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Show 39 too tall, with an arch in it. Black hair, white skin which was especially pale in winter, and as a freshman she wore no make up, was from the little country school of Maple Grove, and so had gone unnoticed by the boys. But I was as short as she was and I looked directly into those grey eyes and that dazzling smile. That night she wore lipstick too: black hair, white skin, red mouth-she was vivid. My mother had taught me to dance, though not with the same movements she had used to teach Dad, and I marched through a frozen box-step, like a toy soldier. Kate danced for both of us, light and responsive, warm and giving, and with her body next to mine, warm, by the end of the evening I had thawed considerably. The last dance was always "Goodnight, Sweetheart," the sax low and mournful, sexy, and with her cheek next to mine I was in a daze of pleasure. Afterwards, what you did, you went down to the Escalante Cafe for hamburgers and coke^? then drove outside of town to park. I drove the opposite way from the farm, out around the Hogback, the night calm and deserted. I stopped the engine and we sat looking through the windshield at the winter-bare fields covered with snow. Neither of us said anything. Our breathing was the only sound, and then she asked me if I remembered the first grade at Maple Grove. "Yeah." I said no more; I didn't know what to say. Emboldened by her reference, though, I put my arm about her shoulder. We scrooched closer to each other, me still behind the steering wheel and she having troubles with her knees and the shift lever. She moved it up into second and we settled together with my cheek on her hair. A little different from first grade. One of my strongest memories of high school is parked and looking out over winter fields, the girl and I bundled up in winter coats, our breaths |