That’s how she pronounced the word, three syllables, drawn out in a way – although precise & concise. Bee-Whi’-Chedt. Her fashion was flashy, but not too; always an original and simultaneously demure & with a risque edge. She’d have a cigarette or a drink and rather than vices, she wield either like props in a play only she knew the lines to; nonetheless, everyone around her said their part, just as if she’d written it for them. Her tongue could be sharp or soothing, horribly morose or terrific – funny, engaging or seductive when she was in the mood. I don’t know what became of her, but I remember the moment we met. The second full moon waxing in an October, on a Friday Halloween evening near the cemetery at the edge of a small town where we both had gig jobs. That night we both decided we’d move to a city together when the project was over but I suspected we’d go separate ways after we got there. The first thing I bought when we moved was a clock radio from the hardware store on the corner, for the nightstand. Looking at the time and date now – awake in the middle of the night, it still works pretty well this evening, as we once again look out at the Halloween blue moon.