IX
The summer’s relentless heat began to give way to cooler breaks in the weather as the days quickly ticked closer toward the start of school. There had been no more strange evening visits, no more Hessian buttons and no more stopping of the town clock. I no longer needed reminders of what I could no longer avoid. The twos all added up. The two headless Hessians had called. I would go alone, ride my bicycle, maybe walk the whole way. It wasn’t that far, two, maybe three miles.
I checked the calendar for a night when there would be a full moon, not out of any kind of superstition, but because it would give me a little extra light once the sun went down. I also needed to concoct a tale to tell my parents to get away for a few hours.
I considered an array of ruses, but batted each down almost as soon as it was concocted. Staying overnight at a friend’s house: Mom will call to make sure I’m there. Going out for sports: Parents talk and they’ll find out I wasn’t with the team that day. The best story I could come up with was that I was doing a class project. History class, I’m taking American history this year. Good idea, but school hadn’t started yet. I’d wait until the first, maybe second week of classes. I looked at the calendar again. September Third, too early, school just started the day before. Fourth, fifth, sixth ... September Tenth, Friday, a full moon. That, I thought, will be the day.
The last days of summer trickled away fast, and I was soon back in class. But the long-dreaded days moved along quickly as I met new friends and caught up with old ones. The minutes not spent thinking about my appointment at Red Bank were consumed by homework. I watched the calendar. September Fifth, Sixth, Seventh, Eighth. As a rose from bed on September Ninth, an idea popped into my mind. At breakfast, I decided, I would try the history class project ploy to see if it would fly. As I sat down at the kitchen table, I mumbled as in the most vague terms I could come up with my plan to walk to Red Bank after school the next day.
"Think I’ll go to the old battlefield after school tomorrow," I said as I poured Wheaties into the bowl in front of me. "History class thing. OK?"
"What?" It sounded like trouble. Mom turned around after pouring a cup of coffee. "Where? You mean National Park?"
"It’s not far."
A long moment of silence.
"Isn’t that kind of far? Who’s going with you? What history class thing?"
Those were a lot of questions, but as I tried to muster up answers, she fired another salvo.
"Are you going alone?"
One lie could go a long way here. I decided to go halfway with a lame presumption buttressed by a provable fact.
"Eddie, I think he will. He’s in my history class, you know."
Permission came more easily than I had dreamed possible, with the added bonus of a twinge of guilt on her side.
"You know," she said, "your father and I are going to dinner in Atlantic City, to the Katzes’, you remember them, they used to live in the house behind ours in the old neighborhood. You can go, but if this is school work," she paused for a minute and sipped her coffee, "I suppose it’s all right. You’re in high school now. Just be careful. We won’t be back late."
I crunched a spoonful of cereal and swallowed. "Sure. Sure I’ll be careful. I’ll come straight home after. Promise."
"By the way, what is this history project? Something about the battle there?"
"Yes. The Hessians."
