A/N: This short takes place many years after the movie "American Graffiti" and ignores the sequel.

Important to Me

Curt Henderson signed the last book on the table and the reader thanked him. The author looked up at the clock and saw that it was only ten minutes past the advertised end of his book signing appearance for Making My Way. Not too bad, he thought to himself; he had sessions that over a lot more in Chicago. Here in Albany things were a little more laid back and a little bit more like home back in Winnipeg. He gathered his pens, a few extra books and started organizing them in his business case.

"Mr. Henderson, do you have time for one more or am I too late?" Curt looked up to see a brunette woman clutching a copy of his book. Hell, it was only ten minutes - he had time.

"Okay, let me unpack my things" he said as he made a show of slowly pulling a pen out of his shirt pocket. "There!"

The woman giggled and thrust the book in front of him. "I'm only up to chapter eight but I think I like it better than Escape" she said, referring to his last book.

"Of course. Every author's current book is better than the last, no exception. Otherwise we'd just end it all and never write again" he said as he pantomimed a noose around his neck. "Who should I sign it to?"

"Make it to Abigail."

"Okay, Abigail it is." She was probably about Curt's age, and just a little bit taller than him with the heels.

"So you really never felt like going back to Modesto again?" she asked.

"Of course I went back; every college student has to go back at least once with a load of laundry. But if you mean to live, no. It's been twelve years now, and I think the last time I visited was three years ago. My friend Steve was supposed to meet me at college, but he ended up getting a job and staying home. I went away and between school, jobs, and just life I just ended up staying away. Maybe if I slowed down some day I might get curious, but so far I've been busy enough. You've already read through my college days and my first journalism job in Chicago if you're on chapter eight now."

"At least you stopped long enough to sign a few books. Now, normally I don't like my books spoiled but" she said as she held up the newly-signed book in front of her "does he get the girl in the end?"

Curl laughed. "No, he doesn't. I've had some girlfriends; one even wanted to get engaged. I think that's chapter eleven."

"What about Wendy?"

"That was a high school thing. First dating for both of us; I think we just were together out of loneliness is all. We were more friends that a couple."

"Pity."

"I'm not even middle aged yet so don't go putting me in the old folks' home. But thanks for stopping by, it was nice talking to you." Curt put his pen back in his pocket and bent over to retrieve his case, signalling the manager that he was done.

"Would you like to grab a cup of coffee and talk?" she asked, smiling.

"I'd love to, but I have a plane to catch" he sighed.

"That's what you said last time." Her face fell with the bad news.

"Last time? Did I meet you at a signing before? I really think I'd remember you, unless it was a mob like my last stop. Did I sign a book for you?"

"Yeah, but it's been a few years. You were a sophomore."

"Oh, back at college. Wait - I hadn't written any books back then. How can I sign a book that I hadn't written?"

"People do it all the time" she whispered, with a twinkle in her eye. "They're called high school yearbooks, silly." She turned and walked - slowly- away.

Curt dropped his case and ran after her. "Wait!" he said as he ran around and stopped in front of her, halting her retreat. He noticed she didn't try to go around him. "How do you know me?"

"You asked me the same question. Twelve years ago. On the phone."

"You?" Curt looked her up and down, then tried to recolor her hair in his mind. Get some bleach and...

"The T-bird girl!"

"Guilty" she answered with a curtsy. "I knew you'd get it eventually, even if the last time I saw you was at a stoplight sitting in the back seat of an Edsel. I still remember the phone number for that phone outside Burger City: Diamond 3132. I had to repeat the number to myself over and over again to memorize it since I didn't have anything to write it down after Wolfman Jack gave it out over the air."

"I sat for hours in my Citroen waiting for that call; an Edsel would have been a move up" Curt laughed, relief flooding through him. Relief, and maybe a bit more. "God, that meant so much to me! I mean, a girl interested in me? It was almost too much, and it certainly was too late when I had to...fly...out...damn. I still don't know your name."

"Yes you do; you just signed my book, you dope."

"The book? Let me borrow your book!" he fumbled as he reached out. She put it in his hands and he flipped through the pages. "Where is it...where is it...I must have signed it!"

"You've got it upside down; try turning it over."

Curt whipped it around and opened it to the inside fly page. "Abigail. Your name is Abigail!"

"Thanks for paying attention."

"Oh come on, I must have met two hundred people today. Abigail. I won't forget it now. Abigail" he said again as he savored the name.

"Yes, and yes. Right both times; I'm impressed." She was teasing him, but blushing a little.

He was blushing a lot more. "Sorry; after I saw you driving down below when I was flying out I probably tried a thousand different names in my imagination to find the best match for you."

"What did you end up with?"

"I think it was 'Grand Cleopatra of My Heart and all She Surveys', or something like that. None of them were good enough for you. How did I sign my name in your book?"

"With a pen." The tease was back. He kind of liked it.

"No, I mean how did I come about doing it? I don't remember you from school. And what are you doing here?"

"It's a long story. No time. Again." She frowned.

Curt ran back to the desk and reached into the pocket of his coat draped over the chair. He retrieved a packet and ran back, drawing out his plane ticket and proceeded to rip it in half. "Oops, someone mugged me and took my ticket. I guess I'll have to get it replaced for another one on a later flight. Maybe tomorrow, there are probably a lot of people at the airport right now. I hate lines. Or Tuesdays. I hear flying on Tuesdays isn't good either."

"It's Wednesday."

"Good, then I've got five days to work with. NOW I have time for a cup. Maybe a whole urn. Dinner if you'd like?"

"I'd like" she answered, with her biggest smile yet. Curt thought he might have caught sight of a dimple. "Just promise not to write a book about me, okay?" she asked as he went to get his coat and case.

"A book? My whole life is about you!" he said as he took her arm in his free arm and walked with her towards the exit. "Now tell me the-manner-in-which I signed your yearbook."

"I was a senior and sitting at a table with some of my classmates signing books and passing them around. Afterwards I was looking through mine and that's what caught my attention - you signed it 'To Paul: I'll get you back next year' under your picture; I thought it was kind of cute. I suppose there's a story there too."

"There is, but now I'm beginning to wonder what I put in Paul's book..."

The End.

A/N: I never saw the sequel to "American Graffiti", but I understand that Curt's character was left out when Richard Dreyfus did not appear in the film. This story occurs many years after the sequel so it provides some balance to me. This was inspired by Fox The Writer's original short in this category.