A pang of shame seized me. I knew that I was a coward. An hour earlier, I was in a black church, where I’d watched my best childhood friend deliver a fire-breathing sermon over the casket of his grandmother—grieving her loss and, moreover, the loss of my first real friendship. Now I was surrounded by Confederate flags in a field of drunken white college students. Soon, I would be with Arch and Vanessa and my mother in the Haltoms’ box, enjoying the buffet. Later that night, I would attend a party in a fine house in Belle Meade. I would think a bit here and there about Terrence walking back toward the Lighthouse fellowship hall alone and maybe even lie awake in bed for a while, remembering how that must have felt. But I knew even before it happened that the guilt and regret I might feel on behalf of my first best friend would not persuade me to renounce my new one.

ten

Arch started at Vanderbilt in the fall. He pledged SAE and threw himself into whatever campus activities Mr. Haltom advised him to pursue, but he was never far from me. We got out to the hunting camp when we could, to shoot birds and to fish and talk about what lay ahead of us. As far as Arch was concerned, Vanderbilt was the only choice for me. Mr. Haltom would get me in and pay my tuition. Beyond college, Arch and I would soon be paving our road forward into the future together.

This is not to say I did not savor my last year at Yeatman. Even at the outset of our final year, we newly minted seniors could already see ourselves wreathed in celebratory cigar smoke in the blue gloaming of June. Most of us would soon be accepted into Vanderbilt, Washington and Lee, Sewanee, Davidson, Furman, or Rhodes. A few would be off to the Ivy League or Stanford, Duke, or UVA. The rest would happily head off to SEC schools, to major in fraternity and minor in football. The faculty gave us a wide berth in the final months, doling out “gentleman’s Bs” with abandon. The last year was meant to be remembered as a honeymoon, seducing us into enduring affection for the school, which would eventually translate into generous contributions to the annual fund. Even before the first day, we were feted at a barbecue in the backyard of the headmaster’s residence. There were father-and-son dinners, mother-and-son breakfasts, and special meals for both the two hundredth and one hundredth days until graduation.