Maureen and Sylvia

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They walked a block to the blind man’s shop, Bemis’s Appliances, which sold used appliances and records. By some magical power, Mr. Bemis knew where every appliance and every record was in his store.

The first time Gary bought a record from Mr. Bemis, he showed it to his mother, and she asked him if he’d gone to the blind man’s shop and he said no, to Bemis’s, and she laughed. Gary couldn’t believe it when she told him Mr. Bemis was blind. She said it was even more incredible because he had lost his sight as a child and had to learn to be blind — to train his other senses. Mr. Bemis was pretty amazing. Fuzzy always asked Mr. Bemis for three or four records just to see him pull them out, ten times faster than a person with sight would.

As they walked in, Mr. Bemis said, “Hello, Gary, and who’s the young lady?”

“It’s me, Mr. Bemis. Maureen.”

“Ah,” said Mr. Bemis, as if a princess had entered his store. “I got Elvis. You want to hear it?”

He moved his fingers lightly down the shelf and pulled out an LP. He had hundreds, maybe thousands of records — used records — mostly used LPs which sometimes he sold for a dollar sometimes two — never more than five dollars.

If you asked Mr. Bemis how he knew who you were before you spoke, he said he smelled you, but it was something different than that. No one ever stole from Mr. Bemis, even though it would be easy — easier than stealing magazines from Beckman who watched real carefully. Beckman had mirrors all over his store curved like birdbath globes and told the young kids to keep away from the magazines. Kids stole candy, too, from Beckman, because kids were trickier than Beckman and worked together like teams.

After they listened to a few Elvis songs, which for some reason Maureen swooned over (he sounded to Gary like a hillbilly), he walked her back to her house. As he dropped her at the end of her front sidewalk, she said, “I’ll be home tonight.”

He ate everything his mother served for dinner and asked for more. After dinner, he took a bath and used some of his dad’s Old Spice, then washed most of that off. His mom said, “Don’t you look nice.”

“So, what’s up?” said his dad.

“Nothing,” said Gary, moving toward the door.

“Where you off to?” asked his mom.

“Nowhere,” he said, and headed toward Fuzzy’s. Once around the corner, he turned back and headed to Maureen’s.

She was wearing a skirt and some pink lipstick. They walked for two hours around town and didn’t say much.

It was nearly dark but the light in Schlumberger’s showroom stayed on until ten o’clock. They stopped and looked at the new 1957 Studebaker Silver Hawk and he told her about the new invention called directional signals and the supercharged 289 engine which could blow away the DeSoto. “Really, Gary?” she said, impressed. When they walked past the paper mill, she said, “You know, for some reason, I love that smell. It smells like old books.”

“Me too,” he said. When they were under the oaks on Sycamore Street, she leaned against him and then they turned the corner and under the sycamores on Oak Street he reached down and took her hand in his and they walked holding hands until it was dark and the stars and the fireflies came out. They sat for a few minutes on her front porch. “You know, Maureen, it’s hard to believe, but next year I’ll be in high school. This town is changing. The world is changing.”

“Really, Gary?” she said.

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