The Wind Never Blows So Cold Again

November 30, 1997  Sunday

I had tried to get in touch with Colin to do something most of this week, but we kept missing each other.  Finally, around 10:30 last night he showed up at the first door.  We had quite a few things to discuss about the last few months.  We both agreed we had changed.  We expected more more.  Colin said everything seemed to have gotten so busy since he turned  18.  I said that’s about the time things started picking up for me, too.  We got on the subject of our past class, and well as how we used to act, and how the them and the us, now, are in stark difference.  We talked and talked, and I looked at the clock and it was almost three in the morning.  We felt old.

Elmwood is a special place.  There are thousands of small towns sprinkled over the the landscape of the United States, but at least I feel, few are like Elmwood.  In the year 1997 how many can still leave their doors unlocked and have no fears?  I’ve called Elmwood a lot of things, from “Smalltown U.S.A.,” to “Mayberry,” but it is a nice town.  Yet, our time has passed.  When I drove around this week, I would see a groups of kids, but not recognize any of them.  Two weeks ago when I went to a play with Sidney (“As the Past Gives Way to the Present… and Future”), I recognized only about half of the names on the playbill.  Huh.  I can see better how old men can still on a porch for hours, complaining about the newest generation, from a feeling of amazed, lost detachment.

Yesterday I got a letter from Tasmania Becky.  She wrote about how much she had liked our pen pal letters over the summer, when the Internet had us bump into one another.  She went on to mention she would like me, in all reality a stranger still, there in the Southern Hemisphere.  I think it was something to write, and to fill some space with, but nice all the same.  It’s funny though.  Over 6,000 females in Macomb, and a girl halfway across the globe would like to walk on a beach with the Will she has probably half imagined for herself.  People are strange.

I’m now packing up or another migration west to college to confront finals.  I just got my paper on AIDS done for Sociology, so I feel good having that assignment out of the way.  Back to 420 Thompson Hall for another three weeks before Christmas.  It will be good to get back.  Tonight I’ll have to e-mail Sidney at her home to see about her coming to Western at the end of the week.  I really hope she can.  If Colin and I can talk for almost five hours I can’t imagine how much she and I have to share.  This week was fairly good, but I wish more had happened.  Here I come, Macomb.











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