Tryst 

 By Mike Hill

     I pulled off the freeway and into the old neighborhood.  Thirty years had
passed since we made the pledge one cool winter's day in high school.  Not for
the first time I wondered if anyone would come.  I drove along the empty
street I had walked weekdays as a kid.  The neighborhood had changed.  Homes
had grown shabby, and a number yards I remembered as lush were now bare of
grass.  Graffiti covered the walls; trash littered the gutters or collected in
places along the sidewalk.  Throbbing in the air was the sound of loud Latin
music.  As nothing else could have, this brought it home to me that it was no
longer the enclave of middle-class America it had once been.

     In a few blocks, my old high school came into view.  It looked much as it
had when I attended class there.  My eye noted changes of a minor nature here
and there, as was expected.  The tree that sheltered the front gate was gone
and rose bushes grew in its place.  It was the only landmark that remained
nearly the same.  "You can't go home again," I reminded myself while noting
that if you did, it wouldn't be the same.

     The intersection ahead had once been flanked by gas stations and a Burger
King where we used to hop the fence to get lunch.  One of the gas stations
remained but was now an Econo-Gas.  Next to it the shell of the old Burger
King had become the office of a mini used-car lot.  Across the street had been
another gas station, our hangout and where we were to meet today.  Neither the
bright paint nor the flower beds where the gas pumps had stood could hide what
it had been.  Its current incarnation took the form of a Mexican fast-food
restaurant decorated with images of food and a dancing bull.

     I pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant and parked where rental
trailers had once sat, next to the now-repaired section of the tumbled wall of
an apartment building.  A couple of times in my school days we had hidden in
the trailers and smoked grass at lunch.  I shook my head.  At least we had
never shot up the school.

     Homeward Bound was playing on the CD player in my car, part of a classic
rock collection I had picked up to set the mood of those days.  The song
finished and I opened the door.  Decades had passed since I last walked this
ground.  The car door closed behind me and reflex pressed the button in my
hand, sounding the alarm-set tone.  Just being here brought back many things
long forgotten.  Eyes open, I pierced the shroud of time, and the past ranged
before me and vanished.  With a sigh I walked into the restaurant.

     On the door, a sign in English and Spanish announced that they would be
closing at eight.  The menu was in Spanish, but coffee never needs
translation.  The place looked clean enough, and the sign in the window
displayed an "A" rating.  The festive dining area with its plastic tables,
chairs and murals on the walls had once been the service bay.  The window
tables were full, and the others didn't afford a good view of the parking lot. 
I mixed cream and sugar into my coffee and considered the options.

     I was early, partly because I wanted to take the fifty-cent tour of the
neighborhood and partly because the traffic had been shockingly light coming
in.  There was a little over an hour to kill before I would expect anyone to
arrive, and spending it in a plastic chair in this Latino version of a greasy
spoon wasn't appealing.  I walked back to the window and ordered a couple of
tacos, then went out the door.

     I sat the coffee on the cinder-block wall by the car and opened the foil
packet of tacos.  Beef, onion and something green folded into a warm corn
tortilla -- simple and surprisingly good.  Around me was what had been the
heart of my high school universe, the hub of a wheel whose spokes we had
followed to adventure.  And when our time in this place had passed, we had
gone our appointed ways, diverging and losing touch.  School, work, romance,
friends had pulled us apart, leaving brief memories.  I summoned one up now
for comfort.

     On a sunny day in years past we sat on the lawn by the library, under the
shade of trees, and talked of many things.  On one particular day the
conversation turned to the topic of the new millennium.  Should the world not
end in a great fireball, and if we lived through the wars and other
tribulations of our times, it seemed likely we would see that new age of the
world.  It seemed so far away then, twice the days we had walked this earth,
and that had seemed long indeed.  We knew this fellowship must end some day,
and we would scatter in the winds.  It was a sad thought and we sat in silence
on the lawn for a little while.

     Irene was the first to speak.  "We can all meet on New Year's Eve 1999
and usher in the new year."

     On the spur of the moment we embraced it.  The gas station was the
logical place to meet, although we never dreamed it would become a taco
emporium.  The appointed hour was sunset, around six in the evening -- plenty
of time to have dinner and find a place to celebrate.  Considering the span of
years, there was little more we could plan on.  An oath was sworn and that was
that.  Now and again it came up in casual conversation.
                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     The doubts that I had been pushing aside came back to nag me.  So much
time had passed.  Would they even remember?  Would any of them come?  Would we
know each other if they did?  Perhaps this was a fool's errand and I the fool.

     I would not despair of their coming yet.  I pushed those thoughts aside,
finished my tacos, crumpled the foil paper, and placed it in a trash can.  As
I sipped my coffee and looked around, I noted that no sign of our time here
remained, nor was there any reason it should.  I had an hour to kill and my
legs needed  stretching from the long drive.  I started down the street and
turned into the alley where we sheltered from prying eyes.

     The alley jogged left, and I looked to the right where the parking bays
of the apartment building had been.  They were gated now, where once they had
been open.  We had fooled around there and I had lost fight few fights.  A
short walk away should be a little league park.  I followed the alley to its
end.  Dogs barked their protest, and a cat ran as I approached its hiding
place.

     Steel fences wrapped around the ball park, and a Coke machine stood
before the dugout.  Otherwise it hadn't much changed.  Beyond the park, where
a vacant lot had been and an access to the storm drains where we had other
adventures, was a complex of buildings selling rented storage space.  It was
ringed with fences and barbed wire.  I wondered if the manhole was still
there.  A clever thief might make good use of it, but that wasn't any of my
concern.

     A game was in progress, or I might have gone into the dugout and mused on
better, happier days.  It was one of the off-the-beaten-path spots where we
used to keep out of sight when playing hooky or getting high.  My eyes
wandered across the field to the row of houses, and I counted down eight
backyards.  It was another of our haunts, the home of friends.  Adventures
we'd had there, but mostly it had been a shelter that kept us off the streets
and out some of the trouble we might have gotten into.  There was no point in
going there; they had moved years ago when I was still in touch with a few of
the group.

     The sun was setting and the air turning chill when I walked away, back to
the old hangout.  I walked down the sidewalk this time, noticing that many of
the homes had steel security doors and bars on the windows.  There were far
more fences and gates than I remembered, a sign of the passage of time.

     Along the way were things that I remembered: a weathered stone birdbath
still centered on a lush green lawn, round stepping stones that formed a walk
on a once verdant expanse of grass, cast-iron carriage lamps on red brick
pillars, the gate posts in a hedge.  Such were the flickerings of memory past
that stirred in this short sojourn.

     Returning to the parking lot, I surveyed the cars.  Nothing new had been
added and a couple had left.  I glanced at my watch; half an hour to go. 
Should I linger in the parking lot, or wait inside the restaurant?  The chill
air made up my mind, and I walked through the door.  The crowd had thinned and
I searched it for familiar faces.  Finding none, I ordered another coffee and
pointed to a pastry.  A table by the window was open and I took it.

     Time ticked away, and nothing much happened.  I watched the traffic pass
on the street and sipped coffee.  A car pulled into the lot, found a spot and
parked.  I watched as the occupants emerged and made their way into the
restaurant to pick up an order.  It was nobody I knew, so I turned my
attention back to my coffee and the passing cars.

     After a while the lights of another car swept over the lot.  It was an
old 1967 Chevy Impala, one of the breed that had been prized as a low-rider
car in the days of my youth.  It was a classic now, as were many things from
my past, and it looked to have been restored.  The driver's door opened, and a
tall man in a heavy leather jacket emerged.  He was too tall to be any of our
group.  I turned my attention back to the car.  Brenda of the dark hair and
eyes had driven one like it.  She had been a tease as well as a good friend. 
Would she come?

     I was drifting in that memory when a voice boomed, "Martin, is that you?"

     My head jerked around.  The leather-jacketed driver was standing framed
in the archway between the serving windows and the dining area.  A lion's mane
of dark hair touched by threads of silver complemented the ruggedly handsome
face.  I knew him at once, despite the changes wrought by age.  We had met
somewhere in grade school and become friends over the years.  His had been a
world of cars,  motors and paint jobs even then.  And mine that of the
wanderer trying to find himself.  As unlikely a basis for a friendship as any,
still one had formed.  Our worlds had often converged in our school days, and
we spoke of many things before going our own ways.

     "Danny!  My God, it's been ages.  How have you been?" I greeted him.

     "Good.  I've been real good.  And you?"

     "That's good to hear.  I see you're still into cars," I said with a
smile.
                           ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     "You like it?  I just finished restoring it for my wife.  It was a real
rust bucket when I found it in some guy's backyard.  But tell me, how you have
been?  What you are doing these days, and why of all places should I find you
here on this New Year's Eve?"

     "Oh, I'm always about the same.  A little up, a little down, still much
as I have always been.  Believe it or not, I spend my days making custom
shower stalls for A-line Construction out in Ventura.  The pay's OK and the
work's been steady.  What are you doing these days?"

     "I have an auto shop out in Lancaster.  Not much custom work but plenty
of off-roaders.  And you have yet to tell me why I find you here.  Unless
you've changed, that means you feel embarrassed admitting to something."

     I smiled and laughed.  "Am I still that transparent?  Yes, I guess I do
feel a little foolish at that.  Perhaps you remember the group I hung out with
in high school?  Well, we agreeed to meet here today, around this hour in
fact.  I hope the same thing hasn't brought you?"

     He smiled in response.  "Food brings me here.  There's a big celebration
at my mother's house, and we placed an order.  Mom's getting on in years and
my sisters are married and live far away, so we ordered a lot of things out. 
You're more than welcome to come, if your appointment from school days doesn't
work out.  In fact, I wish you would even if they do show up.  It would be
good to sit and talk over old times with you.  Maybe you can even tell me why
you never made it to the reunions.  Let me give you directions," he said and
started to scribble on the back of a business card.

     I took a card from my wallet and handed it to him.  "If they don't come,
I will be happy to pass the evening as your guest.  But if even a few do, it
may be a large group, and I wouldn't want to be any trouble.  Give me a call. 
We can set up a weekend and go fishing on my boat.  Toss back a few beers,
reminisce about old times, and maybe even hook a couple of fish."

     "You know, I'd like that, Marty.  If the world doesn't end from the Y2K
thing, I'll give you a call this week and set it up before I forget.  Well
guy, I'd better get moving.  Maybe I'll see you at the party tonight, and if
not, then we will talk during the week."

     "I'll give you a hand getting the food to the car."

     "I'd appreciate that," he said as we went to pick up his order.

     We said our good-byes and he got into the car.  The motor started and a
song from the past started playing.  The window rolled down, and he smiled
again.  "This is my link to the past; we all have them.  If yours doesn't work
out tonight, don't let it stop you from coming to the party.  There's food and
drink for an army and lots of unmarried girls I can introduce you to," he
informed me with a wink, then drove away.  I stood there watching as his tail
lights vanished in the distance.  Damned if he didn't still know me too well.

     I walked back to my car and got my jacket and gloves from the back seat,
as the weather was fast turning cold.  In the process I noticed that the clock
on the radio showed it was ten past six, and nobody was here.  Another hour,
then I would admit defeat. I reached into the glove box, pulled out a
paperback to pass the time, and headed back to the restaurant.

     I got a fresh cup of coffee and went back to my window seat.  Now and
then I looked up from book to sip my coffee and view the world around me.  A
few strangers came and went.  Six-thirty passed without anything of note
happening.  Seven came and the manager walked over to stand beside my table.

     "Is everything all right, sir?" he asked as the bell over the door
tinkled.

     "Yes, fine, I was just..." I started and never finished.  The woman who
had entered was looking at me and I knew her.

     "Keeping an appointment made long ago," she finished for me.  "I see I'm
not the only one to remember," she added.

     My memory raced for a name to go with the face, then made the connection. 
Betty bubble-gummer, flaxen-haired and always blowing bubbles.  "Betty!  I
don't believe it," I stammered as the manager retreated a few steps to give us
room.

     "Martin Mills, have you forgotten how to treat a lady?" she teased as she
slipped into a chair.

     "No, I...  It's just that..." I offered somehow, not finding the right
words, while getting up and returning to my seat.

     "It's OK, Martin.  I was just teasing you.  Are we the only ones to
arrive?"
                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     "We will be closing in about an hour.  If you would like something to eat
I would be happy to get it for you," the manager cut in.

     I nodded to him.  "We will be leaving before then.  Could you get the
lady a coffee?  Please."

     "Well, you have some manners after all," she said with a grin.

     The coffee came and we talked. I was amazed to learn that she lived less
than an hour away from me in Santa Barbara and had two grown daughters.  She
was also recently divorced and had a lot to say on the subject.  Her "ex" had
a taste for younger women and had run off with one.  Of the others she had
little news.  A few of our group she had met at the last reunion about nine
years ago, and the topic of this meeting had simply not come up.  Half past
seven rolled around quickly, and the manager stopped by and refilled our
coffee cups, then politely remarked that they were starting to close down. 

     "Well Martin, I do believe it's just us.  Do we find somewhere to eat and
celebrate, or go our ways?  You said you were invited to your friend's party
tonight."

     "We made an agreement, and I have been looking forward to it.  I'm sure
we can find a nice a place for dinner and to ring in the new year."

     "This is hardly what we agreeed to, Marty.  We shouldn't feel bound to
it.  I must admit I was hoping to see Ken here, and unless I am mistaken, you
came in hope of seeing Irene.  Don't misunderstand me.  It's good seeing you
again, but you shouldn't feel that you're stuck with me."

     "You're stuck with me if you're willing.  What else would you do tonight? 
I don't see any reason that we need to confine ourselves to the local area.  I
passed a number of places on the way in, and our road home leads back that
way.  In fact, you passed right by where I live, and I know a number of nice
places out there.  Or there's an event going on at the harbor and plenty of
places to eat."

     "The festival of lights in Ventura Harbor.  I saw it on the news.  We
could go to the Seafarers Restaurant; the balcony overlooks the harbor."

     "It sounds better than anything we're likely to spot from the freeway. 
And I think we have just about worn out our welcome here," I said as workers
set the chairs on the tables.

     I dropped a fiver on the table as a tip and helped her into her jacket. 
We both turned and paused to look at our old high school as we walked out the
door.  "It seems so long ago," she remarked.

     "Yes, it has been a long time."

     "Were we ever that young?"

     "I remember being so.  At heart I still am."

     She laughed.  "Let's go get something to eat."

     "Yes, let's do that," I said and escorted her to her car.

     "I'll follow you out.  Try not to drive too fast or crazy."

     "If we get parted, take the Rose exit west.  I'll wait for you there," I
assured her.

     As I turned to go, a red sport utility vehicle pulled into the lot.  The
lights started flashing from high to low and the horn honked.  "Our plans have
just changed," I observed.

     Behind me Betty opened the car door.  "Here comes another one."

     Into the lot came a green Nissan coupe and it looked to be packed.

     "Fashionably late as ever, our friends," I remarked as the SUV came to a
stop.

     The driver's door swung open; Brenda jumped out and flung her arms around 
us.  "I told you they would come!" she cried.

     By the time she stopped bouncing and hugging us, everyone was out of the
cars and gathering around us.  Some I knew right away; others took a moment to
match up with faces from the past.  A few I didn't know at all, husbands and
wives I had never met.  There were handshakes and hugs aplenty as we got re-
acquainted with old friends.  We soon discovered that Sue's husband, Edgar,
had been the cause of the delay.  It seemed he was a believer in all manner of
conspiracies and firmly convinced the world was going to end come midnight. 
He had gone as far as locking himself in the basement, and it had taken hours
to talk him out.

     In the restaurant the lights dimmed, and the workers went to their cars. 
I noticed that Betty had managed to find Ken.  I didn't have to count heads to
know Irene hadn't come.  Betty was right about that; I hoped she would be
here.  Tom boasted of his new Internet business and how Brenda had tracked him
down through it.  Tina bragged of her kids and showed us pictures.  They were
just starting high school.  Edgar told us all about the new world order, and
we told him to shut up.  The cold started to dampen our enthusiasm, and our
conversation turned to where we were going to go.

                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     Disneyland, Knotts Berry Farm and the Queen Mary were quickly removed
from the list.  Betty remarked that we had been going to Seafarers Restaurant,
and we were tossing that around when a man walked into the parking lot.

     "Are you by chance a group that used to go to that high school and agreed
to meet here tonight?" he asked.

     We admitted it.

     "We got lost and then the car broke down, busted a rod.  We're only a
couple of blocks away.  I'll have the tow truck driver drop us off.  Kerri, my
wife, said you would be here.  I must admit I had my doubts, and I didn't want
her walking in this neighborhood at night.  Don't go anywhere!  I'll be right
back."

     "I'll give you a ride," I called and waved him to my car.

     He hopped in and we headed off down the road.  He told me they lived in
San Diego, and I gathered they had gotten the directions wrong as well as the
freeway and ended up miles out of the way out by the beach.  Once they looked
at a map and worked it out, they headed out here only to miss the exit and
were again lost.  This time they found right the exit and had just turned 
onto the off-ramp when the car started making loud noises and lost power.  I
found the car hooked to a tow truck and pointed in the wrong direction.

     "Marty!" Kerri shouted and ran to hug me.

     As we disengaged, a man held out his hand to me.  "Martin, you haven't
changed a bit, you old dog," he said.  "Come on, I want you to meet the wife,"
he added while crushing my hand.  "Would you believe we're neighbors?  They up
and moved in right next door.  You could have knocked me over with a feather. 
What do you think the odds are on that?"

     "I'd hate to guess.  Astounding, I should think," I said while trying to
think of his name.

     "This is Anna," he said as he introduced me to a girl half his age.  She
smiled and held out her hand.  I returned the smile and extended mine.

     "And she will be frozen Anna if we don't get going, Bobby.  She's
shivering already," Kerri's husband remarked. 

     With that we hopped into the car and headed back to meet the others.  I
left them in the car with the heater running and went to check on our plans. 
As I pulled in, a cab was pulling away.  I headed toward the group and a woman
screamed my name, then flung herself at me.  Her arms wrapped tightly around
me, and suddenly I was being kissed.  Irene had come after all.

     There was a bright flash.  "We could put that one up on the web site,"
laughed Tom.

     "The way they're going at it, you might have to open a porno site," Betty
giggled.

     "They never did that in high school," Brenda remarked.

     "It's the saltpeter the government puts in our food," Edgar informed us.

     "Shut up, Edgar!  And if that's how it works, I'm putting it in your
food," cut in Sue.

     "Let's get going before they do," Betty laughed.

     I was smiling like the cat that ate the mouse.  "Where to?" I asked.

     "The nearest Motel 6," responded Edgar.

     "The Seafarers.  Dining, dancing and a festival of lights," Brenda said.

     "Need a ride?" I asked Irene.

     She leaned close and whispered in my ear, "More than one, I hope.  That's
why I came in a cab," as her hand made her meaning more than clear.

     The passengers switched around for the ride up.  We talked on the way,
over dinner, and as the boats decorated in grand displays of lights paraded
around the harbor.  The clock struck twelve, and if any dooms fell, even Edgar
failed to notice.  When the clock struck one and they started to close, we
walked down to the beach and on a sandy breakwater jutting out into the sea,
we started a bonfire.  Champagne made the rounds and we toasted the new year
again.

     Over the sea a great white light appeared.  It grew huge as it passed
overhead and a boom followed in its wake.  Edgar jumped up.  "The end is
here!" he cried.  All eyes turned to follow it, thunder screamed, and the
harbor lit up for a moment like daylight.  And that was that.  "A meteor. 
Sometimes a big one comes in and they burn up like that," Kerri informed us as
our eyes adjusted.

     The last bottle of champagne made the rounds and we toasted the new year
again.  I invited them all to spend the night at my house.  I didn't worry
about the sleeping arrangements. somehow it would all work itself out.  We
started down the beach, singing old songs.  Irene whispered something in my
ear.  It seemed like the start of a very good year indeed.

   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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