Not just to eye the cheese, although I admit that I liked to look. In the fall of my senior year, I got into the habit of studying at the Radcliffe library. Either way I don't come first, which for some stupid reason bothers hell out of me, having grown up with the notion that I always had to be number one.
But now I sit and wonder whether she was listing me by my first name – in which case I would trail Mozart – or by my last name, in which case I would edge in there between Bach and the Beatles.
Once, when she specifically jumped me with those musical types, I asked her what the order was, and she replied, smiling, 'Alphabetical.' At the time I smiled too. What can you say about a twenty‑five‑year‑old girl who died?
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