Retro daily life: Blue Diary (age 11)
What was happening during this time: The calm before the storm. My discipline problems at school and home were building, though I touch only lightly on them in these entries. I was disappearing deeper into my fantasy life, as you'll see.
Background to my retro daily life entries.
1 January 1975: New Year's Eve celebrations.
Three important things have happened to me in the past few days. I have finished part of my book [about myself as a master spy]. I got my books back [I assume that my books had been taken away as punishment for some misdeed] and we changed my room. (I got a knickknack shelf.) And Daddy gave me the record Mission Impossible. I've been playing it all day.
Mother got me up at 11:30 last night [to celebrate New Year's Eve], but I was already awake. I see from the Johnny Carson Show that Jackie Benny is dead. I can't wait till that Bugs Bunny cartoon about him comes on again. I wanted to drink wine, but it was so bitter I drank grape juice instead. Guy Lombardo's count was off. You should have seen J. Carson's place. Hats and ribbons. Then I watched the Chicago's sing Wish you were here. The Tournament of Roses' Grand Master was Hank Aaron and its theme American Heredity.
2 January 1975: Trouble with the physical education teacher.
"In Illinois the license plate 1136 ED is ordinary, but here in California, it's dull." That's what it said on the news last night. It showed license plates with names, expressions, and jobs. I myself have seen JOEY3 and BLUE. At the end they said, "Well, you get the idea (they showed the license plate IDEA). We getter get our 1136 ED out of here." Dr. Ruderman, a doctor of blood, has ANEMIA on his car (a disease of the blood). When I get rich I'll have HEP (my initials) on my car. Right now, ours is KN 3594.
Today, Mr. Grose dragged me down the hall, even after I told him Mr. DiGennaro said I could stay in the office. I had to get the book and papers I was carrying from the office. I'm not ever going to school again on P.E. days.
I finished typing the first page of my book today.
2 January 1975: Off to the psychiatrist again.
Mother picked me up today to go to Doctor Palmer's. I was myself.
Bergie F. came over today. She delivered a note. I had to call her to tell her the note was blank.
[These two paragraphs require a little explanation. Before role-playing games like Dungeon & Dragons became popular among geeks, and several decades before role-playing became wildly popular on the Internet, the only people who engaged in such activities - aside from actors - were small children. After other kids my age stopped role-playing, I kept doing it, even though I could rarely find anyone to do it with. Bergie was a neighbor, three years older than myself, with whom I was "playing pretend." I put the phrase in quotation marks because this was more than pretend for me. I took my role-playing as seriously as I took the characters I wrote about. See the next entry for what our drama was about.]
4 January 1975: Spy notes.
As I was passing the dresser today, I saw a ntoe that said L-6 on it. My heart must have been beating 120 as I opened it. It said, "L-6, If you wish me: Tomorrow at 1:30 look under the yellow chair on your back porch. If you wish to write me back: A(t) 4:00 (tomorrow) put a not(e) where you found this(.) J-2." (As you can see she has a spelling problem.) Immediately I was L-6. I was also in great pain from the wound from last week.
That must have been the longest hour and half I ever had. I found the note under the chair. It said, "L-6, I have not yet told you my name. It is J-2. I am sure that you, what you are, shall soon find this. I haven't written anything of importance ex(c)ept our names which are quite difficult to trace to us. Hope to hear from you. J-2. P.S. Put your note where you found this note." At 4:00 I played croquet with the F. and H. children. Sam won but was beaten up. Bergie asked if I got the note. Afterwards she called and said to look for a note in the morning.
13 January 1975: Spy plans.
Bergie came over as usual. I received a message from P.M. (Private Messenger). CONTROL plans to get J-2 tonight.
It snowed today. The message "Think Snow" was passed around [by my classmates; this was our way of bringing on snow by sheer willpower]. We got an inch of snow, and I served as Super Snow Brusher.
"Two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions, on a sesame seed bun." That's what everyone was saying at school today. It seems like if you can say it in four seconds you get a $5.00 certificate.
[This was a promotion scheme by MacDonald's for its Big Mac. The scary thing is that, though I couldn't tell you 99% of what I learned in sixth grade, I can still recite those ingredients by heart.]
17 January 1975: Dancing.
Cheryl [a classmate whose mother was renting the townhouse that our family had previously lived in] has let me borrow her record, "You Little Trustmaker." (As you will recall it is my favorite record. The girls love my dance to it, and I won a dancing contest at Cheryl's house dancing to it.) In return I am being as nice as I can to her (though I still greet her by saying, "Hiya, kid!" and whapping her on the back).
Do you like my colorful pages? [I was writing in blue. The next entry was in - argh - yellow, so it's illegible.] These are the pencils I got along with my Snoopy Pencil Sharpener. (Dubi, dubi, dubi.)
21 January 1975: No P.E.!
I had a great day today. School was an hour late, and there was no P.E.
"Ferdinand the Bull" was on "The Mickey Mouse Club." I hope tomorrow is just as good.
23 January 1975: A budding hurt/comfort writer.
I stayed out of school yesterday because I was too tired to go to school. I made a book during that time that's called "Tortured!"
25 January 1975: Movie outing.
Bergie went with me today to see the movie "A Boy Named Charlie Brown." She bought a ticket for a child even though she's 13. It was good.
26 January 1975: Cathedral outing.
Bergie, Daddy, and I went to the Washington Cathedral to see a medieval play called "Noah." [After I took a test at age twelve to determine my level of schooling, the test-giver remarked, "You're the only twelve-year-old I've ever tested who knew how to spell 'medieval.'" Outings like this were the reason why.] Daddy told me that in the olden days plays were used to explain to people about stories in the Old Testament.
Afterwards we played the alphabet game and went to Gifford's. [Gifford's was an ice cream parlor. The alphabet game is a car game where you try to sight the letters of the alphabet on signs, in order. Winning the game was usually a cinch in our family, since we passed a sign that said "University Square" on the way home.] Daddy had a Jumbo Hot Fudge Sundae, 90c, Bergie had a Hot Fudge Sundae, 90c (it's interesting to note they're both the same price), and I had a Super Banana Split, $1.25. Tax was 33c.
13 February 1975: Playwright.
Tomorrow is Valentine's Day and Snow's birthday, and I bought a special card for Randy. I sure hope he likes it. It was 25c.
[Randy, as you may recall, was my secret boyfriend. Snow and Misty were two cats we inherited along with the house we had moved into the previous fall. Snow died of cancer in my teens and was buried in our back yard, the first of four family cats to be buried there.]
I'm putting on a play for the school called "Saddle-sore." It's a comedy about Paul Revere. I wrote it and am going to direct it. Elizabeth D. is going to help me and Cheryl will help with scenery. Mr. DiGennaro gave me a ditto master to write the scripts on and Mrs. Spinougl the time to create.
[I suppose I'd better explain to the newer generation that, prior to the widespread usage of photocopy machines, ditto machines were used in schools as a way to duplicate papers. The blue-violet ink was invariably hard to read. . . . I don't recall whether the stage production of "Saddle-sore" ever came to fruit, but I certainly recorded the play. The audio recording still exists, with my mother making the cannon noises.]
30 March 1975: A change of schools.
I have exciting news. I'm changing to Center School. I'll be in Mrs. Korden's class. At last I'll be able to take "Doctor Dolittle in the Moon" out!
[Another way of putting it is that the county school system was beginning to despair of me. The school system, in consultation with my parents, agreed to address my misbehavior in school by letting me return to my previous elementary school; now that our family lived in a new house, I was in a part of town where schoolchildren were not required to be bussed out of town to John Carroll School. My parents and teachers were hoping that I'd do better at Center School than I had at John Carroll.]
I've got April Fool's Day planned. First I'm going to put salt in the sugar bowl. Next, Mother and I are going to give Daddy last year's newspaper. I would have done the cobweb in the classroom joke, but it comes during vacation. Oh, well. Maybe next year. Happy Easter.
[My mother recalled in later years that the newspaper joke - which was her idea - was a roaring success. It took my father quite a long time to figure out that he was reading the previous year's newspaper.]
31 March 1975: Where I got my ideas for practical jokes.
A little about the Easter eggs Glenn and I made. My favorites are the golden egg (made by putting it in all the dyes) and the blue one with my name on it.
(By the way, the cobweb idea comes from [the children's novel] "Peter Potts" by Clifford Hicks.)
1 April 1975: Criminal life.
Twelve years ago today I was supposed to be born. My mother was afraid every present I'd receive would be a practical joke.
It's 11:30 now. This evening Mother found three crimes I had committed. I borrowed Daddy's books without his permission. I ate all the sugar cookies (which are expensive). I ate Glenn's M&Ms. I got sent to bed early for that.
Tomorrow, Mother and I are going shopping for: slacks, summer pajamas, needles for both my record players, four-cornered paper. Afterwards we're going to Farrall's [another ice cream parlor]. P.S. April Fool! (Only about Farrall's.)
3 April 1975: The eve of a great change.
The winds have been 60 m.p.h. here and 90 up north of us.
I went for my physical checkup. Afterwards we went shopping. I got my new needle for my record player. Right now I'm playing Edelweiss from "The Sound of Music."
Just think, [I'm almost] twelve years old. It doesn't look like I'm going to have a birthday party this year, even though Mother says I will.
Date unknown (age eleven?): Misery is . . .
["Happiness is . . ." was the title of a popular Peanuts book at the time. Jacqueline Jackson, in "Turn Not Pale, Beloved Snail," recommended writing down other emotions. My friends and I spent some time doing just that. Here's what we wrote; my contributions are marked HEP.]
Misery is spending three hours shopping, and buying everything in sight, and getting up to the cash register, and discovering you left your wallet at home. Libby.
Embarrassment is having to sing "Jingle Bells" in front of the whole PTA with no musical accompaniment. Tommy.
Panic is going on the Beltway at 70 miles an hour, and discovering your car is breaking down from under you. Libby.
Satisfaction is socking your brother in the nose. HEP.
Boredom is having to play canasta with your mother. Libby.
Misery is spending two hours fixing your hair up so you can look gorgeous for your date, and then having it rain. Libby.
Relief is being afraid you'll be late for an appointment and finding that the other person isn't even there yet. Sheila.
Misery is getting all dressed and combing your hair and being ready for the bus for the first time in your life, and then the bus doesn't come. HEP.
Misery is a dripping ice cream cone. HEP.
Misery is missing an easy shot in ping pong when the score is 20-20. HEP.
Misery is when your best friend has three pieces of candy and won't give you any. Sheila.
Misery is when your classmates get their hands on a love letter addressed to you. HEP.
Misery is confiding in your friend, and hearing it in the latest gossip the next day. Mona.
Misery is having a boyfriend, and your mother calls his. Mona.
Misery is waking up to find your mouth open and the pillow wet. Mona.
Misery is putting on a bikini, and not being able to see your bikini. Mona.
Date unknown (age twelve?): "Trent" (early fiction).
[An excerpt from an unfinished spy novel I wrote about a group of rebels fighting against tyrants who have taken over their country - one of my favorite plotlines at the time. Could have had something to do with my school situation. The best way I can date this novel is from my handwriting - definitely prior to high school - and from the fact that the illustrations I created for it were in the style of Hugh Lofting's illustrations for his Doctor Dolittle series. So most likely I wrote this at the end of elementary school or during junior high.]
Llowellyn never had liked being a Teko, and liked it even less with a war raging, but he wasn't the sort to grumble over things that couldn't be changed; besides, he had to admit it was interesting. At any rate, he was digging this trench, for heavens know what, and if he was to finish that day he must keep his mind on his work.
A small cough behind his back almost caused him to drop his shovel. He turned to see a young boy of nine or ten standing above him, peering down anxiously at him. Llowellyn put the shovel down, and produced a handkerchief from his pocket to mop his forehead. Staring back he looked critically at the youth standing above him. He was probably ten, Llow decided, and thin for his age. With a sharp pointed nose and light hair, his round glasses seemed too large for his face. He was wearing a rather dirty pair of dungarees and a sky blue shirt with the country's symbol imprinted in the center in red: A triangle with three small circles at the points, and the initial of the wearer's first on it. Squinting against the sun's bright rays, Llowellyn could just make out an O. He leaned back. That would be Oliver, then, named after the founder of Tekoes. Most likely his father was one.
Suddenly Oliver spoke. "I hope I'm not disturbing you or anything."
"Oh, not at all," answered Lllowellyn sarcastically. "I only have about four feet to go by tonight."
"That's good," Oliver said. He produced a glass from behind his back, and handed it to Llow. "I thought you might like some lemonade."
Llow peered at the boy suspiciously, then took a swallow of the color-of-sunshine liquid before him. It was lemonade, all right, and mighty good at that. He looked up at Oliver, who was anxiously awaiting a comment.
"Where did you get this?" Llow asked.
"Oh, the lady down the road let me fill my canteen with it," Oliver explained. "And she gave me a couple of glasses, too."
"Hmm," said Llow, for there seemed no answer to this. "What's your name, youngster?" he asked suddenly.
"Oliver, sir."
"Where you from?"
"Wasoraw, sir."
"What!!!" Llow nearly jumped out of his skin. "You're jiving me, son. No one's ever escaped alive from Wasoraw."
"Oh, there must have been somebody," replied Oliver nonchalantly. "Besides, there's me. . . ."
Background to my retro daily life entries.
1 January 1975: New Year's Eve celebrations.
Three important things have happened to me in the past few days. I have finished part of my book [about myself as a master spy]. I got my books back [I assume that my books had been taken away as punishment for some misdeed] and we changed my room. (I got a knickknack shelf.) And Daddy gave me the record Mission Impossible. I've been playing it all day.
Mother got me up at 11:30 last night [to celebrate New Year's Eve], but I was already awake. I see from the Johnny Carson Show that Jackie Benny is dead. I can't wait till that Bugs Bunny cartoon about him comes on again. I wanted to drink wine, but it was so bitter I drank grape juice instead. Guy Lombardo's count was off. You should have seen J. Carson's place. Hats and ribbons. Then I watched the Chicago's sing Wish you were here. The Tournament of Roses' Grand Master was Hank Aaron and its theme American Heredity.
2 January 1975: Trouble with the physical education teacher.
"In Illinois the license plate 1136 ED is ordinary, but here in California, it's dull." That's what it said on the news last night. It showed license plates with names, expressions, and jobs. I myself have seen JOEY3 and BLUE. At the end they said, "Well, you get the idea (they showed the license plate IDEA). We getter get our 1136 ED out of here." Dr. Ruderman, a doctor of blood, has ANEMIA on his car (a disease of the blood). When I get rich I'll have HEP (my initials) on my car. Right now, ours is KN 3594.
Today, Mr. Grose dragged me down the hall, even after I told him Mr. DiGennaro said I could stay in the office. I had to get the book and papers I was carrying from the office. I'm not ever going to school again on P.E. days.
I finished typing the first page of my book today.
2 January 1975: Off to the psychiatrist again.
Mother picked me up today to go to Doctor Palmer's. I was myself.
Bergie F. came over today. She delivered a note. I had to call her to tell her the note was blank.
[These two paragraphs require a little explanation. Before role-playing games like Dungeon & Dragons became popular among geeks, and several decades before role-playing became wildly popular on the Internet, the only people who engaged in such activities - aside from actors - were small children. After other kids my age stopped role-playing, I kept doing it, even though I could rarely find anyone to do it with. Bergie was a neighbor, three years older than myself, with whom I was "playing pretend." I put the phrase in quotation marks because this was more than pretend for me. I took my role-playing as seriously as I took the characters I wrote about. See the next entry for what our drama was about.]
4 January 1975: Spy notes.
As I was passing the dresser today, I saw a ntoe that said L-6 on it. My heart must have been beating 120 as I opened it. It said, "L-6, If you wish me: Tomorrow at 1:30 look under the yellow chair on your back porch. If you wish to write me back: A(t) 4:00 (tomorrow) put a not(e) where you found this(.) J-2." (As you can see she has a spelling problem.) Immediately I was L-6. I was also in great pain from the wound from last week.
That must have been the longest hour and half I ever had. I found the note under the chair. It said, "L-6, I have not yet told you my name. It is J-2. I am sure that you, what you are, shall soon find this. I haven't written anything of importance ex(c)ept our names which are quite difficult to trace to us. Hope to hear from you. J-2. P.S. Put your note where you found this note." At 4:00 I played croquet with the F. and H. children. Sam won but was beaten up. Bergie asked if I got the note. Afterwards she called and said to look for a note in the morning.
13 January 1975: Spy plans.
Bergie came over as usual. I received a message from P.M. (Private Messenger). CONTROL plans to get J-2 tonight.
It snowed today. The message "Think Snow" was passed around [by my classmates; this was our way of bringing on snow by sheer willpower]. We got an inch of snow, and I served as Super Snow Brusher.
"Two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions, on a sesame seed bun." That's what everyone was saying at school today. It seems like if you can say it in four seconds you get a $5.00 certificate.
[This was a promotion scheme by MacDonald's for its Big Mac. The scary thing is that, though I couldn't tell you 99% of what I learned in sixth grade, I can still recite those ingredients by heart.]
17 January 1975: Dancing.
Cheryl [a classmate whose mother was renting the townhouse that our family had previously lived in] has let me borrow her record, "You Little Trustmaker." (As you will recall it is my favorite record. The girls love my dance to it, and I won a dancing contest at Cheryl's house dancing to it.) In return I am being as nice as I can to her (though I still greet her by saying, "Hiya, kid!" and whapping her on the back).
Do you like my colorful pages? [I was writing in blue. The next entry was in - argh - yellow, so it's illegible.] These are the pencils I got along with my Snoopy Pencil Sharpener. (Dubi, dubi, dubi.)
21 January 1975: No P.E.!
I had a great day today. School was an hour late, and there was no P.E.
"Ferdinand the Bull" was on "The Mickey Mouse Club." I hope tomorrow is just as good.
23 January 1975: A budding hurt/comfort writer.
I stayed out of school yesterday because I was too tired to go to school. I made a book during that time that's called "Tortured!"
25 January 1975: Movie outing.
Bergie went with me today to see the movie "A Boy Named Charlie Brown." She bought a ticket for a child even though she's 13. It was good.
26 January 1975: Cathedral outing.
Bergie, Daddy, and I went to the Washington Cathedral to see a medieval play called "Noah." [After I took a test at age twelve to determine my level of schooling, the test-giver remarked, "You're the only twelve-year-old I've ever tested who knew how to spell 'medieval.'" Outings like this were the reason why.] Daddy told me that in the olden days plays were used to explain to people about stories in the Old Testament.
Afterwards we played the alphabet game and went to Gifford's. [Gifford's was an ice cream parlor. The alphabet game is a car game where you try to sight the letters of the alphabet on signs, in order. Winning the game was usually a cinch in our family, since we passed a sign that said "University Square" on the way home.] Daddy had a Jumbo Hot Fudge Sundae, 90c, Bergie had a Hot Fudge Sundae, 90c (it's interesting to note they're both the same price), and I had a Super Banana Split, $1.25. Tax was 33c.
13 February 1975: Playwright.
Tomorrow is Valentine's Day and Snow's birthday, and I bought a special card for Randy. I sure hope he likes it. It was 25c.
[Randy, as you may recall, was my secret boyfriend. Snow and Misty were two cats we inherited along with the house we had moved into the previous fall. Snow died of cancer in my teens and was buried in our back yard, the first of four family cats to be buried there.]
I'm putting on a play for the school called "Saddle-sore." It's a comedy about Paul Revere. I wrote it and am going to direct it. Elizabeth D. is going to help me and Cheryl will help with scenery. Mr. DiGennaro gave me a ditto master to write the scripts on and Mrs. Spinougl the time to create.
[I suppose I'd better explain to the newer generation that, prior to the widespread usage of photocopy machines, ditto machines were used in schools as a way to duplicate papers. The blue-violet ink was invariably hard to read. . . . I don't recall whether the stage production of "Saddle-sore" ever came to fruit, but I certainly recorded the play. The audio recording still exists, with my mother making the cannon noises.]
30 March 1975: A change of schools.
I have exciting news. I'm changing to Center School. I'll be in Mrs. Korden's class. At last I'll be able to take "Doctor Dolittle in the Moon" out!
[Another way of putting it is that the county school system was beginning to despair of me. The school system, in consultation with my parents, agreed to address my misbehavior in school by letting me return to my previous elementary school; now that our family lived in a new house, I was in a part of town where schoolchildren were not required to be bussed out of town to John Carroll School. My parents and teachers were hoping that I'd do better at Center School than I had at John Carroll.]
I've got April Fool's Day planned. First I'm going to put salt in the sugar bowl. Next, Mother and I are going to give Daddy last year's newspaper. I would have done the cobweb in the classroom joke, but it comes during vacation. Oh, well. Maybe next year. Happy Easter.
[My mother recalled in later years that the newspaper joke - which was her idea - was a roaring success. It took my father quite a long time to figure out that he was reading the previous year's newspaper.]
31 March 1975: Where I got my ideas for practical jokes.
A little about the Easter eggs Glenn and I made. My favorites are the golden egg (made by putting it in all the dyes) and the blue one with my name on it.
(By the way, the cobweb idea comes from [the children's novel] "Peter Potts" by Clifford Hicks.)
1 April 1975: Criminal life.
Twelve years ago today I was supposed to be born. My mother was afraid every present I'd receive would be a practical joke.
It's 11:30 now. This evening Mother found three crimes I had committed. I borrowed Daddy's books without his permission. I ate all the sugar cookies (which are expensive). I ate Glenn's M&Ms. I got sent to bed early for that.
Tomorrow, Mother and I are going shopping for: slacks, summer pajamas, needles for both my record players, four-cornered paper. Afterwards we're going to Farrall's [another ice cream parlor]. P.S. April Fool! (Only about Farrall's.)
3 April 1975: The eve of a great change.
The winds have been 60 m.p.h. here and 90 up north of us.
I went for my physical checkup. Afterwards we went shopping. I got my new needle for my record player. Right now I'm playing Edelweiss from "The Sound of Music."
Just think, [I'm almost] twelve years old. It doesn't look like I'm going to have a birthday party this year, even though Mother says I will.
Date unknown (age eleven?): Misery is . . .
["Happiness is . . ." was the title of a popular Peanuts book at the time. Jacqueline Jackson, in "Turn Not Pale, Beloved Snail," recommended writing down other emotions. My friends and I spent some time doing just that. Here's what we wrote; my contributions are marked HEP.]
Misery is spending three hours shopping, and buying everything in sight, and getting up to the cash register, and discovering you left your wallet at home. Libby.
Embarrassment is having to sing "Jingle Bells" in front of the whole PTA with no musical accompaniment. Tommy.
Panic is going on the Beltway at 70 miles an hour, and discovering your car is breaking down from under you. Libby.
Satisfaction is socking your brother in the nose. HEP.
Boredom is having to play canasta with your mother. Libby.
Misery is spending two hours fixing your hair up so you can look gorgeous for your date, and then having it rain. Libby.
Relief is being afraid you'll be late for an appointment and finding that the other person isn't even there yet. Sheila.
Misery is getting all dressed and combing your hair and being ready for the bus for the first time in your life, and then the bus doesn't come. HEP.
Misery is a dripping ice cream cone. HEP.
Misery is missing an easy shot in ping pong when the score is 20-20. HEP.
Misery is when your best friend has three pieces of candy and won't give you any. Sheila.
Misery is when your classmates get their hands on a love letter addressed to you. HEP.
Misery is confiding in your friend, and hearing it in the latest gossip the next day. Mona.
Misery is having a boyfriend, and your mother calls his. Mona.
Misery is waking up to find your mouth open and the pillow wet. Mona.
Misery is putting on a bikini, and not being able to see your bikini. Mona.
Date unknown (age twelve?): "Trent" (early fiction).
[An excerpt from an unfinished spy novel I wrote about a group of rebels fighting against tyrants who have taken over their country - one of my favorite plotlines at the time. Could have had something to do with my school situation. The best way I can date this novel is from my handwriting - definitely prior to high school - and from the fact that the illustrations I created for it were in the style of Hugh Lofting's illustrations for his Doctor Dolittle series. So most likely I wrote this at the end of elementary school or during junior high.]
Llowellyn never had liked being a Teko, and liked it even less with a war raging, but he wasn't the sort to grumble over things that couldn't be changed; besides, he had to admit it was interesting. At any rate, he was digging this trench, for heavens know what, and if he was to finish that day he must keep his mind on his work.
A small cough behind his back almost caused him to drop his shovel. He turned to see a young boy of nine or ten standing above him, peering down anxiously at him. Llowellyn put the shovel down, and produced a handkerchief from his pocket to mop his forehead. Staring back he looked critically at the youth standing above him. He was probably ten, Llow decided, and thin for his age. With a sharp pointed nose and light hair, his round glasses seemed too large for his face. He was wearing a rather dirty pair of dungarees and a sky blue shirt with the country's symbol imprinted in the center in red: A triangle with three small circles at the points, and the initial of the wearer's first on it. Squinting against the sun's bright rays, Llowellyn could just make out an O. He leaned back. That would be Oliver, then, named after the founder of Tekoes. Most likely his father was one.
Suddenly Oliver spoke. "I hope I'm not disturbing you or anything."
"Oh, not at all," answered Lllowellyn sarcastically. "I only have about four feet to go by tonight."
"That's good," Oliver said. He produced a glass from behind his back, and handed it to Llow. "I thought you might like some lemonade."
Llow peered at the boy suspiciously, then took a swallow of the color-of-sunshine liquid before him. It was lemonade, all right, and mighty good at that. He looked up at Oliver, who was anxiously awaiting a comment.
"Where did you get this?" Llow asked.
"Oh, the lady down the road let me fill my canteen with it," Oliver explained. "And she gave me a couple of glasses, too."
"Hmm," said Llow, for there seemed no answer to this. "What's your name, youngster?" he asked suddenly.
"Oliver, sir."
"Where you from?"
"Wasoraw, sir."
"What!!!" Llow nearly jumped out of his skin. "You're jiving me, son. No one's ever escaped alive from Wasoraw."
"Oh, there must have been somebody," replied Oliver nonchalantly. "Besides, there's me. . . ."
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