Robert Rickman - Saluki Marooned

“But Harry, it’s not really…”

“…real? Yes, I know that Federson. But it was a start. Later, Father Mattingly taught me some manners, and I decided while I was in the home that I’d get straight, no more drugs. I got my GED and applied to SIU a few years later. Meanwhile, I did odd jobs: waiter, sold popsicles, worked in a junkyard, and other stuff. I took a few tests and they found that I had an aptitude for economics, and that’s how I got here, on a scholarship. And it all started with Lawrence Welk.”

That one paragraph was more than I ever known about Harry Smykus. The first time around, we hadn’t really known each other’s histories, because it really hadn’t mattered to us. Harry and I had accepted one another just as we were.

“Harry, you know that had you missed this program, you could see it again and again for years.”

“Fine, Federson, but I want to see it right now, so shut up, the commercial’s ending.”

Yes, The Lawrence Welk Show would follow Harry into the 21st century on rerun after rerun after rerun. I looked again at that Whitman quote taped to the radiator.

Next to it was my class schedule. The clock radio read 7:58…a little more than four hours until tomorrow—four hours until Monday became the present, and I would start improving my grades, my love life, my temper and my future. I would study Dr. Von Reichmann, seek out Catherine, and go to class. But algebra at 7:30 in the morning? No 20-year-old kid should be allowed to schedule his own classes!

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