Tonight I’m meeting my friend Jules for dinner at one of our favorite spots, a little Greek storefront on Chicago Avenue in Evanston: Cross Rhodes. Jules lives nearby, coincidentally on the same street I lived on when Carlos came to my apartment that fateful—or not—night so long ago.
Maybe walking here after picking her up outside her building on Sheridan Square is the reason I want to tell her about him. Now that we’re settled at our table, glasses of red wine before us, pastitsio for Jules, and a bowl of avgolemono and a feta, cucumber, and tomato pita sandwich for me, I ask Jules, “Is there anyone in your life that you only met briefly, but who left such a lasting impression that you never forgot them?”
Jules laughs. Her laugh is tinkling. The words “liquid silver” come to my mind whe
