October 4, 1995, 2:37 AM

[Bob Schroeck]

I dumped the last few milliliters of water out of the cup and
carefully put it back down on the sinktop with a clink of ceramic
on marble that was louder than I expected.  Blinking still at the
brightness of the ensuite's light I stared blearily at my
reflection and tried to recall more of the dream, and came up
with nothing but a brown ponytail and bright green fabric.

It hadn't been a nightmare, not *quite*, but something about its
end had catapulted me completely awake.  And in my first moments
of confused wakefulness most of the details had evaporated --
even with my semi-eidetic memory I'm not immune to forgetting my
dreams.  In this case, though, it was infuriating and
heartbreaking both -- because I knew I'd known and remembered
*everything* about the mysterious Makoto.  And her friends.

Every damned thing.

And now it was almost all gone.

*Almost* all.  I had managed to hang onto a few shreds of memory
through the transition to wakefulness.  Makoto and the other 
girls had been *important* -- not just to me personally, but in 
some other way as well.  But *how* hadn't come back with me.  I
was now sure of one thing -- whatever my relationship with Makoto 
had been, it hadn't been romantic.  Not that I had seriously 
expected it to be, between her apparent age in the photo and my 
vows to Maggie.  

(A nasty little voice in the back of my mind raised the spectre 
of that time with Misato, almost fifty years ago.  I shook my 
head vigorously to banish it.  One night of weakness, and since 
then I had remained faithful to my wife, for longer than most 
people stayed married.  And vows or not, I would *never* become 
involved with a teenager.)

Whatever it had been, though, losing it had been heartbreaking.  
I could still feel the echoes of despair resonating from the end
of the dream.

There was one other thing I had managed to drag back into the
waking world with me -- the very last image of the dream:  a huge
polyfaceted diamond, the size of a golf ball or larger, hanging 
in space and shining like a beacon with white light.

With that image at the front of my mind, I left the bathroom and
lit the lights in the main room.  I stepped over to my dresser 
and picked up the photo of Makoto and the others, and studied it
for many long minutes.

Who *were* you to me, Makoto?