Spencerville

despite the fact that he had little in common with his hosts, except a shared experience in school. Even then, he hadn’t had much in common with skinny little Jeffrey Porter, though they always got along well in high school, probably because they were intellectual peers, and as teenagers, neither had any opinions about politics, war, or life.
    In college, they’d been drawn together at first because they were from the same hometown and had the same problems adjusting to a new environment. In fact, Keith thought, though he wouldn’t admit it afterward, they’d become friends.
    But as the war radicalized and polarized the campus, they’d found they were on different sides of too many issues. Like the Civil War, the Vietnam War and its attendant upheavals pitted brother against brother, neighbor against neighbor, and friend against friend. In retrospect, intelligent people of goodwill should have found common ground. But Keith, like many others, lost old friends that he’d cared for and made new ones that he didn’t particularly want. He and Jeffrey had wound up exchanging punches in the middle of the student union building. In truth, Jeffrey wasn’t much of a fighter, and Keith had knocked him down only as often as Jeffrey insisted on getting up. Finally, Keith had walked away, and Jeffrey was carried away.
    About a year and a half later, Jeffrey had written to Keith in Vietnam, getting his address from Keith’s mother, who was happy to give it to one of her son’s old friends. Keith had expected the letter to be conciliatory and concerned about Keith’s frontline duty, and Keith was preparing a congenial reply in his mind as he opened the letter. Then he read,
“Dear Keith, Kill any babies
today? Keep score of the women and children you mur
der. The Army will give you a medal.”
And so on.
    Keith recalled that he hadn’t been hurt so much as enraged, and, had Jeffrey been there, Keith would have killed him. Now, looking back, he realized how far along the road to insanity they’d all traveled.
    But a quarter century had passed, Jeffrey had apologized and Keith had accepted, and they were both different people, hopefully.
    On that thought, Keith couldn’t help but think about himself and Annie. She’d gone to graduate school, Europe, married, had children, lived with another man for about two decades, had twenty Christmases, birthdays, anniversaries, and thousands of breakfasts and dinners with him. Keith Landry and Annie Baxter surely had no more in common now than he and Jeffrey had. On the other hand, he hadn’t slept with Jeffrey Porter for six years. Keith mulled this over.
    Gail said to him, “Yo, Keith! Did you check out?”
    “No… I…”
    Jeffrey got up and went to the stove. “Ready.” He ladled the stew into three bowls and managed to carry them to the table without incident. Gail sliced the bread and said, “Home-baked.”
    They ate. The bread smelled like things that Keith used to feed to the livestock and horses, but the stew was good.
    Dessert was a homemade strawberry pie, which was also good, but the smell of the herbal tea reminded Keith of places in Asia he’d just as soon forget.
    Gail said to Keith, “Did Jeffrey tell you I’m on the city council?”
    “He did. Congratulations.”
    “Sure. My opponent got busted blowing somebody in a men’s room.”
    Keith smiled. “Did that become an issue?”
    Gail added, “I’ve blown lots of guys myself, but that’s different.”
    Clearly, everyone was drunk, but, nevertheless, Keith was a little uncomfortable with that remark.
    Gail said, “I never got caught in a men’s room. Anyway, come November, I’ll be facing some prissy country club Republican lady with shit for brains. The worst thing she ever did was wear white after Labor Day.”
    Jeffrey said, “There are a lot of us who’ve gotten together to try to turn this town and county around. We’ve got a plan to restore downtown to its historic look, to attract tourism, attract new business, to stop the spread of the commercial strip through zoning, to get Amtrak to reinstate passenger service, to get a Spencerville exit put on the interstate.” Jeffrey went on, outlining the plans to revive Spencerville and Spencer County.
    Keith listened, then commented, “So you’ve scaled back on your plans to overthrow the United States government?”
    Jeffrey smiled and replied, “Think globally, act locally. That’s the nineties.”
    “Well,” Keith observed, “it