Dell's Journey

Chapter 9: A Dismal Reunion

Once, while Rian was back on summer break, she had

called Dell and they agreed to meet. It was the July

between her junior and senior year at University, and she

had said something about how it was going to be the last

summer vacation she ever got.

Dell showed up early on accident. His confidence was

at an all-time low. They had chosen a bar with a trashy,

small-town tavern vibe, perfect for people who actually

were trashy and small-town, and for people who knew just

enough to think they could make fun of it. They both knew

why they liked the idea of it.

Rian looked good. Her hair was longer now, past her

shoulders, and she had apparently gotten even better at

doing makeup, which she had tended to keep at a minimum in

high-school. She was wearing clothes that made her seem

sophisticated, including a short tweed blazer sort of thing

that made Dell imagine a well-bred, Northeastern student

from the 1940's. Around her neck she had a silky scarf

thing that was a tad pretentious, but to be honest, looked

cool. She wore glasses now too, the kind that aren't a bit

nerdy, but rather create the sense that the person wearing

them is a fascinating conversationalist – one with real

depth.

Her general togetherness was contrasted by the general

scruffiness Dell had begun to cultivate; the beginnings of

a beard, unkempt, longish hair protruding out the sides of

a stocking-cap which was worn in any kind of weather,

regardless of heat. He enjoyed this get-up, though he

couldn't decide if it was because it made him feel tough or

because he genuinely thought it looked good. He imagined

that he looked quite interesting to people. Perhaps he

did, though not for the reasons he hoped. These things are

hard to sort out.

Dell had been taking a few classes at the community

college. Nothing too focused, just an Intro to Psychology

here or a history of something there. Once he'd heard

someone refer to his school as "junior college," which

infuriated him, though he hid his reaction as best he

could. He was learning, he maintained. He was doing

something. He simply hadn't chosen a permanent direction

yet. Was that so wrong?

Is it wrong?

He had grown so tired of vacillating between

arguments, one saying this, another saying the direct

opposite. At one point he'd been proud of himself for