June 20, 1997 Friday
The dark has yet to take a complete grasp on the night. A rim of sky, skirted above the treeline, meets the black. Tonight, an eerie, black moon spies on me as I write this in the open air.
Tonight, when I returned home to Elmwood, I was restless. I called Colin in Elmwood, discussing our last week, and asked him if he would like to come to Western next week. There are some people he should meet, but unfortunately it looks like he’ll be busy painting houses.
…I have just had a sad but true thought. Elmwood, and everyone in it, has been reduced in my life to cameo roles. It’s like I am on new spin-off TV show of my own, Will Takes to the Long Road, and these people are just making guest spots…
Anyway, let me get back tonight. I was pretty bored. All of my stuff is now in Macomb, and the Cubs weren’t making their game with the Astros an enthralling hoot. I really don’t know why, but I went into my room and put on my good clothes. A tie. Then, just as spontaneously, I walked out the door into the humid summer air. I began to walk with no particular destination in mind. I did these things with the same blind reasoning Ray Kinsella used to build his farm yard baseball field. I walked up the hill, and as I reached the park, I saw a group of kids on a bench, on the far side of the park, amid the trees. I continued to watch for awhile until I finally passed them on my journey to nowhere.
In my mind I guessed them to be between twelve and sixteen. My eyes lowered to the ground. It was then, with a streetlamp above, cascading light down upon me, that I saw. Before me was not the shadow of not a boy, but a man (or at least some facsimile). As I watched my blackened counterpart before me, I thought, “That’s really me!” My time here had passed.
I was thinking of all these things as I continued to walk up Main, and neared Jordan’s Mobil station on the corner across from the Palace Theater. Feeling that these sentiments were worth immediate recording, I went in to buy this small legal pad and pen which I use now.
With my purchases in hand, I found my way to the high school a few blocks away. As I crossed the desolate parking lot, it seemed the school was smaller than I remembered. I now sit on the bleachers, the only fan left in the still cold stands, before the football field of great losses to transcribe this.
No One Will Believe You 