I was 21 years old and working as managing editor of a weekly newspaper. I had just gotten out of a three-year relationship and I wasn’t dating anyone. As I worked alone at my office on a Sunday afternoon, a young woman dropped by to see me.
She was on her way back to her college after a weekend visit home. We had had a flirtatious relationship but it hadn’t been anything serious. Now that I wasn’t dating anyone, though, she had come to see whether I’d be interested in turning our flirtation into something serious.
I felt conflicted. I was attracted to her, but I knew I wasn’t going to date her. Maybe I wasn’t really completely over the relationship that had just ended, I told her. She understood. I kissed her as she left and we remained friends.
We both moved on to other relationships and I didn’t think any more about the conversation. I assumed she hadn’t thought about it for years, either. About a month ago, I realized that I lied to her that day — but only because I had lied to myself.
I decided it was time to call her — after all these years — and explain what had really happened.

Briefly: Sufjan Stevens album always evokes old feelings about my mother
Changes are destroying culture, but we can build beautiful dream
It’s great to visit Memory Lane, but it’s fatal to try to live there
We’re all masters of denial when facing painful truths in our lives
FRIDAY FUNNIES
Warning: Don’t trust in politicians; they’re always going to disappoint
Target’s ID requirement for cold medicine is invasion of privacy
I can’t help wanting to replay life with emotionally healthy parents
My heart longs for a future that’s more real to me than the dim past