Wednesday, April 7

   Last Saturday my parents thought I was at Luke's. I was until Luke and I had an argument. It was stupid. He wanted to watch Combat on TV and I wanted to listen to 'Twist and Shout' by the Beatles. I should have given in, but Betsy shimmies so nice to that rocker that I didn't. After some tense words, I knew the only solution was for me to leave.
   I saw Bart at Champ's. We played some nine ball, until it was one o'clock in the morning.
   Bart teased me, "What's a good boy like you doing out at an hour like this?"
   I told him that I was supposed to be over Luke's. He invited me to spend the night at his house. He lives on Grandview Ave. only a short distance from our hangouts, but I'd never been there before. I was a little apprehensive, but I agreed.
   We sat on his porch steps and Bart talked very straight to me.
   "Chet, you're warped," he said. "You spend more time on rockets than on school subjects."

 

 

He's right. I must concentrate on school.
   On another question I gave him a decent answer. Bart said, "Why do you learn all those words in subjects you're not even taking in school?"
   "Because," I answered, "to make theories you must have the building blocks in firm hand."
   When we entered his house, he told me to nod to everything his mother said. She was depressed and drinking.
   His mother and aunt drank shots in the kitchen where a dim unshaded light bulb cast a harsh glare.
   "Chet's spending the night, Ma."
   "That's nice." His mother extended a shaky hand to me. "Don't think I met you."
   I smiled and shook her hand.
   Bart led me away from the kitchen. He pulled back a hanging rug. Behind it, steps lead upstairs. His house was basically the same as mine, but how different the feel was. Mine was spare and organized. His was cluttered.
   At the top of the steps, we heard giggling in a bedroom. Bart put a finger to his lips, "Shush. My cousins."