We’d still get together professionally from time to time; I can remember her coming up with excuses so we could meet. “Can you drop off those text books when you come down next Wednesday?” . . . that kind of thing. And I’d see her socially sometimes too. She and her husband came over for pizza our first day back from Negril. I remember dancing with her that night as Bob Marley advised “. . . don’t worry be happy.” My wife was not too happy. She was jealous. There was no need. Despite my feelings, we were able to keep things platonic, but always with an edge of sexual tension.

It was a frustrating way to live but due to honor, self respect or self discipline (I’m not sure which) I managed to keep a lid on my feelings. I never told Mrs. Peel how I really felt. I tried to deny it to myself. Around Christmas of 1998, I came up with some artificial reason for breaking off our friendship. We met for a lunch and then . . . nothing. I’d told her to get lost.

If I was troubled by her transfer to central office, I was devastated by this self engineered break in our friendship. I couldn’t think straight for months. I’d be driving down a highway and I’d see a landmark that had been significant to us and I and I’d be lost in thoughts of her. I was unable focus on day to day tasks. This wasn’t once in a while, it happened everyday. My guts ached with longing for her.

I fancied myself a latter day Ulysses, who’d tied himself to the mast to hear the siren’s come hither song. What Homer failed to tell us was that although Ulysses survived he was haunted by the song for the rest of his life. It took over a year but eventually I became able to taste the food I was eating.