I knew Jennifer, even if I’m not absolutely sure she knew me.

The air that hangs over the steel-toned lake is cold. Goosebumps nip my skin, quietly. My windbreaker’s back on the seat of my bike, but even though I can retrieve it, I don’t. The chill somehow belongs here, a thin mist that billows from my lips as I exhale, a cluster of needles pricking my forearms.

I shift my weight on the damp dock and gaze at the gray lake.

She thought she knew me, knew the pattern of my thoughts and the beats of my heart. She thought we were best friends, joined at the hip. She thought we were the incarnation of forever, the breath of tomorrow, the flush on her face as she spun through the halls.

She thought she knew me, and I thought she did, too.

I sit down on the edge of the dock. It creaks a little, speaking lonely words to the metal lake. Fine sketches of ripples emanate from my jeaned legs, which are plunged to the calf into the water.

I knew Jennifer, even if I’m not absolutely sure she knew me.