In the spring we decided to be farmers. Since there wasn’t any farmland nearby we were content to barber our eight-by-six-foot front yard. We planted shrubs, tomatoes, corn, pumpkins, and watermelons. Our watermelons ended up looking like small green peppers and our tomatoes like grapes, but it wasn’t due to any sloth on our part. We were early-risers, dedicated farmers springing out into our quiet barnyard to give the rooster a kick. Jackie would wake me in the dark each morning with a glass of Carnation Instant Breakfast. “Come on, Dunph,” he’d say, “you better down some mud.” The reason we couldn’t grow any country-fair-calibre vegetables was partly because the Blackstone’s chemical-saturated banks bleached the juice out of them but also because the billboard on top of our house blocked the sun for most of the day. The old man would shake his head when he’d see us out front.

In July we won a settlement from the power company; they agreed to pay for Jackie’s rehabilitation. Because Jackie had developed a breathing problem, the doctors said he’d be better off recuperating in Arizona. After he left, I let the garden slip a little. One day I came home and the old man had chopped down all the plants. I asked him why he did it, and he said, “Because it’s stupid.”

When Jackie had been sent away I’d missed him a lot but not nearly as much as I did when I got to Cornwall. Lying in bed one night, it started getting to me. I asked my roommate, Irving Waltham, if I could turn on his stereo to help take my mind off things.

“Absolutely not,” he said from the bunk below me. “You know the rules. Lights and stereos are to be terminated at 10:30 sharp.”

“Why do you have the thing then?” I said. “The speakers take up half the room, it’s got more lights on it than Mission Control Houston, and you don’t even listen to it during the best time of the day.”

“I didn’t make the rules.”

I knew I wouldn’t sleep until I spoke with Jackie but I’d have to call the old man to get his number. I had such a lump in my throat that I could hardly breathe. My short, quick gasps became loud enough for Irving to hear. “You all right up there?” he said.

I was afraid if I tried to answer I might break down completely, so I just dropped a thumbs-up sign. The room was dark, and Irving didn’t see it.

“Are you okay, Dunphy?”

I jumped down from my bed. “Got to make a phone call,” I said.

“You can’t use the phones until morning.”

“They turn them off at night?”

“No, but you’re not supposed to be out of your room after 10:00.”