I don't know how to title this; I'll go with: "Signs"

It is Friday. I'm in South Bend to look at houses. It is three months after my interview at Notre Dame.

I checked in and walked to my hotel room a few minutes ago. I passed by the hotel dining room, and heard a girl crying and talking in an anguished tone. I glanced over, and some girls were sitting in rows there, looking at a woman at the front of the room.

I imagined saving teen girls from drugs or the devil in general workshop/weekend. I went back to my business, and then remembered all the tennis racket bags on the floor by the front door. I remembered the lady I greeted as I waited at reception; Polish, a mother of a UNC player, here from Carmel IN; oh, they lost. That is why the mother is waiting, that is why the girl is crying. This makes much more sense, this is familiar. The scene is comforting.

I'm in the right place; I'm on the right side.

Maybe you see yourself in this. The tenderness of a memory of yourself as younger, and the satisfaction of the present tense.

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