Edenville Owls

Joanie and I sat alone on the bandstand on the last day of August. It was Saturday, Labor Day weekend. School was to start next week. Ninth grade. Edenville had no high school. This would be our last year. Next year we’d go to Eastfield High School or away to prep school. It would be different again.

“The town is really proud of you, Bobby,” Joanie said, “all the Owls.”

“The state tournament,” I said.

“Yes.”

“Been better,” I said, “if we won it all.”

“You got to the final game,” she said. “Five kids without even a coach.”

“I know,” I said. “We did pretty good.”

“And they don’t even know what you did for Miss Delaney,” Joanie said.

“We all did that,” I said.

“But you figured it out,” she said. “And, just like the basketball, you were the leader.”

“I don’t know if I could have done it without you,” I said.

We were quiet for a bit. The harbor was full of sails. There were several younger kids down on the wharf, fishing for scup and catching blowfish. Some of the older guys were parked on the edge of the wharf, sitting on the hoods of their cars, talking.

“It was great,” I said, “wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Even if nobody but us knows it,” I said.

“Yes.”

The weather was warm, but the breeze off the harbor made it nice where we were. A brown and white spaniel was searching the lawn in front of the bandstand. Tracking some popcorn, maybe, that people had spilled last night.

There was something about the view: the green lawn sloping down to the water, the sun shining, the nice breeze, the happy dog cruising around on the grass, it made me feel good. I guess I thought my life might be like that: sea breeze and sunshine and green grass... and Joanie.

“You think we might start dating when we get a little older?” I said.

“Maybe,” she said.

My throat tightened up a little, but I said it.

“You think we might get married someday?”

“Maybe,” Joanie said.

“But?”

“But I think sometimes, what if we get to be boyfriend and girlfriend,” she said, “and husband and wife... will I lose my best friend?”

“No,” I said. “You won’t.”

And she never did.