Bill doesn’t eat meat either now. The salad did have imitation bacon bits, though, because bacon is the only thing they both miss.
They had a really nice collection of jazz records, and they kept playing them all through lunch.
After a while, they broke open a bottle of white wine and gave me another ginger ale.
Then, we started talking. Bill asked me about The Fountainhead, and I told him, making sure that I was a filter.
Then, he asked me about how I liked my first year of high school, and I told him,
making sure that I included all the stories in which I “participated.”
Then, he asked me about girls, and I told him how I really loved Sam,
and how I wondered what the lady who wrote The Fountainhead would say about how I came to realize that I loved her.
After I finished, Bill got very quiet. He cleared his throat.
“Charlie … I want to thank you.” “Why?” I said. “Because it has been a wonderful experience teaching you.”
“Oh … I’m glad.” I didn’t know what else to say. Then, Bill took this really long pause,
and his voice sounded like my dad when he wants to have a big talk.
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