definitely see the royal lineage … it's
the cheek bones, I think."
"All
right, all right," Meg said, swatting him once more. "In reality I
was a snot-nosed little kid with acne — I know that. I was just sharing a
story."
Nick could not
hold back a laugh any longer. "And now?"
"Am I
still a snot-nosed little kid?"
"No."
Nick smiled. "With the perspective of age, were you right? Was your mom as
beautiful as anyone on TV?"
"No, I
suppose not, but … A few months ago I went through some of the old black
and whites my parents have up in their attic. From the fifties, early sixties. I
found a photo of her in a dinner dress: poof dress, pill box hat. She looked … Elegant best describes it, I guess."
Nick nodded. "Those
were elegant times." He started down the sidewalk again, Meg at his side.
"Do you
think we've lost something, our culture I mean?" Meg asked. "I'm all
for blue jeans and sweat shirts, don't get me wrong, but did we throw out some
of the romance along the way? I mean once in a while dressing up and going out,
it must have been fun."
"Meg?"
"Hmm?"
Nick pointed at
her. "What do you think you have on?"
She laughed
shortly. "But tonight was different. A charity event someone had to twist
our arms to attend. I mean throwing a dinner party, not because you have to,
but because you want to."
"I think
I'd hate it. Playing Ward Cleaver; dressing in a suit for meals."
"I
know." Meg bobbed her head in agreement. "I would too. And that's
sort of the problem, isn't it? It's as if our generation can't be bothered … dressing
up, manners, all sorts of things."
"The
danger of a revolution — if that's what the country went through in the
sixties — is that revolutionaries often tear down the good institutions
along with the bad. Maybe the pendulum has swung too far … maybe we're just
coming to grips with that."
"I feel
that way … sometimes," Meg concurred. "Like maybe we're all
starting to grow up a bit after indulging ourselves for so long. You know, when
I was in high school … "
Nick listened,
and laughed, and shared a story of his own. Time no longer dragged. Twenty
blocks shrunk to ten, then to three, and what a short time ago seemed like much
too long a walk, now seemed much too short.
"Once,
when Scott and I were … " Nick stopped himself. "Did you feel
that?"
Meg held out a
hand, palm up. "Rain?" she asked.
"A few
drops." Nick gauged the sky. "I think we better hurry," he said .
A block and the
scattered drops turned to a steady drizzle. Nick tugged Meg urgently by the
elbow, pointing to a doorway a few yards farther on. They jumped under its
cover just as the sidewalk ahead erupted in a torrent of falling rain drops.
The doorway was
small, much smaller than Nick had realized. They stood side by side facing the
street, backs up against the doorway, shoulders nearly touching.
Nick looked at
Meg. Hair damp, flattened in a few places to her scalp. She grinned wildly. "Just
made it," she said.
"What?"
Nick cupped his ear.
"Just made
it," she repeated, shouting to be heard over the downpour.
Nick leaned
toward her for his reply. "Just made it? I'd say we were two blocks
short."
"It'll let
up soon."
Nick poked his
head out from the doorway for a quick glance upward. Welcomed with a face full
of water for his trouble, he looked to Meg and sputtered in mock annoyance.
"I said
soon," she chuckled.
He wiped his
face with his hand. "You remember the party for my promotion? We shared a
taxi home."
"Uh-huh."
"It rained
that night too, didn't it?"
She nodded.
"Think
somebody is trying to tell us something?" Nick asked.
"Like wear
a rain coat?"
"Something
like that." He laughed again; it felt good.
Meg inhaled
deeply. "Doesn't it smell great."
Nick nodded. "I
love rain storms. Always have."
Lightning cut
the sky, and Nick began counting out loud. " … Two, three, four,
five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten," then the thunder rolled overhead.
"A little
more than two miles away," Meg
the cheek bones, I think."
"All
right, all right," Meg said, swatting him once more. "In reality I
was a snot-nosed little kid with acne — I know that. I was just sharing a
story."
Nick could not
hold back a laugh any longer. "And now?"
"Am I
still a snot-nosed little kid?"
"No."
Nick smiled. "With the perspective of age, were you right? Was your mom as
beautiful as anyone on TV?"
"No, I
suppose not, but … A few months ago I went through some of the old black
and whites my parents have up in their attic. From the fifties, early sixties. I
found a photo of her in a dinner dress: poof dress, pill box hat. She looked … Elegant best describes it, I guess."
Nick nodded. "Those
were elegant times." He started down the sidewalk again, Meg at his side.
"Do you
think we've lost something, our culture I mean?" Meg asked. "I'm all
for blue jeans and sweat shirts, don't get me wrong, but did we throw out some
of the romance along the way? I mean once in a while dressing up and going out,
it must have been fun."
"Meg?"
"Hmm?"
Nick pointed at
her. "What do you think you have on?"
She laughed
shortly. "But tonight was different. A charity event someone had to twist
our arms to attend. I mean throwing a dinner party, not because you have to,
but because you want to."
"I think
I'd hate it. Playing Ward Cleaver; dressing in a suit for meals."
"I
know." Meg bobbed her head in agreement. "I would too. And that's
sort of the problem, isn't it? It's as if our generation can't be bothered … dressing
up, manners, all sorts of things."
"The
danger of a revolution — if that's what the country went through in the
sixties — is that revolutionaries often tear down the good institutions
along with the bad. Maybe the pendulum has swung too far … maybe we're just
coming to grips with that."
"I feel
that way … sometimes," Meg concurred. "Like maybe we're all
starting to grow up a bit after indulging ourselves for so long. You know, when
I was in high school … "
Nick listened,
and laughed, and shared a story of his own. Time no longer dragged. Twenty
blocks shrunk to ten, then to three, and what a short time ago seemed like much
too long a walk, now seemed much too short.
"Once,
when Scott and I were … " Nick stopped himself. "Did you feel
that?"
Meg held out a
hand, palm up. "Rain?" she asked.
"A few
drops." Nick gauged the sky. "I think we better hurry," he said .
A block and the
scattered drops turned to a steady drizzle. Nick tugged Meg urgently by the
elbow, pointing to a doorway a few yards farther on. They jumped under its
cover just as the sidewalk ahead erupted in a torrent of falling rain drops.
The doorway was
small, much smaller than Nick had realized. They stood side by side facing the
street, backs up against the doorway, shoulders nearly touching.
Nick looked at
Meg. Hair damp, flattened in a few places to her scalp. She grinned wildly. "Just
made it," she said.
"What?"
Nick cupped his ear.
"Just made
it," she repeated, shouting to be heard over the downpour.
Nick leaned
toward her for his reply. "Just made it? I'd say we were two blocks
short."
"It'll let
up soon."
Nick poked his
head out from the doorway for a quick glance upward. Welcomed with a face full
of water for his trouble, he looked to Meg and sputtered in mock annoyance.
"I said
soon," she chuckled.
He wiped his
face with his hand. "You remember the party for my promotion? We shared a
taxi home."
"Uh-huh."
"It rained
that night too, didn't it?"
She nodded.
"Think
somebody is trying to tell us something?" Nick asked.
"Like wear
a rain coat?"
"Something
like that." He laughed again; it felt good.
Meg inhaled
deeply. "Doesn't it smell great."
Nick nodded. "I
love rain storms. Always have."
Lightning cut
the sky, and Nick began counting out loud. " … Two, three, four,
five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten," then the thunder rolled overhead.
"A little
more than two miles away," Meg
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