Richard walked into the store one day, hungry for a Mars bar.
Later, Laura often said that had her husband not developed such an amazing desire for Mars on that very day, in July 1993, while passing through Berkeley on one of her numerous business trips, her life would probably have taken a very different course.Nevertheless, from Laura's point of view, everything turned out perfectly. The romance was gaining momentum instantly and just a few weeks later she became pregnant with Alan.
He searched for a modest house right behind
crossroads, just a stones throw from the beach.
He wanted his wife and child to have decent conditions while he continued to travel around the country.
He was entirely responsible for his company's turnover from New York to Chicago, extending north as far as Buffalo, and dealt with the sale of motor oils and lubricants for most machines. Nothing special. But he had a constant job. One year after Alan was born, in 1994. Veronica was born. I thought about all this as I went to high school. Whenever I immersed myself in such deeper considerations, they usually concerned my husband's past, his adolescence, immediate family, whom I had never met, and for which I had no chance, in all probability. Maybe if I could spend some time with them, it would be easier for me to understand Alan. Meanwhile, the reality was that the man I knew and loved was more shaped by this what happened to him after losing his entire family - or after his immediate family had abandoned him - rather than over the years. youth spent in the family home. I popped into the confectionery for coffee, barely able to refrain from buying aromatic lemon-filled donuts, and was walking with a corporate paper bag, carrying a backpack loaded with my students' homework over my shoulder, when in the hallway I ran across Roland Morrison, the school principal and perhaps my best a friend since I started working at this school.
"Hi Rolly," I asked.
- And for me? he asked, nodding at the paper bag from the pastry shop.
"If you take care of my first graders, I'll bring you coffee right away too."
- If I took care of your first graders, I would need something stronger than coffee.
- They're not that bad.
"They're savages," Rolly said, looking deadly.
"You don't even know who's in my first grade," I objected.
- Does not matter. If students enrolled in this school attend, they must be savages, he replied without a trace of a smile.
- What's the matter with Jane Schneider? - I asked.
Jane who attended my creative writing class was creating a lot of trouble. She came from a "very indistinct" family, as the secretaries used to say, with whom she had to sit very often in front of the director's office. But at the same time she wrote like a real angel. I didn't care that this angel was capable of breaking all the windows in my house, because I was mainly interested in her literary talent.
"I told her it was so much from the suspension," Rolly said, showing two fingers centimeter apart.
A few days earlier, before entering the school, Jane got into a violent fight with another girl. It was probably about the boyfriend. For what else? In any event, there was a large crowd around them, with most onlookers being indifferent as to which one would win, as long as the show lasted as long as possible. Rolly broke it, stepping into action brutally.
- What does she say?
He moved his jaw vigorously, imitating chewing gum and enriching it with the effects of loud smacking and shooting.
"Sure," I muttered.
- I can see you like her.
I pulled a mug from my bag, removed the lid, and carefully took a sip of the hot coffee.
"Because she's got something," I said.
"You should never wave at anyone," he admitted. - But you can't be too soft either. My friendship with Rolly was, so to speak, multi-faceted. I treated him like a buddy, but since he was much older than me, I also saw him as a kind of father. I eagerly dropped by for an interview when I needed some advice or, as I've often said, a look from the perspective of the centuries. I met him through Alan. As for me he played the informal role of a father, for him he was an informal uncle, because he was friends with his father Richard Stiles, before his disappearance and, apart from Aunt Lucy, he was his only link with the past. He was about to retire soon, and sometimes you could see that he was getting ready, counting the days to moving to Florida, from living in a brand new mobile home parked somewhere in the neighborhood, where boats set sail for marlins, swordfish or whatever there he still pulls himself out of the water.
- Can I come see you later? - I asked.
- Yeah, sure. And what's going on?
- Such ... little things.
He nodded. He knew exactly what I mean.