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Show Why We Cry Butch and Fenn Stories 112 all of this." He must have seen a bit of sense in square dancing, because he went at that with the speed and violence of any sporting contest. ' For the two-step, we'd line up on one side of the auditorium and file by the girls' line to meet our partners. The bigger kids, Howell and Kidder, would count and shift in line to choose their partners. Butch, Fenn, and I stood at the rear. When Mr. Sermons would start the record player, Butch would step out, faster than anyone else leading his partner in what he thought might be the point of dancing: vigorous exercise. And now we sit against the school, and it is my old school. The little kids we watch will go here next year. They seem too young. And then I think about Junior High School again, and I seem too young. It's clear down by the river. We've seen the graffitti under the bridge, ("Nick screwed Patty right here!" and "Shove it!") and they are like headlines from an unfriendly country. I'm scared. This cloudy summer afternoon in the old schoolyard seems a lot like the end, the very end of something. Finally, the girl who has been trying to learn the Dead Man's Fall from Karen tries it. We watch her loop out, letting the bar go. She swings too far, straightens her legs too soon, and lands flat on her back. She hits with a sound like a door being slammed in another part of the house. "Come on!" Butch says, and he's away to the rescue. |