Maybe it’s because this morning started out normal. With normal Dad suckage. I went to the bench. But there was an army recruiter guy who had never been at my bench before. Lieutenant Williams. And without knowing it, he sent me to Gerry. I take his card from my pocket along with the torn-off section of my bus ticket and put them in the plastic sack from 45 Pizza. Gerry bought a scratched copy of the eX-Files for me as part of the dollar deal. Souvenirs from my day. I’m in Huntsville, Alabama, with . . . I look to my right: Gerry Lennox. And she is crying. Elephant tears. My eyes are leaking, too. I don’t want to go home, but I know I have to cross the street and board a bus headed north. I also know we are supposed to be on these steps in our green and blue hair and brokenness. No circumstance. No accident. Just necessity. “Hey,” I say. Gerry won’t look at me. She hugs the peeling wooden railing as if it’s a flotation device. “Hey,” I say again, and touch her shoulder.
