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Show Why We Cry Butch and Fenn Stories 109 "The coaches pick thirteen and two are elected." "How do you know?" "I know." "Elected?" "Yeah, by the players on all the teams." "When?" "After the last game. In the dugouts. But you can forget that; no one even knows Fenn's name." Butch turns to me and says, "Yet." And then he turns back to the gymnastics show and says, "Elected. Okay." He's nodding. "Okay, okay, okay." I can tell that each okay is merely his own agreement to each part of his own brand new plan. I leave the bike rack and go sit against the old school building. This is the Edison School which I have attended for seven years, counting kindergarten, and I remember every year. The school is named after Thomas Alva Edison, and I remember the day that Miss Vincent took our third grade class to the library to listen to a reading of The Four Little Peppers Live in a Boxcar. It was the same day I crapped my pants extremely. But before that started, Miss Talbot had the librarian, Mrs. Henderson, open the library safe and show us all the original letter from Mr. Edison saying how pleased he was that they had chosen to name the school after him. I thought it was a great letter and resolved, sitting in that bentwood library chair, to do something someday to get a school named after me. |