-Junior-

I barely talk to anyone until after the football game that following Friday.

On my way out to my car, I notice Sylvia by the band trailer.

She’s packing flags and rifles into the trailer.

“Where’s Troy?” I ask her.

“Hmm? Oh, Troy left already. Are you looking for him?”

I shake my head. “No.”

Sylvia smiles.

“We have to reorganize this trailer some time,” she says to me. “It’s an absolute disaster zone right now.”

“I know! I remember in pit last year how annoying it was just to pack everything in there. There isn’t enough room!”

“I know…” Sylvia picks up three of the flags at her feet and takes a second to regard how best to stuff them into the trailer. Members of the pit keep rolling their xylophones and marimbas up the ramp past us.

“Need any help?” I offer.

Sylvia looks at the trailer, and then back at me.

“Want to drive some of these flags back to the school with me?”

With eight flags sticking out of my window, and about a dozen rifles stacked in the passenger’s seat, I drive behind Sylvia back to the high school.

After we return the equipment to the band room, Mr. McDowell locks everything up and wishes us goodnight.

We’re on our way back out to our cars when I notice Sylvia had kept a flag to practice with.

“Thanks for the help tonight,” she says, “‘preciate it.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Still can’t convince you to do indoor this year?”

“I don’t know, maybe…”

“What’s stopping you?”

I shrug. “Nothing, really…”

“How have you been?”

I pause. Up until now I’d thought that Sylvia and I were making small talk. This new softness in her voice makes it seem like she really wants to know, like she could so easily see through me and know something was the matter.

What do I say? Am I over-thinking this? Just say that everything’s fine and leave!

Before I can, though, Sylvia says, “It must have been hard for you, Ken leaving. I know you two were close.”

I don’t know what to say at first…

When you’re in pain, the smallest gesture can have the biggest consequences.

“It was hard. Yeah, it was… hard.”

“Want to hit up Waffle House? My treat!” Sylvia hands off her flag to me.

“What?” I say, almost dropping the flag.

“I’m driving!”

“What? What?!”