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Show Why We Cry Butch and Fenn Stories 152 make a friendly gesture toward the washer, saying, "Unplugged, right?" But she's taking another bag of chips outside, and so I am spared a second tour, and simply help myself to another cold bottle of creme soda. When they play "At the Hop" about a dozen kids do the hop, a dance I can't master, and it looks pretty neat the way they raise one heel over the other toe and then slip into the opposite position by just lifting their shoulders. Something like that. Now, Keith Gurber is handling all the records. He runs the projector at school sometimes and he's good at those technical things, only occasionally snagging his dangling belt in the mechanism. "I haven't seen you dance yet." Linda has come up behind me on the lawn. "Are you ready?" "Sure, I'm ready." The party has continued easily through the evening. I've mainly been experimenting with new ways to hold my soda so as not to warm it up so much with my hand. I've watched Fenn move to three stations, each beside a recently filled potato chip bowl, and stuff his face. Tomorrow there's going to be a triangular trail in the lawn from his feeding pattern. For a few minutes Grant and Max and some guys started having chicken fights, riding piggyback all over the yard, but Mrs. Aikens stopped that. She rushed out and asked Max, who was riding on Grant's shoulders, if he was all right. It took the spirit out of it for them, I guess, because they all settled down and headed for the washing machine. |