I’d called Connor trash because I never knew him. He wasn’t involved with sports or even the band. Instead, he took woodshop, dressed wrong, and was a loner. That’s how I judged him. I knew that if I was spotted with him, then the others would judge me too. The others made it hard to do the right thing. For once, though, I could see the truth. I could see that Connor was just as good as they were and maybe even better.

In the park, we first rode by the zoo where tire ruts had been dug up across the lawn and a sign was smashed over. Teenagers, I thought. We continued past the old WWII fighter plane with the eyes and fangs painted on, then headed to the springhouse where cold water gushed into the creek and pond. Crossing over the bridge, we coasted through the playground to the two stone lookouts at the entrance, jumped off, and climbed the ladders inside. It was warm and smelled of urine, so we got down and walked our bikes to the swings. There we took a seat, and I turned my eyes near the entrance to watch Jill’s house.

“Who lives there?” Connor asked.
“Which one?”
“The one you keep staring at.”
“I’m not staring.”

“You’ve been watching it since we got here.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“I see. So, it’s a girl that lives there.”
I pretended that I didn’t know what he was talking about, but it was useless.

“Yeah,” I admitted. “A girl does live there. Jill Newcastle.”
“And you like her.”
“Yep.”
“Have you asked her out?”
“Nope.”

“Why not?”
“Because I don’t know what she’d say. You’re the only one who knows about it anyway.”
“You think so, huh?”
“It doesn’t matter. She’s gone for most of the summer.”

“Have you liked her for long?”
“Since the first day of school.”
He sat there and watched the house too.

“Aren’t you going to tell me that I’m chicken?” I asked. “That I should’ve made a move already?”
“Nah. There’s no sense in pushing people into something they’re unsure of. They just get tense and screw it up.”
“I’m pretty good at that.”

“Who knows, though. Maybe she can tell that you like her, and maybe she likes you too. Girls pick up on stuff like that. Dudes, though, are blind.”

The sun had dipped low behind the trees. The sky’s glow was receding deeper into dusk.
“I have to leave,” I said. “I’m probably late for supper already.”

“You don’t want to miss that.”
“What about you?”
“TV dinners are waiting in the freezer. The enchiladas have a nice greasy film that isn’t half bad.”

I sat there thinking it over, twisting side to side on the swing.
“Do you want to come to my house and eat?” I asked.

“I wasn’t serious about that earlier.”
“I know. You can still come.”
“Maybe another time.”

Ducks swam across the pond towards the island. In the lush grass, frogs croaked and crickets chirped. Along the creek fireflies had appeared, looking like strings of Christmas lights as they blinked around the bridge and along the banks.

“That’s really beautiful,” Connor said.
I was surprised he said that, but he was right. We watched them as they bobbed down the creek towards the pond, reflecting in the water.

The sad eyes of the Hotel Grim stood watch over downtown Texarkana like a ghost in a graveyard. The sparkle and hope that once shone in them had faded to black, leaving only empty windows staring into the past. Their departed majesty still held a flicker, though, and I could picture a dapper young man standing next to a grand staircase, waiting for his bride to descend. They would cross to the rail station, happy and excited, board the train for New Orleans, and disappear down the tracks, speaking only of the golden days ahead and nothing of what they’d left behind.

“Did you know that Bonnie and Clyde once stopped by that hotel?” Mr. Roundtree asked, pointing his scissors toward the plate glass window.

“You mean the gangsters?” I replied.

“You bet,” he said with a wink as he snipped my hair. “They happened to stop by the hotel restaurant for lunch. Bonnie ordered a sandwich. Didn’t get to finish it, though. She was spotted right off, and they had to high-tail it out of there.”

“Did the police catch them?”

“No, sir. They slipped away.”

“Why’s the hotel so run down now?”

“Folks stopped riding the train, and it’s not like this town is Shangri-La. It was too expensive to keep up, so they closed it down. It’s condemned now.”

For as long as I could remember, I’d gone downtown for my haircuts at a barbershop called Hank’s. When my dad was alive, he’d take me there for a trim, and afterward, we’d grab breakfast and wander through the empty old district. All that remained were a few scattered shops, bail-bond offices, and the bi-state justice center.

Nevertheless, a kind of romance still lingered in those tired gray streets, with their abandoned buildings and shuttered storefronts. It was like walking through an old photograph—one that reminded me of my father and the moments we used to share.