“I was not able to sleep that night. To be honest, I didn’t even try. I stood in front of my living room window, staring out at the bright lights of New York City. I don’t know how long I stood there; in fact, I didn’t see the millions of multicolored lights or the never-ending streams of headlights and taillights on the busy streets below.
Instead, I saw, in my mind’s eye, the crowded high school classrooms and halls where my friends and I had shared triumphs and tragedies, where the ghosts of our past still reside. Images flickered in my mind. I saw the faces of teachers and fellow students I hadn’t seen in years. I heard snatches of songs I had rehearsed in third period chorus. I saw the library where I had spent long hours studying after school.

Most of all, I saw Marty.

Marty as a shy sophomore, auditioning for Mrs. Quincy, the school choir director.

Marty singing her first solo at the 1981 Christmas concert.

Marty at the 1982 Homecoming Dance, looking radiant after being selected as Junior Princess.

Marty sitting alone in the chorus practice room on the last day of our senior year.

I stared long and hard at those sepia-colored memories. And as my mind carried me back to the place I had sworn I’d never return to, I remembered.”