arrived, a real one through the postal service, from Kory who apologized and begged her forgiveness for not communicating. He'd struggled his last year of medical school, almost flunked out, was scared most of the time, considered confiding in her but was too ashamed. When he finally decided to tell her everything, her phone number and email no longer worked. Why? Was she still alive? He could barely bring himself to ask. She had to be alive because it was over now. He passed his courses, was graduating from medical school and needed her to be at the ceremony. He also wanted to introduce her to someone important - Kelly, his fiancée.

Kory engaged? To a woman named Kelly. Kory and Kelly. Kelly and Kory. Amelia buried her cynicism and decided she needed to size up this Kelly-person. She was probably another doctor, but what else? Did she really know Kory? Was she smart enough to know how to know him? Did she appreciate the differences between Bach, Beethoven, and Brahms? Did she like John Coltrane?

Amelia made travel arrangements and prepared herself to accept the inevitable, but nothing could have prevented the shock she experienced on meeting Kory's fiancée. The woman was tall, just as tall as Kory. Her long hair, tied in a ponytail, was brilliantly auburn. Her eyes? Green, of course. Seeing this slim, beautiful redhead was like looking at herself sixty years earlier.

Kory had never touched Amelia before, but now he did for the first time by putting his hand on her forehead. "How are you, Dr. A? Are you taking care of yourself? You must be by my side when I get married.”

"By your side?"

"Yes! We want the ceremony to be in your garden."

"Among my roses?"

"Right! And we're going to use Rachmaninoff's Vespers as music! You'll love it!"

"The Vespers?"

 "Yes! The Vespers!" he shouted.

 "I'm not deaf, Cowboy!” she shouted back as they looked at one another.

 “What happened to Lady Gaga?".

He pulled her to him. Flashing his Kory smile, he gave Amelia a tight, unbroken hug.

When Amelia opened her eyes, a tearful Kelly was standing across the room with a broad grin on her face.

###