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at least a dozen times in the past twenty years, and not once could I ever get enough of looking at you.”
    “I don’t understand, Mitchell; what have I done now?”
    “It’s not you, Arthur, it’s me.” Mitchell stroked the hand on his shoulder. “I think I fell in love with you when I was a guest at your eighteenth birthday party, the one where your parents had that God-awful cake in the shape of a football player made.” Mitchell laughed, remembering the orange and brown icing. “I’ve never seen any football player whose head was four times the size of his body!” Mitchell’s laughter died down, and he looked back at Arthur. “I had just turned twelve and didn’t know anyone there but you,” Mitchell caressed Arthur’s cheek. “You were so sweet to me.”
    “I don’t remember.”
    “I do.” Mitchell let his hand drop down to his side again. “I’ll never forget it. You spent almost twenty minutes talking to me, showing me how to play some video game that I still can’t remember the name of because I was too busy looking at you.”
    “Video game…?” Arthur’s memory was not as quick as he would have liked at this moment. “I’m sorry. I still don’t understand.”
    “How many overweight, acne’d, four-eyed pre-teens were there at that party, Arthur?”
    “Oh my God!” It was as if Arthur was in a movie and the director had just yelled Action! on the pivotal scene where the amnesiac recovers all of his memories at once. “My friends wanted to know what you were doing there.”
    “I remember those friends.” Mitchell’s eyes teared up again. “They were all very nice to me after you spent those few minutes with me.” Mitchell looked down at his shoes. “But before, they were….”
    “I’m sorry, Mitchell, I still don’t—”
    “For six years I worked as a lawyer, Arthur, and hated every minute of it.” Mitchell turned to face Arthur, shoulders squared, words firm and authoritative. “I quit because I don’t need the money, didn’t need my father’s money. I realized that there are other people who need it more than I do. So,” Mitchell’s voice faltered a bit, “anyway, when you came into the bookstore, I knew who you were, and you were kind to me even though you didn’t remember me.”
    “But what does that—”
    Mitchell’s eyes sparkled. “And when you flirted with me, I thought I was going to have a heart attack I was so happy. But then at the coffeehouse, and then on the subway and tonight, I fell in love with an incredible young man who was kind and generous and full of hope, not like some of the other rich kids at that party; and that’s who I thought I was giving my phone number to in the bookstore.” Mitchell walked down the stairs, finding his way to his shoes, Arthur not far behind. When he’d managed to lace up his boots, Mitchell stood and smiled at Arthur. “It’s not you, Arthur, it’s—”
    “Mitchell, please, stay.”
    “Why, Arthur?” Mitchell found his coat in the closet and shrugged it on. “You’re not the man I fell in love with. You look like him, but the man I fell in love with hugged his mother until she giggled like a school girl, even after he saw that ugly cake.” Mitchell slung his bag over his shoulder. “You obviously don’t feel the same way about her now.” He opened the door, raised his hand in a weak wave, and turned before closing the door all the way. “You’re one of those other kids at the party now, Arthur, and they- they weren’t very happy with anything. I’d rather remember the other Arthur, if you don’t mind. Be happy, Arthur.”
    Arthur opened his mouth but knew it was futile to say anything, do anything. He’d asked for enlightenment and he’d gotten it. Of course, he’d been so sure that Mitchell didn’t know what he’d been talking about, just another poor, impoverished soul trying to blame the rich for everything wrong with the world. But that wasn’t the case, was it? Mitchell had come