“We can turn round and go home,” he said hopefully. He’d just parked their car in the small lot next to the school, a large menacing brown building that loomed over them.

But Alicia would not be swayed. Ever since she intercepted the gilded invitation, she believed attending the reunion would be a positive experience. Of course she had not been the one who attended the school. She didn’t seem to comprehend that he had endured ordeals here, within the walls of the building that very much resembled a castle. And castles did have torture chambers, you know, only the ones within these walls had been disguised– as broom closets and cloak rooms.

“Ted, it’s not going to be bad. You’re making it out to be a trip to the dentist,” Alicia said, reaching across from the passenger seat to place a reassuring hand on his arm.

“I’d rather go to a dentist,” he grumbled. “You think it’s too late to make an appointment?”

“Go on, silly,” she said, and gave him a playful shove. “Let’s go– we’re going to be late.”

“Heaven forbid we should be late,” he said wryly, undoing his seat belt, hoping in vain that the latch would be jammed.

Outside other cars had pulled up and parked, and couples dressed in evening gowns and suits were heading round toward the front entrance of the school. Ted paused to study the line of parked cars, wondering why anyone– even those who had had less horrifying childhood memories– would bother to be present. It just didn’t make any sense, showing up to mingle with a bunch of people who were now virtual strangers and many of whom were married to out-and-out strangers. And everyone would talk about what?–the good old days. He didn’t feel the least bit nostalgic; all he felt, really, was the need to escape– the way he had so many years ago.

Alice took his arm and guided him toward the entrance. He didn’t harbor any real resentment at her enthusiasm. Having not been there, she could never understand what life had been like for him. She was just being a good wife, always interested in learning more about him, about his quirks, like his inability to sleep without a nightlight.

They walked in through the wide set of double doors, over which the word AUDITORIUM was craved into the cement façade, its letters shadowed in years of grime.

In the lobby he became suddenly breathless. It was as though his lungs refused to move the air in and out. He paused, and Alicia, still gripping his arm, turned to look at him, confused and concerned.

“You all right?” she asked. “You look a little pale.”

“Yeah,” he said, blinking his eyes, fighting off the feeling of drowning. “I just felt a little wheezy.” He thought it was strange really, if not ironic, because as I child he had had asthma, which had eventually cleared up; the last time he remembered himself stricken with the condition had been in the school– maybe on the very spot he now stood, he couldn’t quite remember– and one of the nuns, Sister Mary Something-or-other {the only nun who had known how to drive} had rushed him to the emergency room.

“You sure you’re all right?” Alice asked. “If not, we can go.”

“No, it’s fine,” he said. He was willing to continue, endure this one last ordeal, for her. She was a wonderful wife, after all, beautiful and intelligent, and he was sure that no one he’d see tonight would ever believe he could be so lucky as to have her. “It’ll be all right,” he assured her, though he could help looking past her, to the side of the lobby where the marble stairs ran to the rooms upstairs. At the landing there was a wooden door, oddly narrow, that opened on the tightly spiraling stairs that led up the bell tower.

Alicia glanced behind her in wonder, and then turned to him with a questioning look.

“Let’s just get this over with,” he said. He led her through the inner doors, which opened on the auditorium.

Even in his memory the auditorium seemed small, and now, after the passage of years, it seemed even smaller. The stage appeared comically inadequate, even for the shoddy grammar school productions that had been staged. The down-sloping floor still displayed the same dull gray and black pattern, and tables were set up here and there in a slapdash way. Some guests had already staked claim to the folding chairs at the tables, while others wandered around like recently deceased spirits who didn’t quite grasp the fact that they were dead.

There was a long folding table set up by the front door. The tabletop was filled with nametags lined in rows, waiting to be claimed by people. The woman sitting placidly behind the table didn’t appear familiar to him. She was wearing glasses with fairly thick lens and frames that were imbedded with rhinestones. She was on the chubby side, and the way she sat suggested that there were about a thousand things she’d rather be doing. Ted figured right off that she was probably married to one of his old classmates, probably one of those who just lived to go to reunions, who wanted to show off how wonderfully well he had done since the days he was a squalling brat being beaten by a nun in the cloak room.

Alicia wandered over to the table, and immediately drew a chill from the woman.

“Name?” the woman said, grudgingly, as though she realized that handing out a name tag was the only way to get Alicia to move away– Alicia, with her looks and graceful bearing, had a way of always intimidating other women, especially when she dressed formally.

“Thatcher,” Alicia said pleasantly.

“Thatcher?” the woman repeated dully, searching over the name tags. “Thatcher, Ted?– is that it?” she asked, and glanced past Alice to where Ted stood looking like a lost child. “Oh, yeah,” she added, and snorted disgust as she handed the two sticker to Alice, one sticker that said Thatcher and the other Guest.

“Thank you,” Alicia said, again amiable– she was always amiable in the face of rudeness; it was the best way to get even.

She stepped over to Ted, and stuck his name tag to his suit, just over the pocket.

“I have no idea where I’m supposed to put mine,” she said, helplessly looking down at her low-cut gown. She just kept the tag in her hand. “The receptionist– if that’s what you call her– had quite an attitude.”

Ted glanced over at the woman. “I don’t know her,” he said simply.

“Well, she sure seemed to know you,” Alicia said. “What?– were you notorious or something?”

“Something like that,” he said. “Why don’t we grab a table.”

They walked down to the center of the auditorium, and found an empty table. Ted held the chair for Alicia as she sat, a gesture that seemed excessively gallant considering it was a folding chair. Several of the people at the surrounding tables took a brief pause in their conversations to gaze at them, and then resumed talking. A couple of the people seemed to have a difficult time not letting a wary eye drift back.

Ted sat next to Alicia.

“It’s really not as bad as I thought,” he said.

“Are you kidding?” Alicia asked, leaning toward him. “What’s going on? These people are creepy .”

“Just ignore them– they’re strangers, after all.”

“Well, that’s going to be kind of hard. They keep staring over here.” She paused thoughtfully a moment, and then said, “You know, you never did say much about your childhood.”

“And now probably isn’t the best time to go into it all.”

“If not now, when?– right as the lynch mod is forming. What did you do here?”

“Nothing,” he said adamantly. “I didn’t do anything.” He stared at the table, and rubbed his forehead, trying to calm himself. He realized he’d spoken too harshly to her. He’d never done that before– she’d never desire that. She just doesn’t understand, he thought. “It’s all about Adam Susky,” he said, now more reasonable. “The same thing all over again– still– it never goes away, really.”

“Adam Susky?” she was baffled.

“He was kid I went to school with. He died when I was in the third grade.”

She frowned at the skimpy explanation, and shrugged her shoulders helplessly when he didn’t continue.

“All right,” he said, and sighed. “There was a thing kids did back then– a stupid thing, really. You’ve seen the tower on the front corner of the building, right? That’s the old bell tower. The bell isn’t up there any more– probably hasn’t been for years. They put an electric bell on the outside the building a long time ago. I suppose at one time, the bell was up in the tower, and the nuns used to pull the rope to ring the bell to let kids know class was about to start. Anyway, the bell tower doesn’t have a bell, and it’s really– when you think about it– a useless thing. When I was going to school here, the nuns always made a big deal about the bell tower; it was strictly off limits to students. Sneaking up into the bell tower was about the worst thing you could do, short clocking a nun in the head. They made such a big deal over it that naturally everyone was tempted to sneak up there and have a peek. Apparently this had been going on for years, and there was even bell tower folklore. You’d hear that so-and-so’s grandfather sneaked up into the bell tower in 1933 and found the bleached out skull that belonged to a priest who mysteriously vanished years before– things like that. So between the weird stories and the nuns threats– well, you know how kids are.”

“Why didn’t they just seal off the entrance?” Alicia asked.

“I’m not sure. The nuns were always very big on self-control. “You have to practice self-control.” You’d hear it all the time. I think, really, they left it open because they believed the students should all have enough self-control not to go up there, no matter how curious they were.

“Anyway, so it was recess one day– this was when we were in third grade– and Adam spots his chance to sneak up in the bell tower and have a look around. Usually there was always somebody around the front lobby– a nun or one of the lay teachers or Pete, the janitor– and it was impossible to sneak through the door. But something was happening outside, a fight or something, I think– I can’t really remember– but everybody was distracted by something that was going on outside. So Adam saw his chance.

I caught him just as he was standing on the landing and had the door open. I was coming down from class and going to recess late for some reason– probably because one of the nuns held me after class– and I caught him just as he was about to slip through the narrow door. He eyes were huge, because he must have heard my footsteps on the stairs, and thought I was one of the teachers. When he saw it was me, he waved me over to join him. I didn’t really know him very well. He was just a kid in class. But to get a peek up in the bell tower– well, what the hell? The both of us went through the door, and shut it behind us. We were pretty safe now– I mean, nobody was going to miss us; they never took head-counts at recess. So we climbed up the stairs, and they were old and spiraled tightly upward. It was really pretty creepy, walking up those stairs, the old wood creaking with each step, dust flying around, cobwebs covering every nook and cranny of the brick walls, and the strong smell of mildew mixed with the reek of something else, something old and rotten. The whole structure just had the air of abandonment about it, as though– I don’t know– something terrible had happened there at one time, and now the place was forbidden, and not just because the nuns said so. You know, like if a child dies, and his parents lock up his bedroom, just leave everything the same and lock it down as if it were a time capsule. That was the way it felt. We weren’t halfway up the tower, and felt like turning round and running. At that point I didn’t care whether the nuns discovered us or not; a good beating didn’t seem nearly as bad as what might be above us. I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were approaching something wicked. That was probably just my imagination, though, because by then the nuns had already had us all brain-washed about evil things; basically evil was all over the place, stalling us, waiting for us to let down our defenses. But I continued anyway. I think the only thing that kept me going was curiosity. Also, if there was something incredible up on the belfry, I didn’t want Adam to have sole claim on finding it. So I was right on his heels, when he shoved up the trap door that opened on the belfry, and we climbed up into it. It wasn’t as big as I thought it would be– not much bigger than a large closet, really. Above, just below where the spire peaked, there was a beam running across, from which the bell hung at one time. And all around there were small archways in the walls, made out of stone, and the wind whipped through the archways. About the only thing we found up there was an old nest, which was filled with the skeletons of baby birds that never got to fly. There was a dead crow, too. It looked like it broke its neck, and it was all bloated and swollen. That was all we found– that and a lot of dust– hardly anything worthy of future folklore. The views from the archways was pretty good, though; I could look through one and nearly see my house, which was about a half mile away. I was looking out one of the archways, while Adam looked out of another one behind me. He must have been looking down at the kids who were playing at recess, because he said how they looked like ants and Sister Eugenia looked like a beetle. Then he said, “What”s that supposed to be?’ I don’t know what he was talking about. The next time I turned round, he was gone. Just like that. I heard some screaming coming from outside, and I went over to the other side, to the archway where Adam was standing. I looked down and I could see all the kids standing still. They made an almost perfect circle, and at the center of the circle, Adam was lying there. His arms and legs were thrown out wildly, and I could see where the puddle of blood was forming where his head hit the asphalt. And Sister Eugenia was kneeling on the ground, leaned over him. Then she looked up at saw me looking down through the archway. Her face was red, almost purple, and her eyes– I’ll never forget her eyes– the look she gave me was the scariest thing I ever saw, scarier even than Adam lying there dead. I must have flew down those old stairs, then, but not fast enough, not nearly fast enough; when I burst out through the door, everybody was waiting for me– that was how it seemed– I don’t know how many nuns, and Pete, the janitor, and Mr. Ellis, the gym teacher, they were all grabbing at me, the whole herd of them, grabbing and dragging me to the office. It was crazy, like a nightmare. They all automatically assumed that I pushed Adam out the window. They kept screaming at me, why did you do it? What were you thinking? How could you? I didn’t even know what they were talking about. I couldn’t even speak, I was so afraid and confused. I could never understand why they all assumed I shoved Adam through the archway. It didn’t make any sense. It was as though they never considered the possibility that he just slipped. Later, when everything calmed down and I told them how it happened, they called me a liar, and the nuns looked at me with such hatred you’d think they were confronting the devil himself. The police had no probably believing me. I just told them the truth, which was that I was looking the other way when Adam had fallen. So I didn’t known exactly what happened. No, he didn’t yell or scream or anything. He just said that one thing, “What”s that supposed to be,’ and no, I had no idea what he’d meant. That was it– that was the truth. But nobody at the school ever believed it.”

“Why, that’s incredible,” Alicia said, aghast. She was fiddling with her guest tag, the way she’d done all the while Ted had spoken. “And everybody still believes… that’s what’s with all the funny looks?”

“Yeah. It all became part of school legend. I was the kid who got away with murder.”

“That’s awful…. If I had known, Ted, really, I wouldn’t have– well, we just wouldn’t have come.”

“No, I’m glad we did now, honestly,” he said. “If I didn’t show up, I would have looked guilty. Besides,” he added, “maybe it’s a way to exorcise some old ghosts– not just Adam’s.”

“What do you mean?”

“It didn’t really end after Adam died. I spent five more years in this school, all the while the other kids steered clear of me and the nuns– well, they saw me as evil incarnate. I’d get punished for nothing. Other kids would get punished for talking in class or chewing gum or running in the halls. I’d get punished for not quite sitting up straight or not opening a textbook fast enough. And most of the time the punishment wasn’t standing in the corner or writing out times tables; it was getting locked in the second floor mop closet, sometimes for the whole day. It was a very shallow closet, and so you were forced to stand the entire time– there wasn’t enough room to sit. Every time one of the nuns passed the closet, they’d hit the door, just pound it once with their fist. I know it all sound quite horrible– I can see by the look on your face– but really I was surprised they didn’t chase me around and try to dowse me with holy water. They truly believed I’d shoved Adam out of the bell tower– you couldn’t convince them otherwise– but that wasn’t the reason they carried on this–warfare against me; it was because I wasn’t willing to confess it all, to cleanse my soul of the mortal sin. They never saw my refusal to confess as a sign of innocence, but rather as a sign of evil.”

“Evil?” Alicia said, now actually smiling. “You? You’re about the least evil person I ever met. But, really, this is all incredible. What about your parents? What did they say about all this?”

“Well, they originally sent me here so that I’d grow up well disciplined. They weren’t really concerned at the type of punishment I’d get, even corporeal punishment. It was different then– not at all like today. As far as what happened up in the bell tower, I told them the truth. Whether they believed it or not, I never found out. They seemed to believe it, but you never know. All you can really do is tell the truth. If people don’t want to believe, what exactly are you going to do? You can’t force somebody to believe you. You just live with the fallout, even if it’s not fair.”

“Well, I think it’s all really disgraceful,” Alicia said firmly. “Especially that they could treat a child like that.”

“It was a different time,” Ted told her.

“That doesn’t excuse it,” she said, and he couldn’t disagree, just shrug his shoulders weakly.

Alicia turned round, then, and defiantly eyed the other guests. “I take it we will not be mingling very well. I’m going to get us a couple drinks,” she said, disgusted, and rose to head for the makeshift bar that was set up next to the stage.

Ted watched her walk away. She carried herself boldly as she navigated round the other tables, as though wishing, just hoping, somebody would make some comment to her. His eyes drifted over the auditorium then. It did seem so very small, and all the people so very strange. He might have shown up at the wrong reunion, at a different school entirely, and not realized it at first glance. There were one or two people he believed he recognized, but he wasn’t sure. Every now and again, a face no longer familiar to him turned his way, a fleeting and guarded glance cut short when the person noticed that Ted was looking back. A quick peek at the murderer, and then a whispered aside to another person at the table. Oh, they we still talking about him, and if they weren’t talking, they were thinking.

He was mesmerized by the dull colors of the room, beneath the colorful glittery decorations that hung from the ceiling. His mind drifted, and he began the old habit– broken years ago already– of reminding himself that he was a decent human being.

“Ted Thatcher!” A loud voice boomed so near to him he started.

The man standing there was looking down at him with a crooked, ironic grin. He had sleepy brown eyes, and his graying hair had receded back to the top of his head. His thick frame looked lumpy and was at least one size too big for the out-of-fashion three piece blue pinstripe suit he wore.

Ted had no idea who the man was, and his faced showed it.

“Bill– Bill Frank,” he man said jocularly. “Says so right on the nametag,” he added, pointing a sausage-like finger at the tag on his chest.

It took a moment for it to set in. Billy Frank, of course, how could he have forgot? Billy was about the closest thing he had to a friend during the upper grades. He was the class clown, often slapped across the knuckles with a rule by the nuns but never crying, never letting it all get to him. A little levity was worth a crack across the knuckles. He never shied away from Ted after the Adam incident– the only one, it seemed.

Before Ted to ask him to sit, Billy settled his bulk onto the folding chair, which creaked in complaint.

“Long time, sport,” he said. “The good news is we both survived, right? We survived this place, and life too– so far, anyway. Couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the invitation. A reunion! For this place? It’s sort of like having a reunion for a state pen. It’s so incredibly sick, I just had to come.” He guffawed so loudly heads turned at the other tables. He pulled a ragged white handkerchief out of his suit coat pocket, and mopped the sweat off his forehead. When he noticed that Ted was still sitting there in a quiet, hangdog way, he said, “Ted, you have to laugh. This evening is a perversion of social entertainment. Hey, is that your wife?” he asked, tossing his head in the direction of the bar, where Alicia was waiting for the bartender– probable the current janitor working overtime– to fill a couple Dixie cups with mixed drinks. “I saw you walk in with her.”

Ted simply confirmed that she was indeed his wife.

“Hot, very hot, sport. I’m impressed, and that’s not easy. Who’d have thunk you’d end up with such a looker. My wife– I had to leave her home; it’s a crime to take her out in public. However, what she lacks in looks, she makes up in other things– cooking and spawning kids. My kids, all five of them, are all beautiful. Every time I look at them I think there must be some mistake. You have any kids?”

“No,” Ted said. “Not yet, anyway.”

“You still have time, but don’t wait too long.”

Just then Alicia returned. She set the two Dixie cups on the table, casting a baleful eye at Billy.

“What took you so long?” Ted asked.

“The bartender seemed to have forgotten the recipe for gin and tonic,” she said.

She sat down, and Ted introduced her to Billy.

“Well, I think this place is just awful,” she said to Billy.

“Oh, it sounds like you just found that out,” Billy boomed cheerily, and then said to Ted, “You’re kidding, right? You mean you never told her?” When Ted didn’t answer, he went on, “Aw, come one, sport, you don’t mean you’re still going on about that kid– what’s his name?– that Adam kid. My God, that was nearly thirty years ago. I didn’t expect you to still be carrying that around. Them–” jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the other tables– “yeah, sure. Believe you me, they’re still gossiping about it, but that just proves the whole thing was stupid– people just don’t like to let stupid things die. The kid slipped– it was an accident– accidents happen. It’s all that simple.” He paused to pat his brow dry. “What they did to you was a– a– a sin, that’s what. Kid falls out of the tower and gets himself killed, and it has to be somebody’s fault, right? You know why? Because if they don’t blame somebody, then everybody is going to wonder why they didn’t seal that doorway years ago– or at least put a lock on it. Besides, it’s not like it was the only time it happened.”

“What do you mean?” Ted asked, frowning.

“It happened again. I thought you know. About five years after we graduated some kid took a swan dive out of the tower– splat. And then again, last year. To tell you the truth, I don’t think Adam was the first, either. One of my uncles attended here back in the forties, and he told me that three or four kids fell out of the tower. 1938, 1941 and 1942– something like that. What they were saying back then was that there was a curse on the tower. If you believe it that stuff– personally I think it’s a load of horse manure. But the story goes, way back in the 20’s, some nun hanged herself up there. That was why they took the bell down. Ever since then the tower was considered an evil place. They even tried sealing the door, but after that the school and the church, across the street, started to suffered a streak of bad luck– really weird things started happening. Parishioners started dropping dead during Mass. The rectory burned to the ground, and a couple priests got toasted. My personal favorite, though– and this supposedly appeared in the papers– the school was hit by a small meteorite. Can you believe that? The thing was about the size of a football, and it went through the roof all the way to the basement. It sliced through three class rooms on the way, and a nun and six or seven kids got killed. Anyway, somewhere along the line, they decided that whatever evil was locked up in the tower didn’t like it very much. So they actually unsealed the door, and guess what? The streak of bad luck ended. A little while later, the first kid fell off the tower. Kids have been falling every so often ever since– almost like the tower was taking a sacrifice now and then.

“Ah, it’s all a load of crap,” he said, and waved his pudgy hand in a dismissive way.

“I don’t understand this,” Alicia said, then, having intently listen to Bill speak. “If all this happened before, why where they so hard on Ted after this Adam kid got killed?”

“Oh, that’s simple,” Bill piped, stuffing his damp handkerchief back in his pocket. “Ted here survived.”

“I don’t get it,” she said.

“You have to understand how these people thought. If they really believed the bell tower was an evil place, then evil let Ted escape. It was the same as giving Ted the ole thumbs up. The way they probably looked at it was that he was touched by evil– some such nonsense…. I think I’ll grab a drink,” he said then, rising slowly, his folding chair squeaking relief.

After Bill had walked away, Alicia leaned in close to Ted.

“I think we should leave,” she suggested.

“Absolutely not– not now,” Ted said. As he’d listened Bill tell the story, his resentment grew at having been singled out in such a way, at what people were still saying and thinking of him. He had always felt penitent after Adam died– because that was the way he’d been made to feel, not because he deserved it. “No,” he said stubbornly. “If I leave now, it would be like running. I can’t let them all have the satisfaction.”

“But all this talk about evil,” Alicia protested, and there was a hint of awe in her voice.

Ted stared at her, surprised. “Don’t tell me you buy into all that?”

“Things like that really do happen– curses and evil places,” she said, her eyes large and spooked.

Ted was amazed. Alicia, he believed, was about the most level-headed person he knew. “I never knew you were superstitious.”

“Well, I’m not,” she said, “but, you know, when I was little my grandmother used to tell me stories.”

“What?– fairy tales?”

“They all sounded pretty real to me. They were all about things that actually happened to real people, things so scary nobody wanted to talk abut it.”

“Then who told your grandmother?” he asked.

“Oh, you know what I mean. Don’t make fun of me now,” she warned. “This is all serious stuff.”

“Serious?” he snort. “You know what it really is? You know how things like this start? Something unfortunate happens, and there is no explanation for it. People need to understand why bad things happen. If there’s no logical reason, then they put it off on back luck or hexes. The nuns who used to run this school– most of them were old, some where from the old country. They believed that evil was hiding under every rock. Now, I’m not saying evil doesn’t exist– it does– but some people believe too much. They start seeing things that aren’t there. It’s very easy for something like that to start here, in this place, with the people who used to run it. The spook stories get established, and then they’re handed down and passed off a true history. It’s ridiculous, when you stop to think of it with a clear mind. They were all accidents– that’s all. Over the years there were probably hundreds of times when kids slipped up into the bell tower, and absolutely nothing happened, and nobody was the wiser. They got away with it. Then there’s a handful of times when an accident occurs, and those are the only times people know for sure that some kid sneaked up there. So it seems to them like every time I kid sneaks up there, they die. Simple, right?”

But Alicia appeared unconvinced. “But, then, why did those kids fall?”

“Who knows? Maybe it was just the wind. I do remember that– it was pretty windy up there. A kid looks down out of one of the archways, gets hit with a gust of wind whipping through the tower… I could happen; kids are small, don’t weigh much.”

“I suppose,” she said, and took a sip of her drink.

“Honestly, I’m glad you insisted we come here. For the first time since– I don’t know how long, I feel better. Whenever I thought of this place, there was always a twinge of guilt. Guilt– that was another big thing. The nuns could make you feel guilty just about anything. You could end up going through your entire life carrying around loads of guilt you never deserved. No, I’m happy to be here.”

“What about them?” Alicia asked, vaguely tipping her head toward the other tables, at which people, now and then, still stole a futile look at Ted but pretended innocent eye-drifting and not hostile curiosity.

“Them? They’re just strangers. They always were. Why should I care what they think? I care what you think and what I think, and I’m satisfied with that idea.”

Alicia smiled, though she still seemed somewhat uneasy.

When Bill returned to the table, he sat heavily on the chair, which didn’t have the change to groan under his bulk.

“They ran out of ice,” he said, and intentionally spoke loudly enough for all to hear. “It’s probably for the best, though; I don’t think an ice cube would fit in my cup,” he added, holding up the small Dixie cup and eying it appraisingly. He lower his voice, then, and asked Ted, “Is everybody looking?”

“Yeah, except for the guy way in the corner wearing the hearing aid.”

“Good. They can all take a flying leap.” He drank his drink in one gulp, and crushed the cup in his meat hand. “This reunion sucks. Just a bunch of people sitting around gossiping.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re not in on the gossip,” Alicia said.

Bill looked at her with mock surprise. “She speaks,” he roared, “and she’s funny.” Grinning, he tossed the crushed cup over his shoulder. He turned to Ted, and said in a low, conspiratorial tone, “Hey, sport, I had a great idea. It came to me while I was waiting for my drink. This shindig isn’t going to last very long. The last time I saw so many stiffs was when the did the news coverage on the airliner that crashed a while back. After this disaster, they’ll probably never be another reunion. So why don’t we get them all an unforgettable goodbye forever?”

Ted stared at him, wondering, clearly amused by Billy’s childlike enthusiasm.

“Why?– what did you have in mind.”

“I was thinking we could climb up there and–”

“Up where?” Ted asked.

“Up there– the bell tower, and–”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No, hear me out. We climb up there– right?– and as they’re going to their cars below, we– say… shoot them the moon, you know, drop the ole drawers and say kiss my bee-hind, deadbeats.”

“I can’t do that,” Ted said

“Why not?”

“Well, it’s a little nuts for one thing,” Alicia put in, clearly horrified at the idea.

But Billy ignored her, pitching his plan directly to Ted.

“Do you really care what these people think of you– after everything is said and done?”

“Well, no,” Ted said.

“Were you or were you no treated in an unforgivable way in this building by these people?”

“Well, yeah.”

“There you go, then,” Billy said decisively.

Ted sat silently, lost in deep thought, until Alicia could not longer stand it.

“You aren’t seriously considering this, Ted?” she asked.

“Well…”

“Ted,” Alicia scolded him. “How could you even think of doing something so childish?”

“Maybe it’s just something leftover from childhood– something that I never got out of my system.”

“Yeah,” Billy agreed quickly, “This would be like– what’s the word– when you do something that makes you feel better about something that’s been bothering you? Cat… something.”

“Cathartic?” Alicia asked

“Yeah, that’s it,” Billy said to Ted. “Cat…cat… what she said.”

Ted appeared on the verge of agreeing, but then considered wrinkles in the plan.

“It’d never work. Even if they still never sealed the door, there is no lighting. We’d never be able to see enough to climb up.”

“Not a problem,” Billy said, eagerly digging into his back pocket. He pulled out a small black flashlight, the kind with small bulbs that can produce an exceptional amount of light. “I always carry it with me. I have the habit of losing things in the dark,” he explained, and then added, “If fact, it’s a wonder I have as many kids as I do.”

“All right,” Ted said.

Alicia wasn’t shy about letting her feelings known. She folded her arms in front of her, and stared at Ted for a long time. She was disappointed and angry with him for agreeing to such a juvenile act. At the same time she couldn’t help feel somewhat responsible. After all if she’d hadn’t cajoled Ted into attending this reunion, they would even be here now– they would be doing what they usually did on a Friday night– take in dinner and a movie, bowl a few lines, or just rent a couple movies and lie about the house.

“Well, I’m getting more drinks,” she said, disgusted.

Before the reunion came to a merciful end, somebody decided that it would be a good idea for everyone to take a walk through the school. Everyone line up and filed through the dimmed hallways of the school. Some were took there drinks with, sipping them now and then, leaving little Dixie cups here and there, where on Monday, when classes resumed, children would wonder at the white cups left on their desktop or on a windowsill. They snaked through the narrow hallways, starting behind the stage at the short hallway that led to the rear of the school, first floor, where the kindergarten rooms, redolent of crayons, were located, and made their way up to the front of the school, second floor, which was reserved for the classrooms of seventh- and eight-graders.

Along the way people pointed at this or that, at the old porcelain drinking fountains or at the new lowered, commenting on what was changed and what was the same. They murmured among themselves recalling stories of things that had happened here, in the art room, or there, on the stairwell. And everybody noted how very small everything seemed now.

As Ted, Alicia and Billy moved along, huddled together vaguely and separated from everyone else, Ted knew, was absolutely certain, everybody was talking about him, especially as the walked on the second floor and approached the mop closet in which he’d been locked for what amounted to many hours of his early life. He was astonished, though, to discover the closet was no longer there. He thought at first that he was mistaken about its location. But no, it appeared as though it had been taken out and dry-walled over many years ago already. It really wasn’t much of a closet anyway, he thought.

Everyone ended up back in the auditorium. A couple people slipped out the front door, while most of the others milled about. Some exchanged phone numbers and promised to be in touch with others.

Ted, Alicia and Billy stood near their table.

“It’s almost over, sport,” Billy said.

“Yeah,” Ted said.

“We should just stroll out the front now. Nobody’ll notice.”

“I don’t supposed there’s anything I could do to talk you guys out of this,” Alicia said.

Ted smiled. “Don’t worry. It’ll be all right, I promise. I just have to get this out of my system.”

Alicia, dubious, told Ted she would meet him out in the car, and Ted and Billy headed for the front doors.

It was very easy, really. As soon as they were clear of the door, they turned left in the lobby and headed for the stairs. They quickly climbed the stairs, both giddy with excitement and very much like naughty children starting something that they are sure will be spoken of for years. The tower door was, indeed, unlocked; Billy tugged it open, and the hinges made a low long squeak. They shut the door behind them, and stood a moment in the darkness. When Billy turned on his flashlight, the inside of the tower was dimly illuminated. It ought to have been brighter, but the darkness here seemed to smothered the light. Still they could see the narrow steps wheeling upward, their unpainted blanks looking ancient and dusty. They slowly began their ascent. The flashlight made jiggley shadows on the bricks walls around them, as Billy labored to climb the stairs that creaked menacingly under his feet. Behind him Ted worried that Billy might toppled backwards and end up crushing him. Strangely it seemed like a long time before they reached the top. The last time he had been here, he was sure, it had only taken a few seconds to gain the belfry. Maybe then Adam and he had run. When you are a child you seem always to be running. It never bothers you. When you get older, running becomes ungainly, if not impossible.

They climbed up into the little room that once house the bell. Billy flashed the light around, its beams sweeping the floor, the pointed ceiling, the rough brick walls around the archways, though which no wind blew as the evening air was quite calm. They saw nothing there, except a few old dried tree leaves on the floor. The presence of the leaves was a mystery; there were no trees outside nearby high enough, it seemed, for leaves to have been deposited here– even the trees that had lined the street, long since cut down due to an infestation of Asian beetles, hadn’t been nearly as high as the bell tower.

Puffing and slightly wheezing, Billy pulled out his handkerchief, and mopped his face.

“See there,” he said. “Not a thing. No ghosts, no goblins– nothing.” He looked down through the archway that overlooked the front entrance. “They’re starting to come out now.”

“You know they’ll never see us,” Ted said.

“Does it really matter? As long as you know what you did– that’s what’s important.”

Ted was gazing through another archway out in the direction of his old house. He was transfixed a the red light that blinked slowly just over the horizon. Somebody must have built a radio antenna close to his old home. He wonder whether that small boxy house was still standing. He remembered his tiny bedroom, cluttered with clothes and toys.

“Some things change a lot,” he said, more to himself than to Billy, “and then some things don’t seem to change at all.”

“That’s the damnedest thing,” Billy said, then, with wonder in his voice.

Was he responding to what Ted had just said, or something else? Ted couldn’t quite tell. “What do you mean?”

When Ted turned round, he saw that Billy was no longer standing there. He giggled in confusion at first. “What the…?” Then his face contorted in horror. He bounded toward the archway at which Billy had just been standing, and looked down below. He could barely make out the bulk form in a dark suit lying on the asphalt. People, having froze in their spots as they returned to their cars, were gazing up at the bell tower. The street lights were dim, and he couldn’t make out the features of their faces, which were fuzzy white ovals tipped up toward him. He heart was beating madly. He wonder whether they all could see him standing up there, or just the shadows inside, where a bell had once hung.