Walking across campus in early spring. I had a meeting with ___–a controlling, disorganized bitch of a teacher–and also the boss of my internship.

The weather was cold, an unexpected blizzard kicked up. I’m not talking about a little flurry, kicking around your heels before flying off across the sidewalk in little playful curls. I’m talking about sheets of snow and ice pummeling your face, of trouble walking upright from the wind.

I remember the cold.

It was over by the time I took the elevator to the 13th floor.