Spencerville

The world was about to explode, and there were inklings of it, but no one could have predicted what finally happened. The summer of '63, Keith reflected, had been called the last summer of American innocence, and certainly it had been his last summer of innocence, when he lost his virginity in Annie Prentis's bedroom.

He had never seen a naked woman before Annie, not even in pictures or in the movies. Playboy existed in 1963, but not in Spencer County, and risque movies were censored before they got to Spencerville. Thus, he had no idea what a naked woman, let alone a vagina, looked like. He smiled to himself and recalled their first fumbled attempt to consummate the act. She had been as inexperienced as he, but her instincts were better. He had gotten the condom, which he'd carried in his wallet for no good reason, from an older boy who had gotten a box of them in Toledo, and it had cost Keith two dollars for one, a fortune in those days. He thought, If we had known what lay ahead, we would have tried to keep that summer going forever.

Keith stood and began walking. A boom box blasted somewhere, rap music, a few teenage boys sat in a circle on the grass playing handheld electronic games, and a few old men sat on the benches. A young couple lay side by side on the lawn, grappling in fully clothed frustration.

Keith thought back to that summer, then to the autumn of that year. He and Annie had become perfectly matched lovers, reveling in their experimentations, their discoveries, their adolescent enthusiasm and stamina. There were no books on the subject, no X-rated videotapes, no guide to the mysteries of sex, but in some incredible instinctual way, they'd discovered oral sex, the sixty-nine position, the erogenous zones, erotic undressing, a dozen different positions, dirty talk, and playacting. He had no idea where all that came from, and they would sometimes jokingly accuse the other of having long sexual histories, or watching illegal blue movies made in Europe in those days, or of getting information from their friends. In reality, they were both virgins, both clueless, but they were inquisitive and surprisingly uninhibited.

They had made love every chance they had, every place they could, and kept it secret, as lovers had to do in those days.

Away at college, they could be more open, but the dorms were segregated by sex and tightly policed. The motels refused that sort of trade, so, for two years, they made love in an apartment off campus that belonged to married friends. Eventually, Annie rented a single room above a hardware store, though they still lived in their dorms.

Keith wondered again why they hadn't married then. Perhaps, he thought, they hadn't wanted to destroy the romance, the mystique, the taste of the forbidden fruit. And there seemed to be no rush, no need, no insecurities, while they were in the cloistered world of college.

But then came graduation and the draft notice. Half the men he'd known then regarded the draft notice not as a call to arms, but as a call to the altar. It didn't get you out of the Army, but it made life easier if you were a married soldier. You got to live off post after training, got extra pay, and being married reduced your chances of being sent into the meat grinder.

Yet they never really discussed marriage. Ultimately, he thought, we had different dreams. She liked campus life. I was itching for adventure.

They had been soulmates, friends, and lovers. They'd shared thoughts, feelings, and emotions. They'd shared their money, their cars, and their lives for over six years. But for all their openness with each other, neither could broach the subject of the future, neither wanted to hurt the other, so in the end, he'd leaned over her bed, kissed her, and left.

Keith was nearly at the other side of the park, and he could see the Posthouse across the street.

He heard loud voices to his left and turned. About thirty feet up an intersecting path stood two uniformed policemen. They were shouting at a man lying on a park bench, and one of them was tapping the man on the soles of his shoes with his nightstick. "Get up! Stand! Stand!"

The man stood unsteadily, and, in the illumination of a postlight, Keith saw that it was Billy Marlon.

One of the cops said, "I told you not to sleep here."

The other cop shouted, "You're a goddamned drunk! I'm sick of seeing you here! You're a bum!"

Keith wanted to tell the young men that Billy Marlon was an ex-combat vet, a onetime football player for Spencerville, a father, a man. But he stood there and waited to see if the incident was finished.

But it wasn't. Both cops had Billy backed up against a tree now, and they were face-to-face with him, hurling verbal abuse at the man. "We told you to stay out of town! Nobody wants to see you here! You don't listen real good! Do you?" and so on.

Billy stood with his back to the tree, then suddenly shouted, "Leave me alone! I'm not bothering nobody! Leave me alone!"