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Show 27-8 Everyone was hushed but as he ended the crowd seemed to give one long sigh. Andrew stared straight ahead and did not move, standing now beside the motorcycle, as rigid as the soldiers at one side of the platform who stood at attention. As the minister ended the list, the men in uniform slowly saluted. Then it was over. In the rush, I found my grandparents and told them I was going to go home with a friend. When I finally pushed through the crowd to Andrew, he was sitting again on the motorcycle, with another cigarette in his hand. I stood on the grass, suddenly shy, holding my hat in front of me, pulling at the ribbons. "Want a ride? Your dad said I could have the motorcycle all day." "Really? Did he send you? Does he know?" "Sure thing. He brought it on purpose. All arranged. Hop on." So once again I pulled up my skirt over my long socks, perched my shoes on the footrest and clung to the man in front of me. Only it was not my father's warm bulk, but Andrew's slim body, the rough texture of his uniform which oddly smelled just like my father's, alcohol and tobacco mixed. Andrew backed carefully out, then stopped to wind the white scarf around his mouth and throat. I helped him tuck it under so it would not whip my face. I held my hat in front of me and buttoned my jacket up in front against the chilly wind, I noticed several of my school friends gaping at me from the sidewalk. One of them yelled at me, "Who's your boyfriend?" Andrew looked over his shoulder and grinned at me before he made the engine roar and we rode off down the street. Even if I see France and Egypt and the Yangtze, and all the other places on my maps, I will never forget that ride with Andrew across the lean November day. We stopped frequently so that Andrew could rest but we didn't speak much, other than to discuss what we saw around us. I thought of telling him how I felt, but |