I took my last exam tonight.

I think I passed it, despite my trouble in keeping up with the class due to public-fucking-speaking taking up so much of my time. I'll know for sure in a few days, after the prof grades the finals and papers, but he seems unconcerned. Which is comforting.

I thanked him, shook his hand, walked out into evening sunlight. Some of my fellow Jeopardy players were hanging around outside, talking about their summer plans and fall classes. I said some friendly goodbyes, but already I was no longer one of them.

It happens with any random group. You're in a situation together; you form alliances and friendships. Then it's over, and you've got nothing in common. These people were bright and funny and I liked them, including the professor. Single-serving friends, but good ones.

The weather was so nice. Early evening, blue sky, happy people. I detoured away from the subway and went into the Common. I like watching the tennis players; sometimes they're good. Tonight, the players were a pair of thirtysomethings, one blond, one dark. The blond had a sweet game and was playing down to the dark-haired guy. I found myself a safe piece of grass and settled in for a while.

My grandfather would have liked the blond's game, it occurred to me. I spent a lot of time on tennis courts with my grandfather while I was growing up. We all play. I have pictures of my sister and me in tennis whites, squinting at the camera on assorted courts over assorted years.

The next logical thought in that sequence is: I just finished my last exam and Liz isn't here. I can't tell her (you know what I mean). I can't call her. There's this big hole that only she can fill and she's gone. Her absence is bewildering and I can't comprehend "forever."

I thought about that for a while. The players finally left the court and sat on the grass to cool down. A couple of younger guys took their place. They were probably college kids. They played well, but they played a younger man's game: hang out at the back and whack the holy hell out of the ball. It didn't have the appeal of Mr. Blond's feints and dodges. I pulled myself together and went home.

What will I remember of this day? The sunshine on the trees, the smell of freshly-cut grass, the Little Leaguers in blue, the sound of the ball hitting the sweet spot on the college kids' racquets, audible even though the iPod.

And hunger. There's nothing to eat here.