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.I wish you could meet each other someday.You have a lot in common—you both love me! Ha ha ha.So anyway, I showed her around Rockford, and Harvard where we used to live and where we used to walk to school together.It’s weird going back and not living there anymore.This will have to do for now.Can’t wait until you get home.Love you,Camryn* * *Dear Camryn,I will be home in less than two weeks! I hope you get this letter before then.I’ll take you out to dinner, your choice.I get paid right before I leave, so I will have money.Do you like the postcard? It is a picture of a B-52 bomber.They have a lot of those here.They used to run an ungodly number of sorties out of here during Vietnam.It’s real quiet now compared to then from what I understand.Anyway, when I’m home, I’m not leaving your side.(Except to use the bathroom, ha ha ha.) We can go to Milk Day together.Talk to you soon—in person! Yeah!Lots of Love, ReeseReese’s mother picked him up at the airport Friday night.I drove to his place after work and gave him my own warm homecoming.“Look, there’s Kurt.” Sitting curbside, Reese yelled out, laughing at Kurt in his band uniform, feathered topper and all.This was Kurt’s last year marching with the high school band in the Milk Day parade.Kurt waved his drumstick high in surprised acknowledgement when he saw us spectating together.Kurt didn’t know Reese was coming home.“Next year, I won’t know anybody in the band,” Reese said.A year or two out of school seemed a great distance.* * *“Sarah and John are still on their honeymoon, so we can’t get together with them.They went to Wisconsin Dells,” I said.“The only people I could get a hold of were Eric and Kurt.They said they’d meet us for bowling later.”“Eric?” Reese questioned, distaste in his voice.“I know, I know, but I promised Kate I’d be nice to him.” I explained, then added, “Kurt’s bringing his girlfriend.”We sat talking in Reese’s familiar kitchen, except it was more cleaned up, less cluttered.“I didn’t know he had a girlfriend,” Reese said, recovering from the shock.“He brought her to the wedding as his date.You should keep in touch with him.”“I know,” Reese said, retying his shoe.“Sometimes I just don’t feel like writing.”“You write to me.”“Well, you’re different,” Reese said, making me feel special.I looked around the kitchen, dark and eerily quiet, not quite as inviting as it used to be.A sparrow’s chirp filtered through the screen window, drawing me to look out.Sunbeams struck each blade of grass.The lawn glowed bright green.“Reese,” I said hesitantly, “at Sarah’s wedding, I overheard John’s mother and Mrs.Stone.I’m sure they didn’t know I was around the corner.”Reese turned off the little TV on the counter, listened.“Mrs.Stone said she had been ashamed, and was glad John’s parents had joined them in ‘leaving the past behind’.”“So what does that mean?”“She also said she was proud of John for driving ‘that rat out of town.’ This whole conversation is going on while they’re making punch for the wedding,” I said, building up to the kicker.“Kate’s dad left because John turned him in, told Sarah’s dad.Kate’s father killed Kurt’s calf.”“I thought Eric’s grandfather.”“Nope.He knew about it though,” I said, glad to dump my information load, too much for a teenager to handle all by herself.“They were all KKK.” Reese shuddered, reality he already suspected hitting home.I nodded.“The last of them.Passed down from father to son until some of them got smart.”“I used to spend the night at the Stone’s all the time.I thought they were good people.”“My dad says that even good people sometimes lose their way.”Reese held his lips in a thin, grim line.“Who knows?”“Most of the parents, not mine, probably not yours.I’m not sure who else.John.”“Kate.Sarah.Kurt?”“Nope.No one we can talk to.Just us,” I said, suddenly feeling half-bad for dumping on him.“Eric?”I shrugged.“Don’t know.He’s definitely got an attitude.”I rubbed Reese’s shoulders, then kissed him on the cheek.“Ready for the carnival?” I asked, moving on, eager to re-live the great time we had two years prior, goofing around on rides, taking in the atmosphere.Eager to leave the funky vibes setting in.“Let’s go.” Reese took my hand.I looked over the crowd as we stood in the Tilt-a-Whirl line.“You know anyone?” I asked Reese.“No.” He looked around some more just to be sure.There was no euphoria of just having wrapped up a senior year, our classmates long gone.We were on our own.The Milk Day magic as we had known it, faded into nonexistence.“Hi, Mr.Patterson,” I said, happily greeting my old chemistry teacher who stood in line for roasted corn on the cob.We had been close when I was in high school.I was almost a teacher’s pet, but not in a way that made other kids hate me.“Hi.” Mr.Patterson said awkwardly.Apparent he had misplaced my name, and almost my face, he stammered, “Ca.Cam.Camryn.Sorry.I knew I’d remember.”I regretted engaging him in conversation, certain he had forgotten me the day he filled out my last report card; we exchanged forced, superficial chitchat.Reese put his arm around my shoulder, sensing my feelings of no longer being in place, but rather, out of place and left behind.* * *Mr.Dahlgren corralled us when we got home.“Reese,” he called.“Sir.”“I need you to come in here,” Mr.Dahlgren said, his voice serious.Reese entered the living room, I followed.Reese’s father sat hunched over, elbows on his knees, hands in his salt and pepper hair, which was more salt than pepper.“Sit down,” he said, motioning for us to park ourselves on the loveseat.“You gotta listen to this.” Mr.Dahlgren reached for a record album.“Oh my god,” Reese said with a semi-disgusted chuckle, knowing what was to come.I sat patiently, indulging my sure to be future father-in-law.Soon, Ray Stevens’ “The Streak” was zipping through the speakers.Reese looked at me and shrugged his shoulders.Mr.Dahlgren could be humorous when he wanted to be.“Wasn’t that good?” Reese’s father said, genuine enthusiasm in his voice.“He’s really talented.”We nodded agreement, smiles on our faces not because we overly enjoyed the selection, but because Mr.Dahlgren did.“Wanna listen to more?” he asked.“No, Dad.We need to go.”“Have fun,” he said, not meaning it, drawing the words out as only a man from the south could; if I didn’t know better, I would have thought Forrest Gump had spoken.Mr.Dahlgren’s dejected expression gave him away.He hoped we would not have more fun than hanging out with him, listening to Ray.I whispered to Reese, “Where’s your mom?”“Upstairs in her room.”“Can’t she come down and keep your dad company if he wants company so bad?” I asked, still in a whisper.“No.” Reese said no more.I dropped the subject, knowing I missed something.* * *Reese hurled his bowling ball at Mach 1.“Strike!” Reese called it.The pins exploded in the end zone.I thought Eric appeared to squirm, but couldn’t be sure.Eric held his hand up in the air.They high then low fived, Reese maintaining civility.“Yes!” Reese sat back down and I reclaimed my seat on his lap, his arms around me just below my waist [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]