County Road 42

Wee Hours Before Christmas

2010-01-25T20:35:00.000-08:00

There is nothing like the fire that lights a child's eyes when they are first to reach the room where the Christmas tree sits. Boxes, in bunches, gather round the tree like familiar friends, waiting for their labels to be read, their contents to be shaken, and their wrappers to be torn.

No, there is nothing like it in the world. I would suppose that the only thing that comes close is a young bride on a wedding morning.

And so it was...

Carol Hahn had combined two of her greatest things in life: Wedding and Christmas. This was probably the best combination of headaches for her father, Frank Hahn. Frank Hahn was the traditional bah-humbug type of store owner, who ran 'Hahn's One Stop', a grocery market where a person could pick up laundry detergent, a fan belt for a clothes dryer, and Vanilla Ice Cream. Not that anyone would want that combination, but if they did, it was there for the taking.

His daughter Carol had spent the week in Boston and would be arriving at the Pittsburgh Airport at 9:00 p.m.

Bat Shit Crazy

2008-12-10T21:26:00.000-08:00

It all began as a simple misunderstanding.

Lowell Purvis, who owned the local barber shop, also owned a large barn. Inside the barn, he stored his one and only farm animal: a chestnut brown horse named 'Sarrge'.

He also stored hundreds of 'non-farm' things like barbershop supplies, old license plates, rusted bicycles, and cpies of LIFE Magazine dating back to the First World War.

Although it was a barn, Lowell kept the interior of the place spic-and-span. It was clean enough to eat off the floor, even in Sarrge's stall (although he wouldn't ever invite anyone to dine inside his barn anyway).

While Lowell was at the Barbershop, his wife

Garden

2006-12-24T02:48:00.000-08:00

Two boys walk,
Searching for something...

...In your garden. Charcooal tracings
and random wanders among the weeds
and the snakes and the tall grass.
The orchard sits

across the barbwire fence, two boys
Learn a little while they still can.

A friendship grows after nurturing and sometimes then, only so much. Sandy Cohen drove his new sports car over to the baseball park to pick up Andy Beene from baseball practice. At the park, the Pilgrim’s Point Explorers baseball team had just finished batting practice. They were packing their gear into Mr. Driessen’s Pick-Up truck and talking. As Andy Beene, Patrick Kitchener, and Casey Hahn stood around Mr. Driessen, he discussed the upcoming district finals.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Cohen."
"Good afternoon, Coach Driessen. You ready for this weekend?"
"As ready as were going to be. You coming to the game?"
"I don’t think I can make it. I have some college prep courses I have to go to on Saturday morning."
"Don’t your classes end around noon. The game doesn’t start until 1:30. You won’t miss much," replied the coach.
Sandy had been a member of the baseball team since seventh grade, for the travelling team. As long as he knew, he had played in both the summer and winter leagues with these guys. He spent most of his time with this circle of friends. The only reason he didn’t play on the team this year was because he had been preparing for college and working part-time as a law clerk with his father’s law firm.
"I’ll see what I can do," answered Sandy.
"You can’t miss this. We’re playing against West Sharolle High."
"I’ll be there after the game, I promise."
Mr. Driessen locked up the back of his truck and drove off. Soon after he left, the rest of the team went their separate ways. Andy dusted off his jersey and got into Sandy’s car.
"You hungry?" asked Andy.
"I could eat," answered Sandy.
I’m in the mood to go to Hahn’s and pick up a double-decker and a chocolate shake."
"That sounds really good. I haven’t eaten there in awhile."
Sandy pulled up to the drive-thru, where Mr. Hahn stood in the window, ready to take their order. Hahn’s One-Stop was one part grocery store, one part restaurant, and one part general store. It’s biggest claim to fame was that you could get a malt, a muffler, and a dozen muffins without having to leave.
"Hey boys, did you guys see my son?"
"Yeah, he was at practice but I think he went over to P. K. ‘s house."
"That’s fine. What can I do for you guys?"
"We want two double-deckers, two chocolate shakes and an order of curly fries."
"Coming right up boys." Mr. Hahn closed the cashier window and went behind the counter. A few minutes later, he emerged with their food and handed it to them.
"Is there anything else?"
"No thanks. We’re fine, Mr. Hahn."
"Go Explorers!" Mr. Hahn shouted after the car began to pull away.
"Go Explorers!" Andy Beene shouted back. For Pilgrim’s Point, "Go Explorers" was the regular greeting during both the football and baseball season. The city lived and died with their high school sports teams."
Sandy Cohen’s candy apple red Toyota Celica sped down the highway and towards the town of Sharolle, which sat directly on the coast.
Just before they entered town, Sandy took an sharp right turn down Diley Road and went toward the Sharolle Cemetery. His car rolled up the gravel drive to the high end of a steady slope. As it stopped, there was a dead end and a pile of gravel limestone piled just there.
Sandy Cohen and Andy Beene got out of the car and walked around to the front side, sitting against the hood of the car.
Sandy set the bag down on the hood of his car and fished out his hamburger. He carefully unwrapped it, leaving the foil on the back half of the sandwich. Andy just ripped the wrapper off, crumpled it up and tossed it back in the bag. As Andy devoured his sandwich, bits of sandwich and steak sauce dripped out of the back end, spilling down his arm. After he finished his sandwich, he used a finger to squeegee the drippings off his forearms.
"I’m gonna take a walk. You wanna go?" asked Andy.
"Not yet. Let me finish my double-decker."
Andy grabbed his shake and went for a walk around the graveyard, waiting for Sandy to finish up.
"You’d never guess this is the same place, would you?" asked Andy
"No you wouldn’t," said Sandy.
Andy walked back along the gravel drive to the place where a separate drive broke off and circled back on itself, making a small loop. He investigated several of the gravestones. People had died a long time ago.
"The first time I came here was with Wendy Jackson," said Andy.
"You did?"
"She was the first one of us to discover this old cemetery. She brought me up here to do charcoal tracings for a school project."
"Charcoal tracings?" Is that what you tell her dad, too?"
"No, really."
"Did you do anything else?" Sandy asked.
"You mean ‘Did I get in her pants?’"
"Yeah."
"No. I’m a virgin. Like I said, we were up here for a school project. She was doing a report on Genealogy of the twin cities’ founders. I was sitting at home watching television. I was bored, so I said sure. We went from one cemetery to another all day long. We had a great time."
"Wait. Did you say that you’re a virgin?"
"Yeah."
But you’ve dated all the best looking girls in school. I mean, I just assumed."
"Well, I didn’t," said Andy.
Sandy had known Andy Beene for all his life. The Beene lived just down the street from the Cohens. They had gone on vacations with each other’s families and had shared a handful of classes throughout their lives. Sandy had even gone to Work Camp with Andy’s church group, participating in deep discussions about Jesus and his apostles during long weekends. It seemed crazy that Sandy didn’t know.
"Damn, I’m sorry if I got too personal," said Sandy.
"There’s no reason to apologize. You and I just never talked about it before."
"You didn’t find a girl you wanted to go to bed with?"
"I never found someone who wanted to be with me at the same time that I wanted to be with them."
"How about Wendy?"
"It’s different with Wendy."
"Why? Because her dad is a preacher?"
"It’s not that and it’s not because she’s religious, either. We talked about it. If there was going to be someone I wanted to lose my virginity to, it would be Wendy. With me going into the Army this summer and her going to college this fall, we just decided not to complicate things. It would be better if we just waited."
"How are you guys going to handle this summer?"
"We’re avoiding that topic. Every time I mention the summer, she tells me to quit being so negative."
"How do you think you are going to handle it, then?"
"I can’t worry about it too much. If she wants to go her own way, I’ll just have to accept it. If she wants to stay together, I’ll accept that, too."
"What about going overseas?"
"I’m not afraid of going active. I look forward to it actually. I’ve always wanted to serve my time in the military. Dad wanted me to join the Air Force, like him, but I spent the first half of my life as an Air Force brat. That was enough Air Force for me. I never wanted to fly in planes or fix them, like he did. I wanted to be involved in ground operations."
Andy stepped over an old barbwire fence lining the edge of the cemetery and zigzagged through the apple orchard at the top of the hill. Just beyond the apple orchard, sat a small round building with a large concrete dome. It was one of the observatories placed around Pilgrim’s Point by either N.A.S.A. or the college. Andy walked down the hill toward the building and sat on a bench.
"This is the place where Wendy first kissed me. She said I was too much of a gentleman and if she wanted to be kissed, she’d have to be the one doing the kissing."
Sandy laughed at the thought of it. Rumors about Andy had circulated around the high school campus. Now, it seemed they were all rumors and nothing else.
"It’s too bad you know," said Sandy.
"What’s too bad?"
"You found the cemetery and the observatory and you’re still a virgin. This place is like gold for getting a girls panties around her ankles."
"I’ll keep that in mind," laughed Andy.
They sat there a while longer, watching the sun begin to set.
"I was just thinking," said Sandy.
"Thinking about what?"
"Life."
"Ah...life. Heavy subject," said Andy.
"I was just thinking about how this was going to be our last summer together. I’m going to Brown and most of the other guys are going to Virginia or Virginia Tech."
"And I’m going into the Army..." said Andy.
"And you’re going into the Army. We’re going different directions."
"But that’s part of life," said Andy.
"We’ve been close all our lives. We’re closer than any other group of friends. Our whole class was close. It was special. I don’t want it to end."
"We don’t have a choice. We’ve been getting ready for this moment our whole lives. I’m excited by all this sudden change. If life didn’t change, it would be boring."
"I could use some boredom in my life," said Sandy.
"I could use more excitement," said Andy.
As a period at the end of the conversation, Andy pushed his back against the wall of the observatory, pried his body off the bench and walked back to Sandy’s car. As in all things involving Sandy and Andy, wherever Andy went, Sandy usually followed. They got into his car and returned to Sandy’s house, where Andy got out and walked the rest of way home.
"I’ll see you tomorrow," said Andy.
"I’ll see you tomorrow."

Canterbury Revisited

2006-12-21T08:59:00.000-08:00

Al Hillis finished off the last sip of Root Beer as he walked over to the thermometer hanging on the wall of his barber shop. He tapped the mercury bulb to see if it was broken. It read 108 degrees. He tapped on the bulb again, hoping it might change the temperature.
"The sun must have moved closer," he said as he stared at the temperature.
The air in the barbershop was hot and stale. Likewise, the rest of town had been silent for most of the day. Middle school students had been given a "heat" day to go home when the school’s air conditioners gave up. In some cities, 108 was no excuse for going home from school, but in Pilgrim’s Point that was not the case.
"l pushed his broom around the tiled floor, cleaning up scraps of hair he had possibly missed the day before. Throughout the day, he’d only had one customer and that was Jack Mathewson, who didn’t even get a haircut. Not that it was unusual. Jack almost never got a haircut. Jack would come in after fixing someone’s plumbing, electrical wiring, or whatever else needed fixed in a house. He was so quick and efficient, he usually found himself waiting for something to do. When he waited, he waited at Al’s Barber Shop or just down the street at The Old Watering Hole.
It was nearing one o-clock in the afternoon when his first true customer opened the door. It was Bille Blume.
"What can I do for you today?" asked Al.
Bill settled down in the middle barber chair and whirled about until he faced the large wall-length mirror. "Just the usual," answered Bill.
Bill had been a member of the Pilgrim’s Point police force for nearly 30 years. For most of that 30 years, he had his hair cut by Al. That was normal for Pilgrim’s Point. Everyone seemed to know Al and Al seemed to know everyone.
"Hot enough for ya?" Bill asked.
"Hotter than I care to think about. Can you remember there ever being a day so damned hot?"
"Nawp, can’t say as I do. It’s okay though. No one is out and about today. It’s too hot to move, let alone do some mugging or stealing. That makes my day a little easier. I s’pose they’re all laying in the middle of their living room floors, amidst a wagon circle of fans and ice buckets. They’re all hoping something will save them from this unbearable heat."
"That about sums it up, I guess," Al chuckled.
"I’ll be damned if I’m gonna save them, either."
Al turned on his razor and put two fingers against the top of Bill’s head. He gently pressed down with his fingers, moving Bill’s head slightly forward. Suddenly, he realized he had made a little "barber’s gun" moveing his victim’s heads this way and that, so he could do his job the best way he knew how. He chuckled again, then finished shaving the scruff of Bill’s neck.
Meanwhile, in another corner of Pilgrim’s Point, this particular dog day of summer was too hot, even for dogs. They were finding the darkest parts of the house and sprawling themselves out. If they could just keep themselves from the clawing hands of bratty children and bothersome flies.
At the Hillis home, a wire-haired Fox Terrier named Dodger was lazing under the bed, where a cold draft swept in through the window, down across the bare bedroom floor and puffed over his face. That spot under the bed was the one place where Al could find Dodger, whenever he was missing. He’d come into his bedroom and bend at the waist. Sure enough, Dodger would look up at his master. Sometimes, the terrier would spring to life, sometimes he’d just give Al a look that said, "Not right now, but maybe a little later."
Usually, this spot was the perfect mix of warm and cool, but today, Dodger’s tongue hung out as far as it could, trying to cool the poor dog. Dodger closed his eyes and gave a little gasp.
In a moment more, Dodger was in doggie Heaven...
Al’s wife, Elizabeth, was busy tending to laundry. She had finished four loads of laundry, and two gallons of Iced Tea. If it weren’t for all of the trips to the bathroom, she might have finished five loads.
Her daily ritual was always pretty much the same: she rose from bed around 8 am. She cleaned up and dressed up before waking Al so he could make it to the Barber Shop before 10. After Al left, she’d sit on the back porch with a pitcher of Iced Tea and the newspaper, solving the crossword, Crypt-o-Quote, Number Jumbler, and the Word Find.
If the game show or talk show hosts didn’t have anything interesting to say (which they usually didn’t), Elizabeth would drive down to the church and see if there was any volunteer work to keep her busy. By early afternoon, she would find herself back home, cleaning up the house or preparing dinner.
After her work was finished, she’d sit in the living room and read the social scene in the Sharolle Daily News to see who was doing what. Dodger would bring the top off a juice bottle and set it at her feet.
Unlike other dogs, he wouldn’t chase tennis balls, only the small metal caps off juice bottles. Libby wouldShe’d bend over and toss the cap across the room. Dodger would dart over to the cap, pick it up and then drop it at her feet.
By the time he’d worn her out, the juice cap would be perforated with tooth holes and filled with slobber. If anyone opened a fresh bottle of juice, Dodger would race into that room and wait patiently for the owner to cough it up.
It was too hot for that kind of activity today. In fact, it was too hot for a lot of things. Elizabeth pulled a fan out of the closet and propped it on top of a chair, facing it towards the living room sofa. Then, she collapsed on the sofa, directly in front of the fan.
After Al finished cutting Bill Blume’s hair, he cleaned up the shop and counted down the cash drawer. $59.75, fifty dollars plus the cost of one men’s haircut. Standing around in a hot, empty Barber Shop for four hours was all he could stand. He turned off the lights and locked the front door, closing up shop for the rest of the day.
Al decided he’d walk home, since it was only a few city blocks from the Barber Shop to his house. No matter what the temperature was, he figured he’d let Elizabeth rest while he did the walking. It was probably good for what ailed him. The heat increased his stride. He made it home in half his usual time.
"Elizabeth?" he called out.
"I’m in here," she called from the living room.
He went to the refrigerator and opened the door. Nothing looked like it would quench his thirst. As he stood there, the cool air from inside the refrigerator felt so good that he decided to open the freezer door, letting the cold air escape.
He held his face there in front of the ice box until a voice interrupted. "What are you doing home so early?"
Al poked his head out of the freezer.
"Ah, it’s too damned hot in that Barber Shop. I only had two visitors and one was Jack Mathewson."
"I have a pitcher of iced tea in the living room. Would you like some?" offered Elizabeth.
"I think I’ll just grab a Yoo Hoo out of the fridge."
Al reached into the freezer and pulled out a bottle of Yoo Hoo. He held it in one hand and carefully pried the top off. The lid popped as it opened. Al looked around for a second.
"Where’s Dodger?" he asked.
"I haven’t seen him all day. Try the bedroom."
Al disappeared into the back of the house and returned to the living room only a few moments later.
"Aww...Dammit," he said.
"What’s the matter now, Al?" she said.
She peered over the edge of the couch, only to see Al standing in the middle of the living room with a limp dog in his arms and tears streaming down both sides of his face.
"Oh God no," she gasped.
Without saying a word, Al walked outside with his dog. He laid Dodger in the tall grass and went to the shed to fetch a shovel. He returned and began digging a hole right next to the dog.
With each downward stroke, the spade ground into the fresh, dry earth. Al stepped on the heel of the shovel and pushed it until it was flush with the ground. The shovel cut large triangles of sod out of the back yard.
Eventually, he dug a hole approximately four feet deep. Probably big enough to bury a man.
He dug his shovel into the ground and reached out of the hole, grabbing the dog by his torso. He laid the dog in the bottom of the hole and stepped out. He carefully cut and churned the dirt pile until the bits were finely chopped. Handfuls of dirt were carefully spread over the dog, until all Al could see was warm, brown earth.
He grabbed the shovel and quickly finished his work, dumping the rest of the grass and dirt into the hole, filling it until it was a gentle mound. He rubbed his shovel over the dirt shaping it into a gently sloping mound.
Al returned to the shed and replaced the shovel in its proper place. Then, he returned to the kitchen and washed his hands before grabbed his Yoo Hoo and joined Elizabeth in the living room.
"Are you alright?" she asked.
Al nodded and took a drink of Yoo Hoo before turning on the television. That was a sign right there he was in another world – Al never watched television. In fact, he hated television.
Elizabeth laid on the sofa, spread out in front of the fan. She closed her eyes and sighed heavily. This day was so hot. So hot and so miserable, she thought.
A hand nudged her on the shoulder. Al motioned for her to sit upright. As she did, Al joined her on the couch. His head slumped down and rested on her shoulder. Elizabeth rubbed her right hand over the back of Al’s sweat-soaked shirt. His body jumped in tiny shuddering tears.
"Oh honey. I know. I know," she whispered.
They silently on the couch until the sun began its descent and the temperature dropped back to something a little more normal. Then, they ate a late dinner and made a quiet retreat to their bedroom.
Hopefully, tomorrow would be a better day.

A Small College Town

2003-01-15T00:16:00.000-08:00

As always, Alban Cohen seemingly woke up before anyone else in Pennsylvania. Outside, it was a still night and even the birds had yet to stir from their early winter slumber.
Alban went to the kitchen, sawed a blueberry bagel in half and popped it into the toaster. He turned on the television and sat down in front of it, flipping through several channels of infomercials before landing on the Bloomberg Report. The market was its same sad self, going up one day, down the next. Alban flipped to a local channel and watched it instead.
The morning show hosts were up as well. It was, after all, just beyond 4:30, so someone must be up and stirring about. Alban buttered his bagel, ate it. He looked out his front window, where a thin layer of frost still blanketed the ground. He opened the front door and stepped outside. It must have been below zero outside. His nostril hairs froze wetly as he inhaled a deep breath. He went inside and put on his heaviest jacket and tucked a scarf around his neck.
Alban gathered the last of his things and soon he was ready to go. His baby blue Karman Ghia sat in the garage, waiting to be stirred to life. He turned the igntion and quickly started the old reliable engine. He drove down Diley Road to County Road 35 and finally turned onto Park Street. Buildings sat quiet and dark in the field, with a few kids going to and from places unknown. Alban pulled into his parking space and got out of his car. Just up the sidewalk sat the Law building. He went to the door and unlocked it before securing it behind him. Just down the hall, the lights from the law library shone into the dark hall.
Alban peaked inside the door, only to find Elizabeth Persinger organizing books on the shelves.
"Hey Liz," he called out.
"Oh, hey Alban," she said.
"It's kind of early isn't it?"
"I should ask the same of you."
"But I am always here early. The library doesn't open for another 3 hours."
"Semester is almost over, so I am just doing some things so I can leave when the students finish their finals."
"Well, if you're hungry, I brought a few bagels. Just come on down and steal one or two."
"I just might take you up on that, if I have the time."
Alban and Liz traded smiles then parted company. In addition to Alban, Liz had her selection of gentlemen suitors from every department and every major. She, on the other hand, was firmly affixed to a certain Congressman who lived 70 miles away in Harrisburg.
She wheeled her stepstool around and unloaded stacks of books from each shelf, dusting the shelf before replacing the books, pulling them to the edge of the shelf for proper presentation.
In fact, since it was finals week, students were merely returning books today and there wasn't even a need for a student librarian to assist her today. Shortly after noon, she had finished stocking and facing the shelves. All she had to do now was check-in the remaining books and wait for 6 PM, when she could lock up the library until next semester when class was back in session.
Her cell phone vibrated on her desk and she ran to retrieve it. She looked at the faceplate, and saw a familiar name across the display. She flipped the phone open and answered. It was Jennifer, Alex Sullivan's administrative assistant.
"Good afternoon, Liz."
"Oh. Hi," she answered.
"Alex is still at a business dinner, but he said he'll be back a little later. He wanted me to call you and leave a number."
"How late did he say he'd be?" asked Liz, her voice a little drained.
"He said to call him after 8 pm."
"Okay," answered Liz.
"He said to make sure you called him, so don't let him down."
Liz sighed. "I'll call him. I promise."
"Good," Jennifer answered. She gave her the number and hung up. Liz tossed her cell phone into her purse and closed it up. She turned around and looked at the empty library. All the work was done three hours early. She wondered what to do now. She could go see Alban, but didn't think she'd make good company right now. She might just break down and cry right there in his classroom.
Instead, she locked the doors and went down to the student union, eating a fast food dinner, disappearing in a sea of students ready to go home for winter break.

Sheep Go To Heaven

2002-12-21T02:45:00.000-08:00

Pilgrim's Point, Pennsylvania is a small college town with small victorian houses. A quarter mile any direction from downtown Pilgrim's Point leads the travelers through rough rural landscape: some farms, some wooden groves, some high cliff banks where the highway was carved between. Most of the locals have jobs either at the college or the glass foundry, where beautiful lead crystal vases are churned out and stamped "PILGRIMS POINT GLASS" and shipped to far away places.
For Alban Cohen and his son Sandy, living in Pilgrim's Point had its ups and downs. Alban taught Law at Pilgrim's Point College and was an occasional criminal lawyer, usually representing his students or children of other esteemed faculty members.
To Jews, the name "Cohen" is a name of ringing distinction. It implies a heritage of royalty and service to the synogogue. To Pilgirm's Point, it just meant Jew.
Not to say there was scorn or malice on most people's parts, but most iddn't understand the Cohens, living in a small village full of Lutherans and Presbyterians. Why didn't he live in New York, where he grew up? New York had lots of Jews. Pilgrim's Point had two.
Sandy never really questioned his Jewishness. He considered himself an "undercover Christian," fitting in semi-awkwardly with his Christian friends, while his father spent Friday nights and Saturday mornings at home, reading Torah. Sandy never questioned it; it just was the way with his father. Sandy figured he would "find G-d in the word" some other time; right now, he was watching his friends have holidays that didn't require matzah or dredels or fasting. At his friend's houses, they ate grand dinners and opened tens of presents.
Sandy stood in the doorway outside his father's study and watched him. "Dad, why do you read Torah when there is no one to read it for?"
"There is always someone to read it for."
"Then why don't you make me read Torah?"
"Sandy, it's your choice. Your mother was Christian, so we raised you Christian."
"Why aren't you Christian?"
"My grandfather was a Jew. My father was a Jew. I am a Jew."
"But why? Isn't it hard to be a Jew?"
"For me, it would be harder not being a Jew. It's all I know. Being a Jew isn't just about Torah."
"What is it about, then?"
"It's about blessings and family and friends and memories. Law is a very little part of it. I am a Jew because I want to be, not because I have to be."
The doorbell rang, but Sandy stood there and watched his father for a moment.
"Aren't you going to get it?" asked his father.
Sandy already knew who was at the front door. It was his best friend P.K. and the rest of the gang. They were probably going out to the movies or the mall tonight (just like every other Friday night).
"This conversation can wait."
Alban turned back to his Torah and cracked it open. It looked as if he opened a random page and began reading where the book decided he should read.
Sandy watched his dad for awhile, expectng him to turn around, but his father was already in another world. Sandy headed out the front door and went bowling with P.K and their friends and stayed out until curfew.
Just before midnight, the waitress came around and took the last orders for the snack shop before it closed. "Just get us a Pepperoni Pizza with mushrooms, please."
As the pizza came out, Sandy took one of the big slices and bit into it. The grease from a juicy pepperoni filled his mouth. He raised a napkin to his mouth and spit the portion discreetly into his napkin.
"What are you doing?" asked P.K.
"I am feeling a little sick to my stomach," answered Sandy.
He sat there as his friends ate the pizza with Christian toppings. After they finished the pizza, it was time to pay the bill and go home. They drove around the quiet streets, dropping passengers off until there were four, three, and then just the pair: P.K. and Sandy. P.K. pulled his car into the driveway and let Sandy out.
"We're going out to play basketball," said P.K.
"Yeah? What time?" asked Sandy.
"I dunno. I'll give you a call."
"I think I'll pass," said Sandy.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I have some things I want to do around the house."
"That's cool. I'll see you in class on Monday."
"Yeah, I'll see you Monday."
P.K. pulled out of the drive and sped away. As Sandy went up towards the house, it was dark. He slid the key into the door and turned the knob, the gave out a single pop as it opened, announcing his arrival. Down the hall, a single light came from the den. His father was still awake.
Alban turned about in his chair to face his son, resting his Torah on his belly.
"How was your night?"
"Pretty good. We went bowling."
"How did you do?"
"Aw, dad, we don't keep track. People just get up and bowl when they want to bowl. They bowl between their legs, they bowl with their weak hand. We're just hanging out, having fun."
Alban chuckled at his son,
"What did you do?"
Alban combed a hand over his head, then pulled his glasses off and set them on the desk behind him. He rubbed his nose where the glasses left resting marks.
"I fell asleep right in this chair about ten minutes after you left, and just woke up as the car pulled up."
"Well then, we got our work cut out for us," answered Sandy.
Sandy smiled, then went around the desk and grabbed a Torah from the shelf. He returned to the other side of the desk, fetched the only other chair in the room and brought it around beside his father. He sat down and began reading Torah. Alban watched him for a moment, then pulled his Torah off his belly and began reading, too.