Going Places by Kathryn Berla

Author:Kathryn Berla
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Coming of Age, Boyhood, Relationships, Love, First love, Friendship, Death, High School, Home school, Art, Romance, Family, World War II, The elderly, Dogs, Mystery, Drama, Teenager, Mother-Son relationships, Single parents
Publisher: Amberjack Publishing
Published: 2018-03-19T16:00:00+00:00

If you need to dig, a shovel will usually do the trick . . .

. . . but in Pirkle’s case, it took a bulldozer.

I rapped on the door with a sinking sensation, not sure who would be behind it. It’d been three days since the underwear/combat boots incident, and I needed to return the key. And dig.

The man who answered was the dignified Mr. Pirkle. And the reserved Mr. Pirkle. But after our last visit, I wasn’t sure I’d be invited in.

“I’m returning the key,” I said by way of explanation. “I took it home with me the other night.”

“Oh, yes,” he said uncertainly dropping the key into his pocket. “Why . . . tell me again why I gave it to you.”

“I took it. In case I needed to get in. Do you want me to put it back in the hiding place?”

“Yes . . . no. That’s not necessary. I’ll do it.”

When I didn’t leave and the silence extended beyond the normal comfort zone, he invited me in.

“Would you like something to drink, Hudson? I’m afraid all I have is diet soda or water.”

“Water’s fine.” I followed him into the kitchen. “I thought I’d drop by and return the key. I was going to stop by your neighbor’s afterwards.”

“You sweet on that girl?” Pirkle asked. “I’ve seen you over there. Seem to be spending a lot of time together.”

I thought about the times I’d seen him peering out the front kitchen window when Fritzy and I were shooting hoops. “No, nothing like that,” I said. “We’re just friends, and we play on a basketball league together.” That last sentence came out with feigned indifference, but I was prickly with pride when I said it.

“Pretty girl,” he handed me a glass of water. “Should we sit here in the kitchen?”

“Mr. Pirkle, I have another reason for coming.” I’d rehearsed this scenario multiple times in the past few days. “I’m doing a project for my government class about WWII, and I wondered if I could interview you about your personal experiences.”

He’d never know this wasn’t the truth. And what older person could refuse to help a young person working on a school project? This would be my gateway to his mind. Or so I hoped.

“Government class. What does WWII have to do with government class?”

I’d actually thought about that too and realized it would have been better to say history class. But I was a terrible liar, and although I was lying about the school project, I couldn’t bring myself to lie about the actual class I was taking.

“We’re learning about the Department of War and how it ceased to exist right after WWII and eventually became the Department of Defense.”

This was the answer I’d fortunately prepared ahead of time even though it still didn’t explain where his personal WWII experiences fit in. I was hoping he’d buy it. He gave me the head-ducking, skull-examining look.

“I told you I was a WWII vet?”

“You mentioned it once.”

“I don’t know how interesting my experiences would be to anyone.

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