Eric was on his way to San Diego for the day.

Greg had stopped by to hear all the gossip, or more appropriately, the nightly news flash, of the "Mark Saga", as I was calling it.

And then Greg was gone.

I was in my bedroom, alone, on my bed with all the boxes from my past in front of me-- file boxes, old worn-out moving boxes, the works. I was sifting through it all, looking for the shreds of my connection to Mark.

When I piled it all together, there was quite a lot.

Letters from college.

The first note he ever gave me he'd stuck on the windshield of my old '72 BMW, "You make me swim faster," it read. It wasn't signed. I realized I could have held it up against all the stalking notes he'd sent and known it was Mark.

In the middle of it all, I remembered how Mr. Marinaro was so relieved yesterday when I told him I'd made a mistake about his son, Rudy. It was just like him not to be furious, but instead relieved. What a great man. I offered Rudy a job if Marinaro ever fired him -- we laughed and shook hands. Then we hugged and I said good-bye.

My yearbook with a signature and sentence from Mark on the page that showed both of us in our Speedos at a winning swim meet. "You and me against the world," it said. And it was. Then. Way back then.

Next-- a ridiculous string of Puka Shells from Hawaii. We'd gone there on Spring Break one year and made love every hour on the hour. What an amazing trip that was. So like a movie: waterfalls, great seafood, nude beaches, sunburned butts. Hot, sweaty sex in the night air that smelled so sweet.

Another note I couldn't believe I'd kept, "Meet me in the gym at 11 tonight, important." That was the night he ended our relationship, the night I stayed till dawn in the gym alone, sobbing, confused, full of despair. Mark's breaking it off came from nowhere-- it was simply over.

"I feel tied down, Andrew. I feel like I'm choking, like you're choking me and I need to breathe."

I looked at the note-- my hands shook and I was amazed that I could still feel the despair of that awful night.

*****

I'd decided I needed meat for dinner and had lit the barbecue on the side patio.

The steak was marinating in soy sauce, ginger and garlic. I went to the kitchen and looked out the window. The grill flames were still up. It hadn't died to coals yet.

Without a second thought, I went back to my bedroom and got an empty box. I put everything Mark Fitzgerald ever gave me: the notes, the letters, the jewelry, everything and anything with his name on it-- including my yearbook page.

I went out to the barbecue and with the can of charcoal fluid lighter -- burned it all.

I destroyed Mark Fitzgerald in the fire.

*****

A voice stopped me, "what are you doing, Andrew?"

I turned around to see who it was...