A bright light often precedes the blasting sound of an explosion, Frances reflected, lying there. Or did it? Perhaps as a blast pierces the sky, it must carve a crack, a tunnel in air through which to express its light, given that light must be sent away somewhere, she reasoned. She woke fully now and rose from the bed, grabbing one of the unraveling sweaters from her chair, hurrying through the house. The front yard was saturated with blossoms’ fragrances, and the difficult brown fog was gone. Frances’ bicycle glistened with early dew, propped against a young tree. She rode fast, toward town.
* * *
The roads were uncharacteristically dusty and sweet-smelling as Frances’ bicycle wheels swirled through the dirt, bumping and skidding. She would find Nancy’s house as soon as possible, despite her previous failure to do so. Half-sliding down a weedy slope where no one ever walked, she grinned at her own clear-sightedness in finding this simple and time-saving shortcut. The bike skirted an oval concrete rim around a small, unpopular park that was also a sore point with many locals, for the men who built the park had forgotten to consult the town council or sheriffs about it. The park stood in extreme proximity to a group of Little-Munson’s dusty backstreets. This bothered many folks, and some Munson residents shunned the park, saying it was an eyesore. It was true that the park was drab, and its stone drinking fountain was busy with beetles that would not leave. Recently, the town decided to close the park, and a metal fence would surround it soon.
Between dark and diagonal streets, she saw what looked like a wild mule grazing calmly; Frances looked away, fearful the animal would remind her of Missie.
Then, at a distance, she saw Palmer, striding ahead past an abandoned sandwich shop.
She called out.
“Hallo Frances!” he cried back. “I thought about you earlier!”
She stepped astride the bicycle. A tree hovered over the old shop and its porch lamp, and bright green, featherlike seeds spilled from the branches, breaking into smaller, greener seeds that floated lightly to the porch, collecting into an anvil-shaped mass with a sodden edge.
“I’m en route to see Nancy. But Palmer, don’t tell her—or anyone!—that I want to leave Munson. Please? Because I’m not sure I’ll be able to manage the trip.” She took his elbow comfortably. “Folks will be upset if they find out I want to leave.”
“Sure,” he said cheerfully. Palmer went on, exclaiming softly, “It’s strange! Tonight I tuned into the radio, and heard a tale about a diseased boy living in another state. He’s a very poor boy, Frances. Do you know that men in a hospital removed his heart and gave him a rubber one? How marvelous, I thought! That boy is part of a new world. After all that, is he still a mere boy? I don’t know! Will he be required to accept the horrors and dilemmas of the new world? You bet. But I envy him, Frances. Maybe he’ll never die.”