Part VII: Time Warp 2000’s (Chapter 102)
I’m hiding out in the car.
Even
though the sun has gone down, it’s still hot out ‒ at least
85 degrees.
But it’s
better than the heat inside the quadrant, the stickiness of family disapproval.
After the scene between Sheldon and Father Dan, I had to get
away, away from all those people who would judge us, away from Nana. I can tell
that her feelings have changed toward Sheldon; he’s no longer the golden-haired
boy, the one who can do no wrong.
After all, he’s committed the unpardonable sin: slugging a
priest, a family priest, no less.
Right up there with blatant adultery.
With his standing in the family knocked down a few pegs, Shel
might as well go back to Pennsylvania, his head hung low.
I love it.
After eating the Double Bing ‒ I can
still feel the sticky milk chocolate around my mouth ‒ I
remember the portfolio of letters stashed in the trunk, and I get this urge to
go through them, to find some old letters I had written to George, a prison pen
pal, letters which were returned to me by the warden after George was paroled.
I’ve always liked men who play hard on the wrong side, but
this one got a little too close.
Still, it’s been about two years now, enough distance for me.
Besides, the thing with George was never very real ‒ more
like a wild ride on Space Mountain ‒ scary,
but never dangerous.
I root through the trunk, grasping for the canvas tent bag. I
pull my rolled-up painting, the Prussian Blue masterpiece, out of the bag and
feel its grainy back, the texture of sackcloth. On a whim, I take it into the
car with me. Maybe after I go through my letters, I’ll take it back with me to
the reunion.
I might even show it off to my people.
Soon, I find the packet of letters, tied together with a red
satin ribbon, the closest to fiction that I’ll ever write.
Still, even though some of the details may be outright lies,
the essence of what I wrote back then was true.
What I said was what I felt.