Any parking spot seems like a good one after five hours. We pull into a driveway behind Ferguson House. The need to stretch my legs fuels me to find the first spot available. A howling wind is my only reluctance to get out of the car. I shut the engine off and exhale. "I guess we better get changed."
J. crawls into the back seat of the Vanagon while I stretch my legs. The area is empty so I meander over to a small grove of trees to take a piss and a few deep breaths. By the time I return, J. has switched his Carhartts for a pair of wrinkled slacks. He buttons down his white shirt but lets his bowtie hang loosely from his collar. "You're up," he says while tying his boots and putting the stocking cap back on his head.
My outfit takes a bit longer to put on. I methodically piece it together while J. takes his own nature walk. Polished black shoes, a black tie and a pea coat give me a slightly different look than my companion. From the lot, we walk toward the quadrangle in front of the library.
He's there. Waiting for us, it seems. We quickly stride across the street and head his way. He waves and takes a pull on a cigarette. As we return the wave, the sun pokes through the clouds for the first time since I-90. The campus brightens and students begin to appear from everywhere. From nowhere. Has class just ended? Is this a break in the weather? Are we witnessing the first moments of spring? After a short pause, we continue up the grass until we reach the boarded-up house. O. sits on the porch.
The house has never looked sp fortified. O. has never looked so relaxed. We step up onto the uneven concrete and at once agree that we've never left.
"This looks familiar," says J., half-laughing. O. stretches out, opens his coat, and pulls out a drammy of whiskey. With a smile as broad as it is yellow, he pulls out three cups and three cigarettes. He fills the cups generously and places the bottle at his feet. I look at O. and he looks forward. There is an unmistakable sense of satisfaction in the air. "Hey O., what was that quote your pops used to say?" J. cuts in, "I remember. Wasn't it...?" he pauses to reflect. "To them that's here. To them that's gone. Then we'll see each other again." O. smiles and raises his glass. J. and I follow. The bourbon burns nostalgia into our throats. O. finds relief and looks in our direction. I look at J.
"So, are you ready for this?"
J. smiles. "Is anyone ever ready for this?"
J. and I each shoot O. a grin. It's his day. "Can you believe it's been three years since we've seen some of these characters?" O. smiles and exhales a puff of Marlboro smoke.
I gesture for a lighter and O. tosses it into my hands. We light up. Pulling a drag off the freshly lit cigarette, I lean back on the worn, filthy couch. My muscles, my tension, the realities of life and all its stress — lost in the waft of smoke as it enters and exits my body. I'm back to my homes here again: on a couch in a dorm room, in the passenger seat of O.'s Range Rover, on Martin's Way. I take a quick second drag. My mind and body are not used to the rituals of tobacco. My soul has not forgotten. I return to the porch, to the others staring off into the distance, overlooking the valley below.
Out of the silence, I hear J. sit up and speak. "I remember walking out of our back room freshman year in North, and there he is," says J. pointing to O. but looking at me. "He's struggling on guitar, playing a familiar riff. I walk over and smile. Of course I know it. Guns n' Roses' ‘Sweet Child O' Mine.' ‘Bro, can you help me with this?' with that typical shit-eating grin." J. stops to take a drag. "I said, ‘Sure. Slide over.' That was the first true connection.
"Then one night I made fun of O. driving back from the movie theatre that same year. He couldn't find his way — proudly — and I knew it no problem. Words were exchanged and the heat was thrown. The entire six-passenger Range Rover was silent for the full 15 minutes back to North Lot. Of course it should've been 10. But as soon as we got back, we traded apologies and shared an atonement cigarette." O. smiles and nods before J. finishes. "We were forever connected then."
