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Show Why We Cry „ . 1 Butch and Fenn Stories 167 and legs; I can do anything. instead of the world being out there, it is here now, under my feet as I run back, and I am in the center. I stop on the walkbridge and breathe deeply from the river of air coming down the greenish dark tunnel Of willows over the water. My skin is hot in the damp air and my eyes open to everything that catches light. My eyes feel electric. I raise my arms: I can do anything. I'm upset, I think: this is being upset. "Here I am," I say aloud. Then, I'm hopping through the brush alongside of the river; the tangled jungle reaches for me in the dark, but soon I find a clearing and search for the tree. Shadows outnumber things. It is as still as sleep in there. I have to climb over a clump of wild stickers to reach the bra tree, the bark is rotten, but by using the vines, I pull myself up to the dead part of the tree. The river reflects itself sheetwise beneath me, and I can see quiet silver sections of it running through the trees all the way around the school. The bra hangs twenty feet above me on a finger-thin limb. The roof of the junior high looks like the map of a strange new world, each section claiming a new country. I think of Fenn and how he's changed and of Butch, and I wonder if he is dropping out of school; I think of Linda Aikens and the school dances coming up. I wonder what Butch would think if he knew I fought Cling, if he could see me now. I know what he'd think. He'd say: that's it; those are the thngs you do; you've finally got it. |