This story goes with apologies to Billy.
The young boy had just left Ft. Sumner. He was heading south when he saw a man ahead standing in the middle of the highway waving his arms for him to stop as if an accident had just occurred, yet there wasn't a car in sight. The boy, who was feeling cheerful this morning, decided to stop.
"Hey, you know where I can get a horse," the man asked. "I need a good one."
"I'm not from around here. All I can do is give you a ride to Roswell if you want."
"That's good," the man answered and then stood there for a long moment.
"Go around," the boy told him, making a motion for the man to go to the passenger-side door. He couldn't believe how strangely the man acted. When the man got to the other side, he grabbed awkwardly for the door handle but had trouble opening the door. The boy opened it from the inside.
After the car got going, the man started staring out the windows in amazement, "Hey, this thing really goes fast, doesn't it? I can't believe it." The car still hadn't reached 40 miles per hour.
"This isn't fast at all. It can really go if I step on it."
"I can't believe it," the stranger exclaimed as he kept staring out the window.
The boy started to regret having stopped. The man was completely covered with dust and was undoubtedly going to leave the seat of his spotless Z-28 very dirty. He acted so strangely that the boy wondered whether he might be on drugs. He appeared to be in his 20's. After a period of silence, the boy said, "My name's George Lobato," holding out his right hand.
The stranger acted reserved but held out his hand and said, "My name is William Bonney."
"Pleased to meet you," the boy said with a smile. After a pause he noted out loud, "William Bonney? Hey, that was Billy the Kid's name."
"Yeah, that's what some people call me."
"It must be hard going through life with people making fun of you for trying to impersonate Billy the Kid," George pointed out jokingly.
"What do you mean 'trying to impersonate'? I am Billy the Kid."
George didn't say anything more, just looked straight ahead. The stranger was clearly miffed at the attempted humor. After a period of silence, the man said, "You don't think I'm really Billy the Kid, do you?"
"Well, the last I'd heard was that he died about a hundred years ago." George now wondered why it was his luck to pick up some guy who had escaped from a mental institution.
"What year is this?" The man asked, looking perfectly sincere.
"1981."
"1981! My God, no wonder. I, I . . . That's what happened. I rose from the dead . . . this morning. No wonder. I looked for Luke Maxwell's place and couldn't find it. I couldn't find anything. I know you don't believe me. How could you? Listen, the last memories I have are of Ft. Sumner. I must have died there. Take me back there."
"They say Pat Garrett shot you there. Your grave is supposed to be there. It's even on maps." George didn't want to do it, but he thought it would be an opportunity to go back and get rid of the guy. Maybe they could find the institution the man had escaped from. He wasn't in any hurry to get back home. It was still summer vacation and he had nothing pressing.
In Ft. Sumner they followed the signs, which were well marked to Billy's gravesite. There were gravestones for Billy and some of his gang members. The one for Billy was overturned with a large hole in the ground next to it that looked freshly opened. "I don't remember coming out of there. The first thing I remember is walking down that road over there."
George thought of how the man was covered with dirt and of how he kept talking very naturally about what had happened back in the 1880's and mentioning names like John Tunstall, Alexander McSween, the Dolan Gang. George was familiar with these names because he had read about them in books by Leon Metz in preparing a report for school. After listening for over an hour to the man's explanations, George started to believe the stranger could be telling the truth. He was generally skeptical about most things, but he had the feeling he could at least look into this more closely. As they walked back to the car, he started asking questions.
"If you're Billy the Kid, you ought to be able to clear up a lot of questions people have had about you all these years," he started. "Like, who shot Tunstall and did Pat Garrett shoot you in the back?"
As they drove back, the man told George in detail what had led up to the wars and went on to answer all the questions George had. He answered them so well, that George thought the man might truly be Billy the Kid.
"So where are you planning to go?" George asked. He was acting much more relaxed and friendly toward Billy who also seemed relaxed.
"Well, I'd like to get to Lincoln eventually. That's why I was wanting to get me a horse."
"Listen, don't worry about getting a horse. I'll give you a ride into Lincoln. It's not too far out of my way."
"If it ain't too much trouble, I'd appreciate it. Where you going?"
"I'm going to El Paso. That's where I live with my mother. I was just visiting my father in Ft. Sumner."
After two hours, they became hungry and stopped at a Burger King in Roswell. They went in as Billy kept staring at many things he was not familiar with like the straw dispenser from which he unintentionally extracted five straws before he realized it. Most of them rolled to the floor. George was overjoyed with having been the first to run into Billy the Kid after his rise from the dead. They were sitting at a booth near the counter.
"Hey, this is Billy the Kid," George blurted out to one of the attendants behind the counter.
"Shut up," Billy said in a firm but low voice as he grabbed George's arm. "Can't you see I'm still a wanted man." The attendant just looked at them for a few seconds and went on with his work. "I've killed a lot of men, you know," Billy continued. "I didn't get shot for nothing, and I'm sure they'll be after me again."
"Oh, don't worry about that," George assured him. "They won't do anything to you now. Man, you're a hero. There's been books and all kinds of movies made about you and there's even a big company that makes pants that was named after you."
"Ah, come on."
"It's true."
"Why would they want to do that for if I killed all those people?" Billy asked with a look of bewilderment. "I'm supposed to be bad."
"I don't know. People just think you were cool, I guess."
George had agreed to drive Billy to Lincoln, but then he asked, "What's the use of you going back to Lincoln anyway. There's not going to be anybody left that you know. Why don't you come on back with me to El Paso, and you can stay at my house until you figure out what to do next?"
"I guess maybe you're right," Billy answered pensively. "I hadn't even thought about that. I'd still like to go by and see what it looks like, though."
When they arrived in Lincoln, Billy didn't recognize any of the buildings except for the old county courthouse. He had once escaped from the jail in it after killing two of the guards. He did, however, immediately point out locations where buildings had stood, like the McSween house, which was confirmed by a memorial marker placed on the site. They didn't stay long before starting the drive to El Paso.
The first thing George did when they arrived in El Paso was to drive by the building that had the offices of Billy the Kid, Incorporated, on Mesa Street. It was several stories high and on one side near the top was the name "Billy the Kid" in large, gold metal-block letters.
"See, I told you you were famous," George exclaimed. Billy looked at the sign in disbelief. "You don't have to worry about anything. People like you."
"I don't know. People are funny sometimes."
They got to George's house at 2 in the morning after everyone else was asleep. When George's mother saw Billy sleeping on the living room couch after she got up at 7, she was startled but went to work without asking anyone any questions. That night when George told her it was Billy the Kid, she wouldn't believe it, but then said she didn't want him there even if he was a very polite young man. George told her he hadn't tried to rob him on the whole trip down and that there wouldn't be any problems.
George showed Billy the report he had written about him in high school along with copies of old magazine articles and newspaper clippings he had collected for it. He also had a book about him entitled The Saga of Billy the Kid, and he played him a record album entitled John Wesley Hardin by Bob Dylan. He took Billy to the library and a bookstore and showed him more books about him. Billy definitely believed George now but still appeared incredulous.
"I'm going to have to get me some money. I wonder what kind of work I could find?" Billy questioned.
"You know, I was just thinking, you could make a lot of money. I mean a lot of money. We just have to talk to the right people. They could write more books about you and personal interviews and maybe even a movie. They pay real good money for all those things. Hell, you could get rich."
"I wouldn't mind that at all," Billy answered.
"The first thing we've got to do is go down to the newspaper," George said very excitedly. Billy asked a lot of questions about the many strange things he saw. He was adjusting to the new surroundings quickly.
When they went in to the combined offices of the two newspapers in El Paso to talk to reporters, everyone said they were busy. Finally one reporter with the Herald-Post, who said he knew a little about the history of the West, sat down to talk with them although with a slight smirk on his face. He asked several questions, obviously trying to trip Billy up and started to perk up when he got some very detailed answers.
"I'd like to have you talk to one or two experts on the Old West to see what they think," announced the reporter who was in his fifties. "I suppose we might at least write a story about someone trying to say he's Billy the Kid."
The next day they went to Leon Metz, who had written several books on the people of the Old West including Pat Garrett. He talked to Billy for half a day and couldn't get him to contradict himself. He arranged to have other historians talk to Billy either in person or over the phone. Nobody could catch him in a lie. He seemed to know everything in detail, and even came up with answers to questions people had asked since Billy died.
After the story spread nationwide, promoters, agents, magazine editors, writers, and advertising people started calling Billy. Billy was confused with the barrage of offers and deals he was confronted with. George and the reporter who had first interviewed him tried to help him handle the situation. They finally had Billy stop answering any inquiries and told the callers who had any deal to offer that they would be contacted later.
Eventually after things had calmed down, they started making appointments for agents and movie producers to talk to Billy. In the meantime a song came out about him and about how he was basically a good, peaceful boy who had been driven to violence.
"They say you killed 21 men. How did it feel to kill that many men?" asked one magazine writer who came to talk to him.
"It gave me a real feeling of power after awhile," Billy answered matter of factly.
It was not long before a total of eight magazine articles appeared about him of which three consisted of long interviews he had given. He signed contracts to help three authors write separate biographies and entered another deal to play himself in a movie. One thing that befuddled Billy was how the two magazines that printed the most about him, The National Enquirer and The Star, never interviewed him once. He couldn't believe some of the things they said--that he was in contact with other famous people who had died long ago or that he had been sent back to earth from hell by Satan!
"I told you it would be O.K. Nobody's going to put you in jail," George said happily.
"Yea, I guess you were right. I'm sure glad I ran into you. I would've never imagined they would be this nice to me. If I hadn't met you, I would've been hiding out and probably starving somewhere. I might have had to rustle a few head of cattle or something."
Billy soon went to live near Hollywood where he could be close to both the studio making the movie as well as people like his agent and his lawyer. He got himself an agent who found him a palatial two-story home in Beverly Hills and a Rolls-Royce with a chauffeur. In between working in the movie, Billy made some television commercials, including one in which he was shown as an energetic, successful person who drank coffee. Of course, he made one for jeans made by Billy the Kid, Inc., although the company had trouble coming up with the money since it was not in very good financial condition.
Billy didn't speak many lines in the movie about himself because the director found it hard to teach him to act. Instead the most visible character was Charles Bowdre, Billy's right hand man in the gang. Pat Garrett, the lawman who eventually killed Billy, was second in amount of lines spoken. Billy was portrayed as a quiet, young man caught up in his thoughts and plans. The movie became the hottest selling picture in 10 years in spite of having critics almost unanimously pan it.
The Billy the Kid fad became bigger than the fad of another Western legend, Davy Crockett, had been in 1955. He was treated in many ways like a big rock star. There were "Billy boots" and "Billy gear," clothes which were naturally western style. Tall hats like the one he wore in the famous picture taken of him when he first lived became very popular. Billy the Kid, Inc. eventually became a booming business.
The furor lasted for two years and then died very quickly. Billy had been the center of attention in all the media across the world and had been a constant focus of attraction at endless parties and events. Now suddenly he found himself all alone. The only one with whom he had regular contact was George who had continued to keep in touch with him, mainly by telephone. George had stayed in El Paso to finish college but had come out to visit on two occasions. He always listened well and gave helpful suggestions, but now even George couldn't help him get out of a depression that set in. Billy had also made much less money than he had expected. One reason was that he had signed contracts for much less than he would have gotten had he known what he was doing. He had also lost money to financial advisers with investment schemes that were supposed to make him a lot of money and had built up a huge debt on credit cards because for a long time he had not understood how they worked.
He tried to figure out what went wrong. He even tried to think if it had been something he had said or done that made people suddenly dislike him. George tried to explain to him that it was nothing like that. He tried to tell him the way fads worked but Billy didn't understand it very well. Then Billy had an idea on how to get back in the spotlight. It was so obvious to him that it would work. He marveled at its simplicity. Unfortunately he didn't tell George or anyone else about his plan.
Three years later.
"Man, I might as well have stayed in my grave," Billy ran his fingers through his hair as he talked to George. He looked more bewildered than ever. "I just haven't been able to figure it out. I thought people said I was a hero because I killed all those people before."
"I don't know," replied George in a helpless tone. "People are strange." They were sitting in the visiting room at Santa Ana prison with Billy on the prisoner side of the glass divider and George on the other. Billy was on death row awaiting execution. He had killed three people.
"You see," he explained, "my plan was to kill them and get people to pay some attention to me again. I didn't want all the attention I had before, but I wasn't getting any and I wanted to be at least a little popular again. I thought people didn't mind me killing."
"You definitely shouldn't have killed those celebrities."
"Well, the ones I killed were ones that seemed to like murderers and thieves, like that writer who wrote about me and other books on violence and murderers and that singer who sang songs about outlaws. What was his name?"
"Bob Dylan."
"Yeah. What I really didn't like was that he named that album after John Wesley Hardin. Hell, Hardin was no big deal."
After a pause, "The thing is, Billy, people get pretty angry about crime. Most people are in favor of capital punishment, you know."
"And that's another thing. I could see them maybe punishing me, but I just can't see them putting me away, as much as they seemed to like me."
The hot, dry August wind was just the way Dave Phillips remembered it in El Seco. It had been at least 10 years since he had been back, but childhood memories were still vivid. As he drove west on the freeway, he could see how the housing subdivisions had spread to the foothills. The city had been one of the fastest growing in the country. He had enjoyed his childhood here, and his parents had chosen to remain even though he had pleaded with them to move where they could be closer to him. They had in turn begged him to come back to El Seco, but it had been out of the question. He had established an excellent reputation as a neurosurgeon in New York, associated with Columbia Presbyterian Hospital. He worked longer hours than he liked but otherwise it was very satisfying to be at the top of his profession. Coming back to El Seco, even as the top surgeon in the city, would simply be out of the question. No matter how much he might enjoy coming back to live closer to his parents and in a place where he had developed early roots with people still around whom he remembered as childhood friends, he knew he wouldn't be happy. There wasn't a laboratory where he could become involved in research, something he thought he might like to do someday.
He wondered how El Seco was for a single man. There was certainly an abundance of women in New York City, but supposedly that wasn't the case here. An old friend had complained about that, but more importantly he said, many women didn't seem very impressed with a professional man. He was a sharp, good-looking accountant working in an established firm.
In spite of all, he still enjoyed coming back to see old friends and he was especially excited about this afternoon. He was driving to Michelino's, an old winery hidden in the hills on the west side of the city, near the Mexican border. The organizers of their 20th year high school reunion thought it would be a good spot to meet. It was supposed to be informal so Dave was wearing a pair of white shorts and a short-sleeved maroon polo shirt. He was looking forward to seeing many of the people from his Coronado High School class of 1970. He had known some of them since grammar school. There had been about 600 graduates, and he probably knew about 400 of them even if only distantly. He had taken out his old yearbooks last night to help him refresh his memory on names and faces.
In school, he had never been one of the popular people nor one of the members of the "in" social groups that came into existence, but he had distinguished himself by making good grades and coming out often on Dean's List. He hadn't been conscious of it at the time, but he had yearned to be popular and held in special esteem. He had thought about it in more recent years and realized how much of a force a feeling of inadequacy had been toward his drive to excel. He remembered how he had daydreamed of going on to be some great success and have everyone he had known in school talk of how great he was. They would tell their friends and remind their relatives that they had known him; it would make them speak proudly of having gone to school with him; the newspapers would refer to him every so often as a great El Secoan who had made a name for himself. At first he had dreamed of being a great baseball player who would be seen on television all the time. That fantasy faded as he found that he could rise to being no more than an average player on the high school baseball team. He found that he could shine in academics and so shifted his goal to becoming a doctor or engineer. His supporting dream of success stayed with him through high school, through college, and even to some extent, after he had already become a doctor.
Dave wondered about two people he remembered in particular. One was Margaret Hawkins who had turned him down when he had asked her to go to the Junior Prom. It had been an upsetting disappointment. It was true that he hadn't known her especially well, but he had been confident that she would accept. She didn't have a boyfriend; it was said she didn't even date very much. He had walked up to her in the hall right after English class and very calmly asked her if she would be his date. She said "no" politely, but curtly. It was immediately clear that she could not be moved to reconsider her firm decision, and she gave no explanation.
She showed up with someone else and he found another date, too. Her date had not been anyone special. Dave didn't think she knew him much better--spent the whole evening trying to figure out why the other guy and not him. His date was a girl he had known for many years from close by in his neighborhood. He had brooded on Margaret's rejection not only that evening but for a long time to come. Dave wondered now whether she had any regrets about that rejection. Lately he had caught himself fantasizing a little on what might happen if she were single like he. He had heard that she was still an extremely beautiful woman and so inevitably not one who would be in any way needy of men who would be interested in her. In fact, she had been so attractive that she had moved to Hollywood soon after graduation to seek a career as an actress.
As he drove up the hill and came within sight of the winery, he could feel nervousness. He had hardly seen any of the people in the intervening 20 years. He could hear music coming from the large, old stone building. Dave said "hi" near the entrance to a guy named Jay who was standing there as if waiting for someone. He was trying to remember his last name but couldn't. He hadn't known Jay very well.
The music was coming from an old jukebox, old songs from the time like "Tracy," by the Cufflinks, and there were already a hundred people. A band was setting up, Lonnie Leroux and the Lancers, made up mainly of graduates from the previous class of 1969. The first person Dave ran into was Fred Farrell. They hadn't seen each other since graduation, and Fred was jubilant. He introduced Dave to his wife who had gone to a high school on the east side of town. Fred was overweight but he had always been stocky. He had played tackle on the junior high football team. Dave had also been on the team but never went on to play in high school. He had always been very thin. They immediately went into exchanging the usual information on what each had been doing since the last time they had seen each other. Fred said he had been in insurance for many years and was impressed with Dave's accomplishments.
As Dave later talked to Mike Gonzalez who had been in American History and other classes with him, he kept looking out of the corner of his eye at different people and noticed Mike was being distracted in the same way. "God, there's a lot of people here I can't remember," Mike said chagrined. "Who's that over there? Is that Jenny Saunders?" Dave wasn't sure who it was, either. They both agreed that it was hard to recognize many of the others.
Dave then spotted Janet Stevens. She looked surprisingly attractive and youthful, about ten years younger. It was not that Janet had been ugly, she had just never looked this good before. It was not her looks, however, that made him eager to talk to her as much as memories that came back to him across the years. He remembered how she always beat him in grades in school. She sat in front of him in both fifth and sixth grades, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't get better grades than her. In the early grades he hadn't really cared that much about grades, but he sometimes got it in his mind to beat Janet in a test and it was mainly because she seemed so arrogant. She was often bossy and most of the other kids would pick up on this and taunt her for it. Dave would try to get back at her by doing better in a test because she seemed to take so much pride in being at the top off the class. Sometimes he would get a better grade than her but that was rare. He wondered what her reaction would be when she found out what he was doing now.
As soon as he had the chance in the conversation, he found an excuse to walk to where Janet was talking with some of her former girlfriends. When he had the chance, he tapped her on the shoulder. "Hi, Janet."
"Dave, Dave Phillips," she exclaimed sounding almost ecstatic. "You look great. My God. I haven't seen you in so long. I think it was right after graduation."
"That sounds about right. You're looking great yourself, like about 10 years younger."
"Oh, come on now. Don't exaggerate. Do you remember Donna Rains and . . "
He remembered some of the other women vaguely and got reacquainted with them. After 10 minutes of mixed conversation, he had the chance to talk to Janet individually. "So are you in town or living somewhere else?" she asked him.
"I've been out of El Seco since graduation."
"You must have gone away to college?"
"Yes, I did."
"Where did you go?"
"Princeton."
"So what are you doing now?"
"I'm in New York. I'm in neurosurgery."
"Oh, isn't that something. We're both in the medical field. I've been a nurse for 15 years now. I've enjoyed it immensely most of the time, but I'm starting to get a little tired. I may take a few years and stay at home. My husband said it was fine with him. We could manage fine on just his income. What area did you say you were in?" She seemed a little distracted with the noise around.
"Neurosurgery."
"What exactly do you do?"
"I'm a doctor."
"Oh, a doctor. You're one of those. You all think you know so much, but I'll tell you I've trained many a young doctor in my day. Doctors just don't seem to appreciate how important we nurses are."
"I'm afraid you're probably right."
"Aside from all that money you guys get, I sure wouldn't want to be a doctor. Too much pressure, and you don't get the chance to really be personable with the patients. We nurses can do so much more good in that respect. Oh, Emily, Walt, it's great to see you," she turned to meet a couple that had gotten married after being high school sweethearts. A conversation got started with them and Dave sidled away before very long. He had not known the couple very well. He realized how she still felt superior even if she was below him in status.
He walked to the place where the kegs were located and after pouring himself a long-neck noticed Margaret Hawkins. He paused to get a good look at her as she stood talking to two men, who seemed entranced with her. That wasn't surprising. She looked as good as ever as she talked with her arms half-crossed, her left hand held at the side of her face, very composed. He wanted to talk to her but noticed how nervous he felt. He was determined to talk to her so he started walking across the room to where she was. How would she react to him? What were her thoughts now on what had happened back then? He hoped for a chance to talk to her privately, intimately.
"Hey, Dave, how you doing?" a friendly man engaged him in conversation. "Good to see you." The face was definitely familiar, but he couldn't get the name to come back to him. He kept trying to sneak a peek at the man's nametag but couldn't get a good look and didn't want him to notice his straining to see the name. After a couple of minutes, he remembered it was Leo Aceves. They talked for 15 minutes but it started to make Dave uneasy. He worried that Margaret might leave early. He wanted to talk much more to Leo. They had become good friends in chemistry class, but he hoped they could continue the conversation at a later time. Luckily someone else came up and Dave was soon able to excuse himself. Margaret was now surprisingly standing alone.
"Hi, Margaret. How've you been all these years? Remember me?"
"Uh," she hesitated a little. "I think so."
"I heard you had moved out to the West Coast."
"Yes, I've been there all this time. It's great. I love it."
"What are you doing now?"
"I'm afraid I have to confess, vain me. All these years I've been trying to be a star but haven't done much. I have managed to get some bit parts in some television shows recently."
"That's great. Most people don't even get that far no matter how hard they try."
"Yes, I've been thinking lately I ought to be pretty proud of myself, and on top of that, I've raised two nice kids." She stared ahead wistfully as if realizing that a woman approaching 40 couldn't go much further.
"Well, if you haven't made it big yet, it's not because of lack of good looks. It's a rough world out there in Hollywood. I think that's pretty well known by now."
"I hope so. I hope everybody doesn't think I haven't been working at it or that I have no talent because if there is anything I've found out for sure, it's that I am a good actress."
"I remember your being in Senior Play, and everybody thinking you had done real well. What was the play? The Crucible, wasn't it?"
"Yeah."
"I also remember you were just about the prettiest girl in school. All the guys always used to talk about you, including me. Do you remember me asking you to go to the Junior Prom?" David was surprised to find himself getting into the subject he had thought about for so many years. He didn't feel as nervous as he had at first.
"Uh, well, I, huh, think so." She now had a very confused look.
"I remember calling you on either a Saturday or Sunday afternoon. Of course, you seemed surprised since you didn't know me very well. I think we only knew each other because of Government class."
"Is that right?"
"I don't know why I thought you might possibly be interested in going with me to the prom. There were so many other guys you knew. What did you think when I called you? You sounded surprised."
"Well, I guess I . . ."
"I know, you probably already had a date."
"To tell you the truth, I've got a terrible memory and I . . ." At that moment an old girlfriend of Margaret's came up and touched her. They both yelled in surprise and hugged. They apparently hadn't seen each other for many years. They went on to a long conversation. Dave was not included and eventually faded away.
As he walked away, he felt disappointment. He felt the conversation had been going in the right direction. She seemed attentive and very sincere, but it was disappointing that they had not been able to go any further. He soon ran into a guy he had known since junior high and they started reminiscing.
As they were talking, Dave noticed Ricky Inman standing across the room. If there was anyone he was more curious about than even Margaret Hawkins, it was Ricky Inman. He hadn't changed that much except for a decided expansion of the breadbasket. Actually Dave could see, from the beer Ricky was holding in his hand, that it would more properly be called a "beerbasket." His face was still very recognizable.
He had first known Ricky Inman in the fifth grade and suffered perhaps the most traumatic experience in his life because of him. It had left a deep-felt impression that still remained in his consciousness. He hardly knew Ricky at the time. He was in another class and didn't live in his neighborhood. One day while in the schoolyard during lunch, Ricky came up and said some boys told him that Dave was the one who had taken the air out of his bicycle tires. Dave immediately protested that he hadn't done such a thing, but Ricky wouldn't listen and instead threw him on the ground and started slugging him hard. He was mad. He was also 20 pounds heavier than Dave. He yelled, trying to tell Ricky that he didn't even know what his bike looked like but Ricky went on to push Dave's face into the ground as he lay on top of him. The ground had been covered with gravel that now cut sharply into his face. The bell rang and Ricky finally got off.
In the classroom, Dave sat numbly. He could hear the teacher talking in what seemed a faint distance but he wasn't listening. His face was burning from the gravel cuts, and his body was aching. Worst of all was the mixture of humiliation and anger that seemed to override all his senses at the moment. It was an experience that he had never forgotten. For several weeks, his mind kept returning obsessively to the incident, replaying every painful detail. He thought about revenge and started studying how to become a better fighter, but the chance never came for a rematch. Years later in high school, Ricky was still a tough guy, running around with a hard crowd, but Dave had been able to overcome most of the bitterness. He eventually realized that it was this incident that probably started the fantasy of becoming a great success. He wondered how Ricky was doing now. Ricky had never distinguished himself in school in any way. He hadn't heard anything about him after graduation. Dave thought about he would go over to talk to Ricky. He wondered whether to bring up the time Ricky had beat him up in fifth grade.
Dave went to get another beer as he thought about the approach he would take. After talking to Jeff Solaroff briefly, he walked over to Ricky.
"Hi, Ricky. How you been? Remember me?" Ricky looked at him quizzically but was friendly. Dave noticed that his nametag said, "Richard Inman."
"Uh . . ."
"Dave Phillips."
"Oh, O.K."
"We met in fifth grade. We weren't in the same class, but I remember knowing you."
"Fifth grade? I don't know I remember anything that far back," he said with a chuckle.
"We used to play in the playground sometimes. Then in high school you used to hang around with Jimmy Perez who lived a couple of blocks from me."
"Oh, yea, good ole Jimmy. I see him every once in a while. He still hasn't changed much."
"Remember Jimmy used to give me a ride to school sometimes?"
Ricky wrinkled his brow, "I'm really sorry, but I just can't place you, and, hey, you're not the only one. There's already been a couple of other people who said they knew me but I couldn't remember them. Lucky I didn't have to admit it to them." He laughed. Dave was impressed with how gentle and sincere he seemed. "So what kind of work are you in?" he asked Dave.
"I'm a doctor."
"Sounds great. I've been doing pretty good as a truck driver. The only bad thing is I have to be on the road away from home so much, but my wife is very understanding. Do you know Terry?" he asked as he turned to her sitting down next to him. She smiled as she and Dave exchanged greetings. They had never met, but Dave was surprised that it was Terry Owens, one of the most beautiful girls in the class behind them. He had admired her in high school. He now remembered hearing that they had gotten married soon after high school. "The money's unbelievably good," he continued. "I made $60,000 last year, and I like getting out there on the road. Wouldn't trade anything in the world for it. No offense, but I wouldn't want to be a doctor. Too much hassle, and you have to be cooped up inside all the time. I've got to be out. Yeah, we've done real well." They talked a little longer then someone Richard knew came up to greet him, and Dave quietly walked away.
He felt frustrated and confused. He hadn't gotten the feeling that Richard was trying to put him down in any way. He seemed completely sincere and straightforward. He liked Richard now. It had been like getting acquainted with a complete stranger.
As Dave gathered a few finger sandwiches and salad items on his plate, a friendly woman started talking to him. She seemed very jovial. He didn't remember her at all. After they filled their plates, they stepped aside and kept talking.
"My name's Cindy, Cindy Waltermire." Dave strained to remember her but couldn't. He told her his name, and before he could say much else, she said, "If you can't remember me, don't worry. Hardly anybody else does and I don't remember you. As a matter of fact, I'm sure I never knew you. You see I moved to the Coronado area in the middle of senior year and hardly got to know anybody. I knew there wouldn't be much use in coming, but I decided to anyway. I figured there was really nothing to lose."
"Hey, I think it was a great idea. Even if you don't know that many people, you still have a lot in common with us." Dave actually felt relieved that they didn't know each other.
"I've met some great people and had a lot of fun. How long did you live in the area?"
"Oh, I've known some of the people here since third grade."
"Oh, my. Listen, don't let me hold you up. You must have a lot of people you have to talk to. You better go on and stop wasting your time with me."
"Hey, don't worry. You're fun to talk to. Besides I'm bored trying to talk to my old friends." Dave and Cindy talked for a very long time and got to know each other.
Return Links