There were supposed to be nine of us, including me. (I know because I asked.)  Eventually, seven others showed up.

In the front row  to my right, with an unused computer between us, were a husband and wife sitting next to each other.  (Husband nearer me, wife farther away.) Late middle age? The “young old?”  She had a charming giggle; he had a notebook.  Like me, he would take occasional notes after the class began — apparently for both of them, as she wrote nothing.

Behind me was a lovely blonde woman with a sweet smile (and, when she stood up at the end of class,  long shapely legs in narrow jeans). She had a sweet and helpful disposition, too.  Twice during class, she jumped up to help me find something on the screen. Two places to her right, and spaced out with a computer between each, were two guys in their thirties.  Pleasant enough looking.

A fourth woman — older — sat down behind the blonde.  I couldn’t get a good look without completely turning around in my seat and seeming rude, so I can only describe her voice, which wavered in alarm when she cried out, “But I only know Apple!”

And also in the third row , two computers over from the distraught Apple lady, there sat a burly man in a short-sleeved black tee shirt with hair cut short, lips turned inwards and very thick arms closely wrapped around himself whenever he wasn’t typing.  As if he had secrets to hide.

A disparate group.  What personal reasons could have brought us all  here?

That was indeed the very question with which LeMasney began.


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