For years, our unspoken promise— meet each school day at Park and Weston. We clutched books ‘til red lines formed in the soft places of our arms.
Cicadas’ songs lulled summer to sleep. Now the crunch of fall’s carpet crush under my feet. I pull up my collar to block the nip in the air.
When I was a high school freshman, I approached my English teacher, Mrs. Richard. My appetite for words urged me to ask her where I could buy one of the books we used in class—The American Heritage Dictionary.