A new city and a new job invariably mean that some of our old friends and acquaintances drop out of our minds for a while, the telephone calls become infrequent, almost nobody writes letters. Then you wake up one day and find yourself asking, "What ever happened to So-and-so?"

I don't doubt that there are people somewhere asking that question about me.

But, also, there are those times when, through no fault of your own, you lose someone. Then the mystery is nagging, and never goes away.

I have been in love a number of times in my life, but in three instances the results where profound and lasting, shaping the person I was and am becoming. In the first instance, the whole world of sensuality was opened for me, my entire perspective on reality was changed, and I became more optimistic. One small change reflected so much about the texture of that relationship: my once monk-like room began being adorned with fresh-cut flowers.

Editing this issue of the magazine, and reading the first submission to The First Time, I was made to think of this lost love again, and wonder...

Her name was Lynda Day, my first love. I lost contact with her in 1978 under the most mysterious of circumstances. Though we were no longer involved, we loved each other in a nostalgic and grateful way, and had stayed in touch over the years. Then one evening I got a frantic telephone call from Lynda's sister, Cheryl. Cheryl wanted to know if I had heard from Lynda, she intimated that something bad had happened to her. She never told me what. Cheryl ended the conversation by saying that she was flying to Florida, from Vermont where she lived. She believed that Lynda had "enrolled" in a Hare Krishna temple in Miami.

This was nuts! Sure, Lynda had been involved in Transcendental Meditation while we were lovers, but a Hare Krishna! It was completely out of character.

That was the end of that story for me. At about the same time, my future wife, with whom I had just begun living, let me know that she did not appreciate my keeping in contact with so many of my old girlfriends.

"So many?" I said. "There are only four or five."

You are right. I should have known better than to say that.

I agreed that I would cut off contact with the women who preceded my new love, the second great love affair of my young life.

Years passed, I married, and by the time I had the impulse to seek out Cheryl or Lynda again, all the old contact information was worthless. To this day I have regretted losing contact. All that I have now are the haunting details of a mysterious disappearance.

One of my fictional characters, who I created as my "expert" on romance, says that "the stories never end." I have had enough evidence in friendship and love to vouchsafe the predominant accuracy of that statement. But, as this anecdote illustrates, sometimes the stories do end and abruptly.