Tietam Brown by Mick Foley Page B

right outside the Lincoln Theater, where for some reason that will never quite become apparent to me, I took in the last hour of
Rambo.
    â€œWhat do you want, John,” Colonel Trautman asked Stallone as I tried to figure out just what “eyes that shine like a midnight sun” might look like.
    â€œJust one time,” Rambo/Stallone replied, “for our country to love
us
as much as we love
it.
”
    I got goose bumps. What a great line. Last time, I’d been too busy worrying about the rubbers in my pocket to fully appreciate it. My heart went weak. Those damn rubbers—they were in my pocket again! Quickly I threw them down to the sticky concrete where, chances are, they might still be today. Then I walked out of that theater, no longer simply motivated, but glad to be an American too. I fired up that Fairmont, opened the windows so that the fortyish or so air could further invigorate me, drove directly to the Conestoga High gym, walked into the gym with purpose, and immediately panicked again.
    I was just about to bail out again when I heard Terri’s voice.
    â€œAndy, Andy, it’s me, over here.”
    She ran to me with outstretched arms, hugged me tight, and kissed me three times in the cheek-to-temple area. She sighed deep and said, “I’m so glad you’re here, are you okay?! I was so worried.”
    It took a second to answer, as I was trying to figure out if we had technically just had our first kiss. When I did answer, I wished I hadn’t.
    â€œSure, sure, I just went to the movies.”
    â€œThe movies,” she said, somewhat taken aback. “Why would you go to the movies when you knew that I wanted to see you here?”
    â€œWell, I did show up earlier—”
    She intercepted, and said, “And you didn’t see me so you left?”
    With that interception she had given me my out: if I just agreed, I would be out of hot water, and better yet, I could place the blame on her for not being there for me. I told the truth instead. Damn.
    â€œNo, I saw you, but—”
    â€œBut you left anyway?”
    â€œWell,” I mumbled, “kinda.”
    â€œAndy, how do you think that makes me feel?” she said with both hurt and anger apparent in her words.
    â€œI’m sorry,” I said. “Really.”
    â€œWhat did you see?”
    â€œRambo.”
    â€œRambo?”
    â€œRambo.”
    â€œAndy, that’s our movie.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œSo.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œWhat were you thinking?”
    At this point I officially began to whine.
    â€œTerri, I don’t feel comfortable here, can’t we just go somewhere?”
    â€œNo, Andy, I can’t just go somewhere. I’m the head of the Superdance committee. I have to be here.”
    â€œBut Terri.”
    â€œBut Terri what?”
    â€œBut.”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œI just, well, I just, you know, I just, um, don’t think a lot of people like me here.”
    â€œWell Andy,” she began in a loud voice that was near a yell but then settled down to a softness that could barely be heard above the throng of Superdancers and the sounds of KC & the Sunshine Band. Honestly. “Boogie Man.” “Andy, you’re going to have to decide for yourself, what’s more important? Those people liking you”—she pointed to the mass of dancers—“or me.”
    I looked at her features continue to soften, and then she smiled.
    â€œLook,” she said, pointing my attention to Mr. Hanrahan, who was serving as a chaperone, and at the moment appeared to be getting a little too close with one of Terri’s cheerleading associates. “There’s your buddy. Do you want to hang out with him . . . or me?”
    I smiled.
    â€œOr him,” she continued, and pointed to Clem Baskin, who now had his shirt off, so that the acne on his back stood out like a cluster of small red mountains amid a sea of white