that. He didn’t think they meant that you were supposed to put the girl on an airplane or something. Still, he thought, to take a girl to a new place, to show her something she hadn’t seen. It sounded like a good idea.
Although he wished he were in California, where there were giant redwood trees and Hollywood and canyons and the Pacific Ocean. There were probably a lot of incredible places and things out there that you could show someone for the first time. He tried to think which places you would show someone in Seldem.
As he thought about it Hector realized that, at least at first, the places should be within a fairly short walking distance from guitar lessons. The only places that came to mind immediately were the Tastee-Freez and the gas station. The Tastee-Freez was a good place to go, it was one of his favorite places to go, but he would bet five dollars that Meadow had already been there.
He was going to have to do some research. Using his powerful, well-rested abdominal muscles, he curled to a sitting position and reached for his sneakers.
He started out certain that he would come across any number of interesting spots that had somehow slipped his mind. He had lived here all his life without being bored; he must have been doing or looking at something. But much of what he himself found interesting didn’t seem to have the magnitude or kind of interestingness required to be destinations you would invite someone to go see.
He tried to imagine saying, “Do you want to go see this really interesting pile of dirt with pipes sticking out of it?”
Or, “Have you ever been at a used car lot at sunset, when they turn on the string of lightbulbs?”
There was a picturesque old nun who lived in the old convent by our Lady of Victory. She was a retired nun with a lot of free time on her hands. He had seen her many times, often involved in some unlikely activity that seemed incongruous with her long, flowing, black and white habit. He saw her once clutching a bunch of daffodils in one hand and a ski pole, which she was using as a cane, in the other. Once she was twirling a child’s silvery baton with plastic tassels. Today she was pushing a shopping cart full of watermelons down the sidewalk.
But even if you could imagine yourself saying to a girl, “Hey, wanna go see what the old nun is doing tonight?” and even if she were out doing something picturesque, he didn’t see how it would lead to holding hands or kissing or anything. There were a lot of things like that.
He was looking for something with immediately apparent beauty or interest, like a waterfall or a mountain or a skyscraper. Even a small one.
“Just one thing,” he said to himself. “Just one thing I could show her.”
He was about to give up when he noticed the ravine. There was a ravine, falling away behind a chain-link fence. The fence was almost invisible within the complicated weaving of wild vines, saplings, and weeds growing in and out of it. Hector leaned on it and looked over. Two steep banks of tangled lushness, dappled by sunlight sifting through honey locust trees, plunged in rough symmetry down to a merry brook, complete with stepping stones. About twenty-five or thirty feet along, the brook channeled into a concrete culvert under the access road to the Westinghouse plant. As he stood looking, a trailer truck barreled over the culvert. A small, furry animal stood erect before diving out of sight.
Hector took a step back and surveyed the fence for a point of entry. The fence continued almost to the access road, where there was a narrow opening before the beginning of a low wall that kept trucks from sliding off the road and into the ditch. Or rather, the ravine. Passing through the opening, he saw that others had come before him. No one was here now, but a path had been worn, and when he reached the bottom he found charred pieces of wood, cigarette butts, and empty and broken whiskey bottles. And some other trash. A potato chip
Although he wished he were in California, where there were giant redwood trees and Hollywood and canyons and the Pacific Ocean. There were probably a lot of incredible places and things out there that you could show someone for the first time. He tried to think which places you would show someone in Seldem.
As he thought about it Hector realized that, at least at first, the places should be within a fairly short walking distance from guitar lessons. The only places that came to mind immediately were the Tastee-Freez and the gas station. The Tastee-Freez was a good place to go, it was one of his favorite places to go, but he would bet five dollars that Meadow had already been there.
He was going to have to do some research. Using his powerful, well-rested abdominal muscles, he curled to a sitting position and reached for his sneakers.
He started out certain that he would come across any number of interesting spots that had somehow slipped his mind. He had lived here all his life without being bored; he must have been doing or looking at something. But much of what he himself found interesting didn’t seem to have the magnitude or kind of interestingness required to be destinations you would invite someone to go see.
He tried to imagine saying, “Do you want to go see this really interesting pile of dirt with pipes sticking out of it?”
Or, “Have you ever been at a used car lot at sunset, when they turn on the string of lightbulbs?”
There was a picturesque old nun who lived in the old convent by our Lady of Victory. She was a retired nun with a lot of free time on her hands. He had seen her many times, often involved in some unlikely activity that seemed incongruous with her long, flowing, black and white habit. He saw her once clutching a bunch of daffodils in one hand and a ski pole, which she was using as a cane, in the other. Once she was twirling a child’s silvery baton with plastic tassels. Today she was pushing a shopping cart full of watermelons down the sidewalk.
But even if you could imagine yourself saying to a girl, “Hey, wanna go see what the old nun is doing tonight?” and even if she were out doing something picturesque, he didn’t see how it would lead to holding hands or kissing or anything. There were a lot of things like that.
He was looking for something with immediately apparent beauty or interest, like a waterfall or a mountain or a skyscraper. Even a small one.
“Just one thing,” he said to himself. “Just one thing I could show her.”
He was about to give up when he noticed the ravine. There was a ravine, falling away behind a chain-link fence. The fence was almost invisible within the complicated weaving of wild vines, saplings, and weeds growing in and out of it. Hector leaned on it and looked over. Two steep banks of tangled lushness, dappled by sunlight sifting through honey locust trees, plunged in rough symmetry down to a merry brook, complete with stepping stones. About twenty-five or thirty feet along, the brook channeled into a concrete culvert under the access road to the Westinghouse plant. As he stood looking, a trailer truck barreled over the culvert. A small, furry animal stood erect before diving out of sight.
Hector took a step back and surveyed the fence for a point of entry. The fence continued almost to the access road, where there was a narrow opening before the beginning of a low wall that kept trucks from sliding off the road and into the ditch. Or rather, the ravine. Passing through the opening, he saw that others had come before him. No one was here now, but a path had been worn, and when he reached the bottom he found charred pieces of wood, cigarette butts, and empty and broken whiskey bottles. And some other trash. A potato chip
Similar Books
