It was past five o’clock when we crossed the street at Fifty-

Fifth Street. A girl up in front of us asked me what time

it was.

“Five fifteen,” I said.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” she said.

“Ah, what?” I asked.

“All these people,” she said. “I mean, I know it’s sad.

Real, real sad. But isn’t it wonderful that so many people

really care? I mean, don’t you sometimes think that

nobody anywhere really cares about anything? Except

normal everyday stuff—like what to wear to parties or a

dance. But look at all these people. They really do care.

Don’t they?”

She finally stopped, and I guessed I was supposed

to say something, but I wasn’t sure what, so I just said,

“Yeah. You’re right.”

“Wow. It’s a beautiful sight,” she said. “How long have

you been here?”

“Since about one thirty,” I answered.

“Yeah? That’s just about the time my friend Diane and

I got in line.” The girl became enthusiastic.

I hadn’t noticed her before, but I’d been too concerned

with Frankie and deciding whether or not to stay.

Sometimes it seemed that when we crossed the street or

something, people got moved around a little in the line. It

wasn’t a tight single-file line or anything; it was the whole

width of the sidewalk. But anyway, I had never noticed

this girl or her friend.

“Um, this is my friend Diane. I’m Maggie,” the girl

said.

“Oh, hi,” I said. “Um, I’m T. J., and this is my friend

Jonathan.”

Jonathan said hello. He asked the girls where they

were from, and they said Bloomington. Then Jonathan

started talking with Diane, and Maggie started talking

to me.

“Are you in high school?” Maggie asked. “You

probably are. What grade?”

“Tenth,” I said.

“Tenth. Wow. Same with me. What did you think of

Bobby Kennedy?” She didn’t let me even try to answer

before she went on. “I think he was a great man. Probably

the best man this country has ever known. I know he

would have changed the world. He could have, you know.

He was going to stop this terrible war. My cousin was

killed over there in Vietnam. He was just twenty-one

years old. Nobody in our family will even talk about the

way he died. But I know he got blown to bits. Nobody

likes to think about it, and that’s why nobody talks about

it. But that’s what happened to my cousin, his sister, says.

She says her brother was blown to bits. She says nobody

was allowed to look at the body or anything. And she says

it’s because there wasn’t even any body left to put into the

coffin. It was horrible. The whole war is horrible. And

they don’t even know why they are fighting. LBJ is a big

dummy. You heard what they’re singing about him: ‘LBJ,

how many kids have you killed today?’ Well, I don’t think

even LBJ knows for sure. But Bobby would have put an

end to it. So do you think there was a conspiracy?” Again,

Maggie didn’t wait for an answer before she went on. “I

think so. I mean, just like when President Kennedy was

killed. Now, you know that was a conspiracy. Well, I don’t

know who they were, but since nobody caught them,

maybe they went and did another one. And they probably

were the ones who killed Martin Luther King Jr.”

“Yeah? Well, who was it?” I finally blurted out.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Maggie said quietly, and she

didn’t say anything for a few minutes. I tried to think of

something to say to keep the conversation going, but then

she asked, “Do you like the Beatles?”

“Um, I guess I do,” I said.

“Yeah? Well, I do too. I like George. He’s the cutest.

But Paul’s a lefty. I’m a lefty. Are you?”

“No. Righty all the way.”

“Hmm,” she said thoughtfully. “How about Diana

Ross. Don’t you think she’s beautiful? And she has such

a wonderful voice.”

I didn’t get a chance to answer before she had another

question.

“You don’t watch The Mod Squad, do you?”

“Ah, no.”

“Good. I can’t stand people who watch The Mod

Squad, you know? I’ve got this one friend who thinks she’s

mod. I mean, she wears these miniskirts and goes out with

this varsity football player. He’s got a car—a Mustang. Do

you think Mustangs are mod? I guess they’re supposed to

be. She and her varsity football player friend go to driveins

and then hang out at Joe’s Diner. I guess you don’t

know about Joe’s Diner, but it’s a real dive. But they don’t

kick the kids out, so a lot of kids hang out there. I guess it

must be mod to hang out at Joe’s Diner. And she puts so

much ketchup on her hamburgers. So the ketchup always

leaks out of the hamburger and drips on the plate in big

globs. Is it mod to eat hamburgers with drippy ketchup?”

I got the feeling she really didn’t expect me to answer

all these questions. She seemed like one of those girls who,

if you put an ear within five feet, would talk forever. But

she seemed sincere. She had long light brown hair, soft

brown eyes, and a sprinkle of freckles on her nose. When

she looked at me, she seemed down to earth. She was

really kind of nice.

“You say your name is T. J.? What’s it stand for?

Or am I prying? Don’t you just love that phrase? ‘Am

I prying?’ They always say that in the movies and on

television: ‘Am I prying?’” Every time she said, “Am I

prying?” she kind of tilted her head back, like a movie star

or something. “Well, T. J., let me give you a less personal

question. Where do you live?” She said this with a movie

star voice and then laughed.

“Rosedale.”

“Oh yeah. Is that over by Newark anywhere?”

“Sort of,” I said.

“Boy, did you see what went on in Newark last year?

We always love shopping in Newark, but we were afraid

there would disturbances all over again when Martin

Luther King Jr. was assassinated. You know, my town

is right next door, and we were all worried that the riots

would spread on over to our town.”

“We had a riot in our town,” I said. I almost felt as if

I were bragging or something. Then I told her about all

the troubles we’d had at school and in town.

“That’s horrible,” Maggie said.

She seemed interested, and this time, I started talking

her ear off, but she seemed to listen carefully. I even told

her about Jonathan and how he wouldn’t speak to me for

two months. Jonathan was a bit up ahead of us, yakking

away with Diane, so he couldn’t overhear what I was

saying. Maggie listened to everything. I even felt like

telling her about our baseball team, but when I mentioned

baseball, she said, “Baseball? Ooh. How boring. I like

skiing. Jean-Claude Killy. Now, he’s my man.”

Well, you could count me out of any discussion of

skiing because I knew nothing about it. I let her go on

about her Jean-Claude Killy for a while and then about

the Winter Olympics, which I personally thought was one

of the most boring sporting events I had ever watched.

Finally, when she was done, we both kind of took a

breather and continued quietly with our journey. I had

a new friend who, even though she liked something as 

boring as skiing, really cared about things, including ole

Bobby Kennedy, and it warmed my heart. Seriously.

We crossed another street, but St. Patrick’s Cathedral

was still nowhere around. The sun had dipped down

behind some skyscrapers, and we were now in the shade.

Jonathan came over to me, and Diane came over to talk

with Maggie.

“How’d it go over there?” Jonathan asked, and for the

first time all afternoon, he seemed enthusiastic.

“Um, well, okay, I guess,” I said.

“Well, I hope you appreciate my clearing out the side

for you.”

“Huh?” I said.

“Clearing out the side so you and Maggie could get to

know each other. I think you’re a perfect match.”

“What? Come on.”

“Clearing out the side” was another one of Jonathan’s

expressions. It came from basketball, when all the players

on your team moved out of the way so you could go one

on one with a player on the opposition.

“Well, it looked like you were doing pretty well over

there,” Jonathan said. “I think she likes you.”

“Oh, come on, Jonathan.” I felt embarrassed.

“And I bet you like her too,” Jonathan said, and he

gave me an elbow in the ribs.

“Oh, come on,” I said, but as usual, Jonathan was

right. Of course I liked Maggie. I didn’t know too much

about her, but she seemed to have an awful lot on the ball,

even if she didn’t like baseball.

“Yeah, well, T. J., buddy boy, make darn sure you

get her address and phone number. Remember—name,

address, and phone number.” Then he went over to Diane.

“Hey, Diane, did I tell you about the time I met Jimi

Hendrix?” Jonathan then quickly turned around and

mouthed, “Clearing out the side,” and he made a motion

as if he were throwing a basketball to me. Sure enough,

Maggie wandered back over to me and started talking

away.

“My parents don’t know I’m here,” she said. “Diane

and I cut school to come over here. I think my mother

wouldn’t ever approve of us going into New York City

alone, but I know she cared about Bobby, and I’m sure

she’ll understand when I get home.”

I told Maggie about how my mother kind of had

given me approval, and then I told her about all the times

Jonathan, our friends, and I had come to New York, but

I left out the peep show stories. She laughed when I told

her about how dumb ole Frankie had gotten lost on the

subways, and we both speculated about whether Frankie

and Phil ever got to the stadium on their own.

“I wish I could come here more often,” Maggie said.

“Hey, you want to come to see a ball game sometime?”

I blurted out without really thinking. Then, all of a

sudden, I got a sick feeling when I remembered that she’d

told me she thought baseball was boring.

But she didn’t hesitate. “Oh, wow. Yeah, sure. I’d

love to.”

There was a little bit of a silence. I felt a little

embarrassed again.

Just then, we turned a corner, and there it was: St.

Patrick’s Cathedral. It wasn’t the sort of thing I would

have expected to sneak up on me, but sure enough, that

was exactly what it did.

“My God. Look at that,” Maggie said. A shaft of

sunlight was shining on the steeple, and the rest of the

church was in the late-afternoon shadows. The line

headed up the steps and into the church. There were some

police around the front of the cathedral, along with a lot

more police barricades. I saw three or four TV cameras,

with reporters and wires and microphones; a Channel 7

truck; a Channel 2 truck; a radio truck; and all kinds of

people just standing around watching the line as it slowly

made its way up the steps and into the cathedral. Despite

all the people milling around all over, it was amazingly

quiet and positively eerie. Even Jonathan, who had totally

changed from his somber mood, stopped telling Diane all

his stories and once again became silent.

Just then, Maggie got real close to me and whispered,

“Isn’t it beautiful? Isn’t it just the most beautiful cathedral

in the world? But isn’t it sad? I mean, but isn’t it so sad?

Isn’t it the saddest thing you ever saw in your whole

life?” She started sobbing. Then she put her head on my

shoulder for what seemed like forever but must have been

only a few seconds. Then Maggie broke away from me

and straightened up. “Hmm,” she said. “I’d better get

ahold of myself.”

“It’s okay,” I said. It was just about seven o’clock, and I

figured the whole first game was probably just about over.

I wondered if maybe the Mick had hit one out. I thought

200 | Maggie

maybe we’d be through in time to see the second game,

but then I thought there was no way I’d even want to see

the second game. I was too sad to be thinking about a

stupid baseball game. I was just too darn sad.