Blue Cotton Work Shirts Stitched Together for a Spring Dance
I leaned my head against the cool glass of the passenger window, watching the streetlights paint long yellow lines across the dashboard. The realization of what my father had done for this town sat heavy in my chest.
“He wants to meet you at the school basement before we go home,” Clara said, slowing the car down near our driveway. “He said there is something he needs to give you tonight.”
I nodded, watching the dark trees pass by. “We can go now,” I said.
Clara turned the car around at the corner, the headlights sweeping across the empty lawns and the dark siding of the houses.
The school parking lot was nearly empty when we returned, save for Principal Bradley’s station wagon parked near the side entrance. The brick building looked massive and silent in the dark, the windows reflecting the stars.
We walked down the concrete steps to the basement level, where the air was cooler and smelled of pine floor wax and old steam pipes. The steam radiators were quiet now, their metal pipes cold to the touch.
