Lizzie had the most beautiful smile I had ever seen; and although she was an exquisite woman, I remember her smile most of all. And her voice. Lizzie had a soft, mellow and slightly deep voice.
To be honest, I remember more than her voice and her smile. She was something else.
I met her in Spanish 200 at McGill, which I had chosen that as my 3rd language requirement. So had she. Over the next three years, we slowly moved from speaking English to speaking Spanish, which both of us did quite well.
Lizzie and I used to meet before class started and would continue talking after classes ended. I don’t even remember what we talked about. But we talked for hours and hours over the years.
“Do you know who you are talking to?” asked Paul, as we ate at the student union. “She was the most popular girl in school, and she has been seeing this guy Steven for over 4 years. You don’t have a chance”.
One of the things Lizzie and I talked about were concerts at the new Places des Arts. I had seen her there with the aforementioned Steve. I had been with Paula.
Lizzie and I agreed that “wouldn’t it be nice if we saw a concert together” and we never did. As my studies at McGill ended, I was back in Israel doing my MA and she had gone to grad school.
I was living in Kiryat Yovel, Jerusalem in a student dorm, along with a German PhD student named Hans who was studying the commonalities between Yiddish and Hebrew, and an agriculture student named Uri, who was almost never in the flat.
One day, I got an aerogram from a McGill friend who stated, by the way, that “Lizzie W from McGill Class of 70 was killed in a car accident on the way to Ottawa. Do you remember her?”
Some people loose their memories with age. I have a memory like an elephant. And when I think of Lizzie 50 years after I met her in Prof Stagen’s Spanish class in Peterson Hall, Room 120 at 1000 AM, I wish my memory was not as good as it is.
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