1968

An only child, I was used to being alone. And I must say, it was easier than dealing with others. Emily gone, no team, no job, I retreated to the words and images that came each week in the magazines to which my parents now subscribed. Life gave me a world beyond the confines of my sleepy southern hamlet. All about me lay dead conformity and criminal rebellion. There had to be something else, I thought, something other than the world made up of school clubs and coaches and bullhead pastors, something other than the rampant juvenile delinquency that hung around me like a dangerous fog, foul of breath and bone. My friends were spending endless nights roaming the streets, drinking quarts of beer in woods and fields, smoking cigarettes, playing dangerous games. I was the lookout when they broke open the change machine at the laundromat, but I wouldn't share the money. One night we stole into some rooms at the church, then climbed onto the roof.  Before long, a car pulled quickly into the parking lot and Wayne spread his arms to make a cross. It didn't work and a voice yelled up at us--"Hey, what are you doing? Come down here now!" We jumped and ran as fast as we could, making for the shopping center across the street without any plan. The car came flying, bearing rapidly down upon us. "Split up," screamed Wayne, he and Steve going one way, I the other. I ran until I thought my lungs would burst, rounding corners trying to make the far side of the building where I could dash into the woods, but then they were upon me. "You can stop," a voice said calmly. "We've got your buddies." We were fortunate. It was the church pastor who had some idea of saving us from ourselves rather than turning us over to the police.

Another night we found our way onto the roof of the shopping center late at night after everything had closed. This time, though, we weren't so lucky. A metal voice screeched through a bullhorn. "Stop where you are. This is the police." It was. We ran across the rooftop as fast as we could, looking for a way down the structure's other side. We jumped to the ground far below, the jolt buckling knees and straining ankles and taking my breath away, but there was no time to lose. Running unconsciously, we were almost there, almost to the woods when a voice shouted, "Stop where you are!" The dark air whirled as we dove into the trees, then a thunder clap--Bam!, Bam! Bam!. Three shots into the air, I guess, for no bullets whizzed by nor shattered tree and leaf. Over a fence and through a yard, across the street and another yard, another fence, over and over again, street after street. They wouldn't catch us, we knew, we could get away, but suddenly there was a cop car as we cut across a lawn. We would lose him we thought, but he drove across the curb, the headlights shining before us. Over another fence, another, running, running without knowing the houses now. Thwunk! Something caught me in the throat and over I went, backwards, feet flying ahead of me, my head hitting the ground hard. I'd caught a clothesline in the dark like some movie joke, but I was up again trying to catch Steve and Wayne who had not waited for me, trying to see where they were going through the dark night.

But they were gone, and I was alone. I sat down behind a house, quiet. No one would know I was there, I told myself. I would hide awhile, just wait, before I moved. I could feel the welt swelling my neck. I would have to explain this one.

The magazines were full of photos of rebellious college kids. But they weren't simply against one thing without being for something else. I wanted to know what was going on. I stayed home. I read.  I watched.  I listened.