Summer Songs

By Michael T. Krieger

During a reckless summer, Barry Tate makes a life-altering decision. Afraid of commitment, and seduced by a woman out of his fantasies, Barry runs away from college and away from his one true love for the fast life of the New Jersey Shore.
Not until several years later, when Barry has become a victim of the lifestyle he once pursued, does he realize that he has possibly lost his dreams for good.
Then, one day, he hears a song on the radio. It is a summer song, an innocent reminder of a better time, and the inspiring key to re-discovering the one woman he can never stop loving.

During one summer quarter at The Ohio State University, Barry Tate unexpectedly meets Karen Lucas, a sensitive, artistic woman. Together they share the kind of love that touches souls. It is the kind of love that others envy and the kind that can survive hardship and can endure the test of time. However, it is also the kind of love that young people question and all too often toss aside without really giving it a chance. Karen and Barry are a perfect match until Barry struggles to discover his identity. He leaves school on a soul-searching journey to the Jersey Shore. Barry wants to become an East Coast disc jockey, and he is lured to the Shore by its mesmerizing surf and by its constant party atmosphere.
Making the transition from college student to the real world isnt easy for Barry as he soon falls into a reckless lifestyle, highlighted by his involvement with the seductive and temperamental Eva Fiorelli, a self-centered woman with the endless ability for manipulation. Eva controls Barry physically and emotionally until she becomes more of an addiction than a lover. Her family has suspicious connections, and Evas father introduces Barry to Sal Berdoni, an imposing, wealthy man, who owns several businesses, including a couple radio stations. And all is well once Barry is hired at WTRX, one of Berdonis stations, as a disc jockey. For Barry, he is living his dream that he has had since childhood. This is not so for Eva. Greedy and unconcerned about Barrys feelings, Eva is not impressed by a disc jockeys low salary, so she convinces Barry to make some extra money somehow. Barry is then hired by Berdoni to be a courier for one of his other businesses. His job is to deliver special packages to exclusive and secretive clients. During one such delivery, however, Barry discovers the packages contain cocaine. When he tells Eva about the drugs, she is enthralled instead of frightened as Barry is. She convinces Barry that he needs to try cocaine before he fears it. So, Barry steals some coke from his next delivery. Unfortunately, Berdoni realizes Barrys theft and sends some tough men out to make an example of him. These men negotiate better with their fists than their mouths, and they give Barry a mild beating to deliver the point that he shouldnt steal from Mr. Berdoni. But they then toss him a small package of cocaine before they leave as a token from Mr. Berdoni.
Barry gets back into his truck and pulls away. His nose is bleeding from being smacked around and his mind is reeling with thoughts about the cocaine, Mr. Berdoni, and Eva. He doesnt realize that he has just run a stop sign right in front of a police car. The officer pulls Barry over for the routine traffic violation, but becomes aware of Barrys suspicious behavior and accidentally discovers the cocaine in Barrys truck. Now, Barry, who has run away from everything good in his life, finds he can no longer run. He goes to jail, and he loses Eva, his friends, and the support of his family.
Once Barry is finally released, he is still without friends, without dreams, and still searching for his identity until a trusted old man, Mr. Zeppo, gives Barry a second chance. Mr. Zeppo owns a quaint, but popular little pizza joint on the boardwalk, and he hires Barry to manage it. Flipping pizzas to pay the rent is not the lifestyle Barry was once used

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 20, 2001
• ISBN: 9781462841714

Michael T. Krieger

Raised in Northwest Ohio, Michael T. Krieger became fascinated with the personalities of the people of that region. He tries to mix these characters with his personal experiences in his writing. Krieger has taught English at Rossford High School in Rossford, Ohio, a suburb outside Toledo, for sixteen years. He, his wife, and two sons currently reside there. A 1986 graduate of The Ohio State University, his first novel, Melvin Howard’s Fireside Chats, published in 1992. He has also published and has won awards for poetry, short stories, and for an original play, “Shadows”. Summer Songs is his second novel. He is presently working on his next novel.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

SUMMER, 1995

Mr. Tambourine Man chimed on some stereo down the hall, creeping back into one’s memory like a lost child that is suddenly found. A nostalgic smile softened Barry Tate’s face as he drifted with the nearly forgotten melody. Take me for a trip upon your magic swirling ship; the lyrics flowed in perfect harmony, and Barry began to take a mental trip of his own. It was one of those songs that made Barry Tate think of things, of people and places from his past, as though his life had been a series of movies with all the memorable songs as soundtracks.

Barry, sitting on a metal heat register, inactive for the summer months, gazed out the window. He held a bottle of beer loosely between his thumb and index finger around the very top of the neck. He took a short, cool sip and tried to remember when had been the last time he had heard Mr. Tambourine Man. He was sure it was probably summer. It was a summer song. It was a song that needed shades and long, pointless rides in convertibles. Summer songs were not like other songs; they were alive; yet more like comfortable, old friends who demanded little and are in no hurry to change those around them. Barry smiled at the sudden collage of memories that came back to him. Hot days working at Alley Pizza with Manny and Paul, blowing off spring quarter playing frisbee on the South Oval, drooling over the co-eds that gave him sudden, miniature heart attacks, saying, ‘the hell with it’ and moving West on summer, moving back when the money ran out, hanging out along the Boardwalk… .

Barry forced himself to stop the endless merry-go-round in his memory. He knew where it was leading him. These images always started pleasant enough, but eventually everything always came back to the same memory, the same life-altering decision.

His life disappeared on that unforgettable day, and Barry turned his back on everyone that mattered without even realizing it. Until that moment, he had known love, friendship, and success. I’m not sleepy yet and there is no place I’m going to. The lyrics haunted as much as thrilled him as he listened to them in a new lifetime that he still did not quite recognize as his own. At the time, he had been too self-centered, too addicted to the pleasures of the moment to see the irreversible damage he was doing to himself. However, it was too late to change the past.

Time had certainly done funny things to his life: a small but self-sufficient pizza business, a clean one-room efficiency with a view of the ocean, no friends he could really trust, no more responsibility than he had in college, a broken heart, and unfulfilled dreams.

He took a much longer drink of the beer. It was warmer, but still cool enough to soothe his frustration. Mr. Tambourine Man faded into a pointless commercial, but Barry barely listened. In his mind he was in another place. Out the window of his apartment, Barry watched people walk along the Boardwalk. The late afternoon sun cast the building’s shadow as a rectangular gray ghost upon the ocean, which had pulled out its usual rolling carpet of waves for low tide. An older couple walked along, picking up sea-shells from the newly smoothed sand. They had both rolled up their trousers to walk barefoot down the soggy beach. They held hands.

Barry watched them, finished his beer, and thought of a future that should have been his.

* * *

Far away from the Boardwalk and the lifestyle that goes with it, Karen Goodall did the laundry in the basement of her suburban Columbus home. An outside observer might think she enjoyed the good life. With a six-figure husband, she no longer had to earn a living, so she might be able to spend more time with her own interests … when she wasn't keeping his house. She was given a new car whenever she wanted one, and she had the kind of clothes other women envied. But what the outside observer wouldn't see right off was the dull, repetitive pain that drummed inside of Karen. There was an absent look in her eyes that few people recognized; but because that look had been in her eyes for years, Karen realized that she had grown so use to her sadness that she had learned to mask it well behind the superficiality of the suburban dream.

She looked at her watch. Three o'clock. Her husband, Brad, would be home in about three hours. At that time, they would sit down to a less than imaginative dinner, and he would tell her about his day. He was a trial lawyer. Every day his life changed; every day was the unfolding of a new drama. Like every other night since their marriage began three years ago, she would listen to him with enthralled attention; but inside she was crying. Her insides ripped apart with the desire to tell her own stories. She wanted to hold Brad's attention to something other than his own dreams and ambitions. However, she guessed he never really thought that she might have dreams too.

But Karen did have dreams. Most of these began when she was in college at Ohio State. Then, she would sit on the ledge of Derby Hall and sketch the activities of The Oval. There was always plenty to see, plenty of dreams to create. Life then had been poetic and full. Her eyes were bright, and they burned with purpose and desire. Everything she sketched became, in her mind, the first of many masterpieces. She was her own keeper then, and even she had not been able to control her passion.

She loaded a heap of whites into the dryer. She sighed as she dropped the heavy load. Brad had once offered to hire someone to do the housework, but Karen declined. If she was going to feel penned in she at least wanted something to do. Now she realized the housework often kept her from evolving, and Brad never brought the issue of hired help up again. A portable radio played lazy background music while she worked. She barely noticed the music any more, for apparently that had left her too. At one time, the music was all she really knew. It gave her stability and confidence, two feelings she had forgotten. Karen strove for years to build her confidence, to develop an identity of her own in a life where everything had rhythm and purpose. She tried teaching art for a time but all she could get were substituting jobs. Quickly, she lost interest in waiting for the perpetually promised full-time position and she left education. She decided to search other avenues to explore and discover life's artistry. Somehow along the way she had lost touch with her goals, and had forgotten who she was. Also, along the path of her journey she married Brad. To everyone else, she was Brad Goodall's wife, a pretty fixture in his fine house to smile and greet his friends. To everyone else, she was lucky; but Karen knew she ceased being lucky when she said, I do. It was then that the music stopped playing for her alone, and became just as muddled as Brad's stories about court cases. For months now she had grown weary of his stories. She had been eager to hear music once again.

Then, like a friendly tap on the shoulder, the next song drifted from the speakers and gently caught Karen's attention. Mr. Tambourine Man, a melody that carried her back to that ledge on Derby Hall, drifted to her ears and embraced her memory. The song's sweet harmonies made Karen stop and smile. It had been awhile since she had heard the song. It brought her to place long since buried deep within her; a place that one time glistened freshly with innocence and adventure, but one that she hadn't visited in so long that she had forgotten it was a part of her. A fading feeling of youth rippled through her. Had it been that summer with Travis?

While she couldn’t be sure, she thought she had last heard the song during some forgotten summer. The song made her think of sun. And for the brief time the song played, the warmth and desire returned for her. She hummed along with the tune and traveled back in her memory to a sweet place that had over time improved and softened. Nostalgia did that to people; it only made the pleasant memories come to the surface. The bad memories always hid until she tried to return to the good ones.

At sixteen Karen worked as a counselor at Camp Storer. The summer had been a great experience for her. She helped ten and eleven year olds work with arts and crafts. Her work really mattered then. The kids loved her and responded to her ideas. She had also been their friend, not just their teacher, who was always willing to listen to concerns about homesickness and crushes. Still, Karen mostly remembered that special summer as the summer when she first fell in love. Travis McKey, a strong, handsome, young man of nineteen, who taught horseback riding, made Karen want to melt every time he spoke to her in his easy country drawl. Travis had intense blue eyes that from the moment she first saw him drew her in and hypnotized her until he was all that mattered. Travis taught Karen about herself that summer, but most of all he taught her about young love.

Karen, until that summer, had never met a guy with whom she could be herself. But with Travis she felt at ease and could talk on and on through the night as they walked through the dark woods holding hands. More experienced than she in love and romance, Travis was at least patient with her. She had trusted him so completely that she really felt as if a part of her belonged to him. But for as much as she thought she loved Travis, she feared her own feelings. She feared the intimacy that she sensed building between them.

At night, all the counselors would huddle around a crackling fire to sing camp songs and tell ghost stories. over the flames, Karen would look up to steal glances at Travis while he strummed a guitar. Whenever she looked at him, he was always looking back at her. The connection electrified her, and she felt nauseous and giddy at the same time whenever their eyes locked. Eventually, she would tear her eyes away, temporarily breaking the spell. One night, confused by the wrestling feelings in her heart and her brain, Karen excused herself from the fire. She said she had to use the restroom, but she really could not sit across from Travis any longer. Something sudden and unusual was happening to her. She needed some space, some way to understand what she felt.

She stepped away from the fire into the darkness. She wrapped her arms around herself. Feeling hot and cold at the same time, she thought she might laugh out loud … and was about to when she realized she was not alone. Travis was behind her.

Are you cold? he asked, his voice as calm as the gentle breeze that brushed through her hair. Before she could answer, his hands tenderly gripped her shoulders and turned her to face him. He hugged her tight. Karen felt like she was slipping off a mountain and falling into some unforeseen chasm. She was falling and she was afraid; not of the fall but that she would just keep falling forever. Sometimes, said Travis, I wonder what this summer would have been like if I didn’t meet you. He looked into her eyes with his own blue beacons that shined even in the darkness. But I don’t wonder very long, he said with a smile.

Why not? Karen asked.

Because the whole summer would have been boring. He ran a hand through her hair.

Karen forced a smile. Oh, I don’t know… . Her words were cut short. Travis put a finger to her lips, silencing her. She tingled at his touch, anxious and hesitant.

I’m serious, he said. I’ve never met anyone like you. He moved forward and kissed her tenderly on the lips and then pulled away and walked back to the fire. Karen was left alone with his kiss on her lips, lingering like a dream she desperately wanted to remember. It was at that moment that she knew she wanted as much of Travis as she could get. She went back to the fire then and boldly sat beside him. He smiled at her, and with the same finger that had just been on her lips in the darkness, he traced a little circle on her knee. The other counselors saw this, but for Karen, she didn’t care. For her, the others were not there. Travis was beside her and she felt something powerful between them, some force that suddenly bonded her to him. There was no turning back, Karen decided. She would do all she could to keep that bond intact.

By the end of the summer on one romantic, night-time stroll, after they were supposed to be in their cabins, Travis led her to a soft patch of grass beside a little creek. The area was concealed by beautiful wildflowers, which enhanced the magic of the moment, a moment that had seemed so right, so special. She had trusted him and loved him so much that she could hold out no longer. So beneath the beauty of a clear summer night, she lost her virginity to Travis McKey. The experience had been initially awkward, but just as he had all along, he remained gentle and patient with her, easing into the moment; until he was inside her, and finally at one with her. At that moment, he had told her she was beautiful and that when he looked up into the night at the brilliant stars he thought of her eyes, sparkling and spectacular.

The love she had felt for him then, and as they had lain together afterward holding each other, was indescribable. She was not self-conscious of her nakedness, and she had wished for them to be in love forever.

But at sixteen, Karen had learned that forever was not really a very long time. In fact, her love for Travis had only lasted about another month. He had left for college. He was a sophomore at ohio University in Athens, and even though they both promised to write and visit as often as they could, the four hours between them had been too great a distance. First, the letter tapered off, and then he called less often. But it wasn’t until she went down to visit him for a weekend that she realized she and Travis would no longer share one another’s lives.

The whole weekend he had seemed different. He had not been the same warm, tender person whom Karen had come to know during the summer. Instead of kissing her when he saw her, he only gave her a brief, unattached hug. The rest of the weekend he remained distant, and she felt as if she were spending the time, not with someone whom she loved, but with someone she barely knew. Their conversations were marked by long moments of silence, during which she had longed for him to say anything. Instead, he said nothing, and even though she didn’t want to believe it, the fire between she and Travis had expired.

She spent a lot of time alone and cried at the littlest things for nearly a month. She re-read all the letters that Travis had sent her. Karen eventually recovered from the emotional bruises and moved on. She met other guys, but she loved none of them as she had loved Travis. She had felt this way for a long time until another man came along. This other man reacquainted her with love, making her feel alive and childlike when she was with him. He had been her best friend, a passionate, caring lover, and a hopeless romantic dreamer who thought only of the future, and yet only lived day to day. He had infuriated her, and he had loved her with all his heart. But as with Travis, her life with this man had come to an end. They had shared not even a year of their lives, yet the memories had become a permanent brand. It had been awhile since Karen had thought about those happy times, but now as she stood waiting beside the spinning washer listening to forgotten songs on the radio, she wanted them back. And now that the memory was back it would be difficult to chase from her mind.

That’s the way life with Barry Tate had been, hard to forget.

* * *

Barry drained the last of the beer. With the empty bottle in hand, he turned away from the beachfront window and walked back down the hall to his own apartment. Opening the door, he looked around his spare apartment, which seemed even smaller whenever he remembered the past and the life he had given up. At those times, it seemed that the apartment had crushing walls that threatened to close in on him.

Barry occasionally thought of returning to his old life, of trying to rediscover some lost shred of it, if any even remained. Still, he wasn’t sure going back was an option. Going back was giving in. For Barry, the road to Asbury Park had been anything but a success story, and he had only stayed on that road because he assumed that somehow things had to get better. Somehow he would stagger out of his irresponsible, drunken haze and into what he hoped would be a dream come alive. No, giving in even now at this late stage in life would be surrendering and having to admit that he had been licked by his own ambitions.

He rinsed the beer bottle out and left it sitting on the counter then walked back into the living room and collapsed on the couch. The room was dark as he had forgotten to open the shades that morning. Even though it was another beautiful sunny day, Barry left them drawn. He kicked off his deck shoes and yawned. He forced his eyes closed. The shady darkness made the room relaxing and quiet. Today was Barry’s day off, and he relished the thought that he really had nothing to do. He would probably go out for a swim or a walk later, but for the moment he was content to rest.

He hummed Mr. Tambourine Man. It made him smile. His thoughts then turned back to the old couple he saw holding hands on the beach. It’s great, he thought, they still show affection for one another. They have to be at least seventy. But while Barry appreciated the couple’s affection for one another, he himself had grown callous over the years to feelings of love. It had been his confusion about love that had led him to that one life altering decision; and because he hadn’t understood love, he had allowed himself to be led blindly through a series of poor choices. Yet in his memory the sensation of love flickered like a solitary candle that now beckoned him back, back to ohio, back to The oval, back to Karen and what should have been.

CHAPTER 2

SUMMER, 1985

The Pretenders played on a boom box. It was not even noon, and The Oval was already alive with sunbathers, frisbee-catching dogs, and student political activists. The sun felt warm on Barry’s neck and scalp as he walked across campus in search of an ideal spot beneath a tree to relax and read. Since he had an hour to kill before his afternoon class, Barry decided to spend it outside instead of cooped up in his apartment in front of the television, or even worse, in the library researching his paper on How Radio Days Have Affected Modern-Day Trends in Media Entertainment.

The day was as perfect as summer days should be. The sun and the atmosphere of The Oval worked jointly to bring out the irresponsible demons that so often governed Barry’s life. He knew that he shouldn’t give in to them. He had already blown off too many classes for one quarter, but he was able to rationalize things by telling himself that summer quarter was no time for classes any way.

Barry then heard a familiar voice drown out the sounds of The Oval and creep into his subconscious. The voice belonged to his father. You need to get those grades up. Barry heard the scolding tone in those words as if they had actually been spoken to him. The fact was, Barry had no real choice but to take summer classes. He didn’t have a job at home for the summer, so the only way his dad could justify giving him any money was if Barry took classes. Plus, he was behind in his progress toward a degree. Even though his father was worried about this, Barry was not. He knew he would finish eventually. It might take him seven or eight years, but he was just taking his time because he liked college and the freedom of making his own choices with precious few responsibilities.

Hey there, sinner! An evangelist shouted at him. Barry turned. Yes, sir, I’m talking to you, said the man who looked like a combination of Jesus and Roger Daltry with tight, curly blond hair and a trimmed but prominent, sandy beard.

Top of the day to you too, sinner, Barry remarked. He liked to have fun with the evangelists.

I’m here today to bring you God’s word and to tell you that his son, Jesus Christ, the Savior, loves you in spite of your sins.

Barry chuckled. Thanks, that’s good to know.

Go ahead and laugh, sinner, but unless you are saved, it will be your fate to writhe in the fiery pit of Hell!

Barry held up his hand and shook his head. See you later, he said.

Don’t leave, the preacher pleaded. Don’t turn your back on God. Don’t you believe in Fate? Don’t you fear eternal damnation?

Barry kept walking. He looked around The oval, full with the vitality of youth and carefree attitudes. To his right, he passed two sunbathing women. Both girls lay on their stomachs with the strings to their bikini tops untied. Sweat beaded on their backs and shoulders, and Barry could smell the sensuous coconut odor of Coppertone as he strolled by them. The oval was more like a beach than a lawn at a large midwestern university; and therefore, perfect for sinners, thought Barry.

Near Derby Hall, beneath an elm tree, Barry spotted an empty park bench, which looked like a prime spot to grab some fresh air and to dive into Fitzgerald’s This Side of Paradise. He wasn’t very far into it, but he already decided that he liked the character Amory Blaine, the hopeless romantic whose weakness for women and fun often left him a little short on responsibility.

Barry strode toward the bench and was about to sit down when he noticed an attractive brunette perched on a stone ledge between two first floor windows on the face of Derby Hall. Somehow in The Oval’s mayhem she had discovered a place of seclusion, a place to be herself. Later on, he would decide it was her hair that made him first see her wild side, the part of her that he would eventually like best.

Barry watched the woman momentarily as she scrawled with a pencil on a large white sketch pad. When she stopped, she looked up and gazed across The Oval. Se seemed to focus on something far away, something beyond The Oval, and beyond the glorious day that held the whole campus under its spell.

Barry walked closer to Derby Hall until he stood almost directly below her. Hello, he called up.

The woman stopped gazing and faced him. Hello. She smiled and wiped a strand of hair out of her eyes. She had a nice smile and eyes that reflected innocence and wonder.

What are you doing up there? he asked, for lack of anything better to say.

Minding my own business, she replied, but her smile stayed, making the words more playful than biting.

Barry realized her sarcasm and laughed at himself. My name’s Barry, he said. What’s your name?

She continued to smile. Why don’t you come up here?

Excuse me?

C’mon up, so you don’t have to keep yelling up to me.

Barry shrugged and started up the large cement steps. From there, he sidled out onto the ledge, which he found wide and safe enough to sit on. He sat down so that his legs hung off the ledge, and he leaned back against the ivory-covered brick of the building. The ledge was just high enough to offer a different perspective of The Oval and its activities. Barry felt more like an observer than he would have if he had been walking through. Across the mall, Orton Hall peaked out of the trees. in a few minutes, the clocks would strike twelve and Orton Hall would chime its daily song on the bell in its esteemed tower. Far to his left, Barry could see Mershon Auditorium, and he watched as one of the large red campus buses swung wide around a curve on College Avenue before it stopped in front of The Oval. Against his back, he felt the crisp rustle of ivy and the rough bricks of the building. He remembered then a time when he had worked for one quarter in the campus bookstore in the basement of Derby Hall; and all the while he never really knew that the ledge was there. I’ve never been up here before. The view is great, he said. Everything looks so different. Makes me wonder about other campus spots I’ve missed out on.

Exactly, she said. That’s why I sit up here.

Barry was about to speak, but the noon-time chimes from Orton Hall interrupted him, ringing out the notes of the alma mater; it was the sound of tradition, and Barry always welled up with pride whenever he heard it. From the ledge, Barry noticed that The Oval seemed almost still. Maybe the others felt the same pride he did when they heard the chimes. At the end of the song, Orton Hall fell silent again, and the rest of The Oval resumed its activities, music played, and the evangelists preached.

I love that song, admitted Barry.

The alma mater? Me too, the woman amitted. It’s a hard song not to like; it’s like it touches me somewhere, some place inside. I feel important when I hear it, like I can almost physically feel the tradition, or something.

Really?

Yeah. Barry, right? she asked.

He nodded.

I’m Karen. This is my favorite place on campus. You like it?

I do like it, but I never would have known about it if I hadn’t seen you sitting up here.

That’s why it’s my secret place, she said.

Barry finally took the time to really look at her. She had rather plain features, but a pleasant wholesome face. He was sure that she was at least twenty-one yet she looked younger because she had the eyes of a child, full of wonder and playfulness. She wasn’t unusually attractive, but Barry felt his own interest in her grow as he sat next to her. Her make up, except for some light blush, was non-existent, and her skin looked so naturally soft that Barry wanted to touch her cheek.

So, Barry, she said. What is your purpose here? What’s your major?

Well, I’m majoring in communications and minoring in English, he said, and he held up the copy of This Side of Paradise. I’m reading this for a contemporary lit. course.

"Fitzgerald. I never read that one, but I loved Great Gatsby. I had to read it in high school."

Me too. He wanted more from their conversation, wanted to get to know her, but what did he expect? College, after all, was made up of a series of meaningless acquaintances, relationships that began with good intentions, born out of pointless small talk.

I’m in art, Karen volunteered. I come up here to sketch. It allows me the chance to escape from society while still being able to observe it.

Barry then turned his attention back to The Oval, and he saw what she was talking about. They were removed from the activities below them, but they could see everything clearly. This would be a good place to stand if you wanted to rally against the administration, laughed Barry.

Karen studied him now. I guess so. I’m not much of a rabble-rouser though.

Really? Barry was surprised. You seem pretty sure of yourself.

Self-confidence doesn’t make me a rebel. I’m outgoing and friendly, but really I’m pretty passive.

No kidding?

I like to imagine, which is why I study art; but when it comes to action, I’m very laid back, she said, and then added, in all things, she said raising an eyebrow.

Barry was at first confused, and then her point hit him. Sure, I get the idea, he laughed. You think I came all the way up here to pick you up?

Well, she shrugged, is there any other reason you came all the way up here?

Barry thought for a moment. He had been drawn to her because she was different than everyone else in The Oval. She made him curious to find out what kind of girl she was, to see if she was the kind of girl he could hook up with. He suddenly felt like Amory Blaine, and he realized he had no excuses. Actually, I have no idea what the hell I’m doing up here. And, they both bell into laughter.

From that moment on, they both relaxed and talked freely. They were both from small towns, and both of them had big dreams. He wanted to be a disc jockey in a major market and she wanted to paint or sketch. He lived for today, and she searched for new tomorrows. Karen then dropped her guard and showed him the sketch she was working on.

The picture was done in pencil, and it showed a rough outline of Orton Hall in the background and the disguising branches of a maple tree in the foreground. Streaming out from behind Orton Hall were wide beams of sunlight that seemed to shine upon one lone figure crossing The Oval. The sketch showed no other people, even though the present view from the ledge revealed many. The person in the sketch had no discernable face; however, Barry could tell that the person was male and was depicted as walking right toward them.

Where are the others? he asked.

The other people? I only focused on one person because today that’s all that interested me.

Barry nodded and looked closely at the picture again. The strands of sunlight shone behind the walking, lone figure in such a way that it reminded him of something like divine intervention.

He remembered a picture of Christ that hung on his grandmother’s living room wall. Jesus hung on the cross in the particular painting and from behind him the clouds of Heaven had parted to send forth brilliant, golden sun rays that illuminated Him.

Karen’s picture had a similar effect in that the sun rays called specific attention to the man walking across The Oval. Without the sun, the man might have seemed lonely; yet as Barry looked more closely, the picture seemed to indicate a positive outlook, a deliverence, or even a second coming. Barry looked up from the sketch and searched The Oval again. Where is this guy now? I mean, is he somebody special?

Where is he? asked Karen smiling. He’s here.

Barry studied The Oval. But I don’t see him. Where did he go?

He’s sitting right beside me.

Then, Barry felt a twinge of joy rush through his body. It’s me?

That’s right. And she reached out and patted his shoulder. Thanks for the inspiration.

Barry smiled back at her. He realized that his class had already started, but he remained on the ledge aware that it certainly was a beautiful day.

CHAPTER 3

SUMMER, 1995

Mr. Tambourine Man ended and the dryer stopped with a loud buzz. Karen unloaded the warm clothes. Occasionally checking the tops of Brad’s white athletic socks to see if they were completely dry, she loaded up the laundry basket she had left at the foot of the dryer.

Behind her the radio drifted into the easy melody of Every Breath You Take, another song that had soundtracked her summers, especially the summer with Barry. It had been their first dance together, both of them at first holding each other loosely, turning slow, deliberate circles on the dance floor at Rock-n-Roll Palace. She remembered how Barry looked into her eyes as he held her. How she tried to look away, embarrassed, even though she knew that she could not stop smiling whenever he looked at her. How he sang to her while they danced.

Even though she would never admit it to anyone, she knew that part of her had continued to love Barry, and missed all the good times they had when they were at Ohio State. Still, her memory of Barry was selective at best. His irresponsibility had given her fits, but now that she had the quiet life of responsibility, Karen desired something less predictable. Since Barry had left her life though, she had failed to rediscover her passion for life that she had known only with him. Life and love had become predictable with no controversy, no edge. No drama. Life with Barry had been loaded with both drama and comedy. As the song wound down on the radio, she found she craved to be back in college running down

High Street holding Barry’s hand in a rainstorm or kissing beneath the stars on a humid night down by Mirror Lake.

Karen then chased the thoughts of Barry from her mind. Their moments together, she reminded herself, were now seperated by years of experiences. She had not tried to contact him since then. After all, he had made the choice to split them apart. At the time, he had said it was right. He was too confused to dedicate himself entirely to her, so she let him go with barely a fight. When she thought of it this way, a horrible truth usually occurred to her: Barry probably never thought of her any more.

Karen carried the laundry basket upstairs to the bedroom and dropped it onto the bed. She sat down to sort the clothes and match up the socks, a job that usually frustrated her because so many of Brad’s socks looked alike that she often had difficulty pairing them … It was amazing, she realized, that so much of the relationship she and Brad had built was no more exciting than doing simple tasks for one another; like laundry and folding socks. She tried to remember how long it had been since she and Brad had actually done anything fun. She couldn’t remember when it was, or even what they had done. They went out to eat at least once a week, which was more for sustenance than for entertainment. The fact was she had grown bored; even worse, she had actually started growing use to it.

She reached into the basket and pulled out a pair of her underwear, white and conservative. Even her underwear had become boring. Even beneath her constant, never-changing exterior, she had been overtaken with complacency, and she suddenly feared that any sex appeal she might ever have had long since died. She thought then about sex; she thought about it in a way that went beyond her wifely commitments. Instead, she thought of making love. Really making love. And she thought of Barry again… .

The phone rang three times before her thoughts crashed back into reality.

Karen caught the phone at the end of the fourth ring. Hello.

Hi, Honey. It’s me, Brad’s voice chimed at the other end of the phone. He sounded happy, but Karen already knew the reason for his call. He would be late again. He always tried to sweeten things with a good attitude. Most of the time, however, Karen understood about his overtime. She realized that it was often his occupational responsibility to stay late.

What’s wrong? he asked. You sound like you’re out of breath?

I do? She was breathing heavily. I guess the phone startled me.

Oh. So, what are you up to?

The calls were always the same. She never had anything to tell him. Several times she wanted to make something up to let him know that her life could be exciting too. ‘Nothing,’ she wanted to say. ‘Nothing. I never do anything; at least nothing of any importance. My life is boring!’ she screamed inside. Just doing some laundry.

Oh, that’s good. Did you get a chance to wash some of my white socks?

Yes, of course. Her words came out short and terse.

What’s wrong, Karen?

‘Plenty,’ she wanted to say. ‘I’m not happy; and I’m tired of washing your socks.’

Karen? She had